BLAZING A TRAIL WHEN THE ROAD ENDS

By Jeong In-yeong

Shin Yong-ho,

entrepreneur and creator of the world’s first education insurance






Shin Yong-ho: a great entrepreneur who used his success in business as a springboard for aiding the development of his country

and the future of his people



• The turbulent life and times of a towering figure in South Korea’s insurance industry

• The narrative of Shin’s entire life, including his struggle with illness as a child, his dream of becoming a “capitalist for the Korean people” as a young man, and his establishment of one of Korea’s finest corporations in his prime

• Shin’s endless creativity and ambition show us the wisdom and courage we need in our lives



About the book

This book tells the life story of Shin Yong-ho, who founded and built Kyobo Life Insurance, Kyobo Book Centre, and the Daesan Foundation. Shin contracted a terrible illness in his childhood, and by the time he had recovered, it was too late to go to school. Despite missing his chance to receive a formal education, he taught himself through a thousand-day reading project and through hands-on learning. After heading to Seoul by himself at the age of twenty, he moved to China and built a company from scratch. Meanwhile, a meeting with the patriotic poet Yi Yuk-sa inspired him to support the independence movement and pursue his ambition of becoming a capitalist for the Korean people. At the end of World War II, Shin returned to Korea penniless, but he kept his spirits strong and with a great deal of effort invented the concept of education insurance to satisfy Koreans’ thirst for learning. His decision to establish Kyobo Book Centre under the slogan “People make books, and books make people” in the middle of Gwanghwamun in downtown Seoul illustrates his passion for promoting national education and the way he put that into practice. Shin was unstinting in his support of public interest projects, and he established the Daesan Foundation to contribute to the development and globalization of Korean literature, along with the Daesan Agricultural Foundation (originally the Daesan Foundation for Rural Culture and Society) and the Kyobo Foundation for Education. It was Shin, with his profound knowledge of literature, who suggested putting up a billboard at Gwanghwamun (this became known as the Gwanghwamun Geulpan) to carry messages of comfort and hope for the busy pedestrians crossing that intersection. All this sprang from the insight that Shin gained by carefully examining each situation from all possible angles.

Shin was a great entrepreneur who did not content himself with business success and never stopped striving for the development of his country and the future of his people. He was given the John S. Bickley Founder’s Award, which is regarded as the Nobel Prize in the field of insurance; he was named the Insurance Mentor; and he became the first businessperson to be awarded the Geumgwan (Golden Crown) Order of Cultural Merit. The endless creativity and ambition evident in Shin’s life teach us the wisdom and courage that we need in our own.



The can-do spirit that blazed a trail in the wilderness

Shin managed to survive the illness he suffered during his childhood on the slopes of Mt Wolchulsan, but he missed his chance to obtain a formal education, never attending elementary or middle school. Even so, his thousand-day reading project and hands-on learning served as an effective way to study and develop his talents. His self-study at this time gave him an unbreakable will. After training his intellect and realizing his dreams, Shin struck out for Seoul at the tender age of twenty and then continued to the Chinese city of Dalian (then Dairen) by himself. This was his first step toward becoming a businessman dedicated to the good of his nation and people. In China, he achieved financial success by developing a new sales system. After meeting the patriotic poet Yi Yuk-sa, Shin supported the independence movement and set a new goal of helping Koreans by becomin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seoul Selection
• Release date: Mar 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781624121807

Book preview

discretion.

Chapter 1

Mt. Wolchulsan Rises in the Heart of Gwanghwamun

Cutting a twenty-two-floor building down to seventeen

The year 1979 was a dark time in South Korea. Just as the clouds threatened to unleash a torrent at any time, political turmoil had been constant since the beginning of the year. The calm before the storm had been shattered when opposition groups and students defied the Yushin constitution and the long-standing regime of President Park Chung-hee.

The streets were bathed in warm sunshine and the floral aromas of spring, but everyone could feel the chill in the air. To borrow a phrase from Li Bai, a Chinese poet from the Tang Dynasty, spring had come, but it didn’t feel like spring. Even so, the office that the Daehan Education Insurance Company (now called Kyobo Life insurance) was building in Gwanghwamun, in the heart of Seoul, burst through the storm clouds and shot up into the sky. People passing through the neighborhood couldn’t help raising their heads to look up at the commanding sight.

After an early morning visit to the construction site in Gwanghwamun to encourage the workers, Shin Yong-ho returned to his office in the Hoeheyon-dong neighborhood. Shin (also known by the pen name Daesan) was the founder and chairman of the Daehan Education Insurance Company. Since the façade of the twenty-two-floor building was nearing completion, not only Shin but even the lowliest worker on the site felt a rush of pride in their hearts.

After reading through a few documents, Shin looked over the artist’s rendering of the new office building and began to daydream. Challenges he had overcome flashed through his head, ranging from his promise to build the finest office in the finest location in Seoul in just twenty-five years to the acquisition of the land and the design of the building.

Outside the window, the sun was setting, and just then he saw the grandeur of Mt. Bugaksan. At that instant, Shin recalled the majesty of Mt. Wolchulsan, which he had always cherished in his heart. That mountain was his life and his dream.

Shin had been born on the slopes of Mt. Wolchulsan with its breezes and its forests, drinking from the streams that flowed through its valleys. For Shin, the mountain was his home, indeed his universe. Even his dream of building the finest office in the finest location in Seoul was an effort to actualize in the real world the Mt. Wolchulsan that already existed in his heart. The second Mt. Wolchulsan he was building would be not only a workplace for his beloved employees, but also a space for the dreams and culture that the Daehan Education Insurance Company was creating for its policyholders.

Just as Shin was making a mental ascent up Mt. Wolchulsan, the still was interrupted by the buzz of his intercom. Mr. Shin! You have some visitors here from the Blue House.

The Blue House? Who are they?

Even as Shin was asking that question, he heard heavy footsteps, and the door of his office was thrown open, letting in several muscular men. Scurrying along behind them were his flustered secretaries. The men, all wearing black suits, took their seats without giving Shin so much as a nod. Shin was irritated by their rudeness, but he greeted them respectfully, presuming that they were on an urgent errand from the Blue House (as the presidential residence is called in South Korea).

The man who appeared to be in charge handed Shin his business card, which showed that he was a senior official in the Blue House Office of Security.

No doubt you’re busy, so let’s cut to the chase. We need you to shorten your office building to seventeen floors. This has to do with the president’s security, the man said in a rasping voice.

For a moment, Shin could barely believe his ears. How could they ask him to shorten the building to the seventeenth floor when it was already twenty-two floors high? It wasn’t as if the building was made of playdough, so how could he just lop off five stories?

I’m not sure I follow you, Shin said hesitantly. We have a permit for this building.

Mr. Shin! the man said with a nasty laugh. This has to do with the president’s security, and it’s a special directive from the Office of Security.

Even if that’s so—and we would have gone along with this if we had known before starting construction—we received a construction permit according to the relevant laws, Shin said.

Mr. Shin, considering that you run a large cooperation, one of the country’s leading insurance companies, I’m sure you understand my meaning, the man said. At any rate, I’ve done my job and passed along the directive from the Chief of Security. I guess I’ll be going. We hope that you’ll deal with this matter promptly.

Shin was stunned by this announcement, which had blindsided him like a bolt from the blue. In his mind’s eye, he saw Mt. Wolchulsan come crashing down. Outside the window, Mt. Bugaksan was shrouded in darkness, too.

For some time, Shin sat there dumbly. A childhood memory came to him of wandering the fields and wading through waist-deep snow to catch a pheasant, only for it to escape from his grasp. He had been so excited at the thought of cooking some pheasant for his mother, who was exhausted from working in the fields and from doing the housework. Now he remembered the sorrow and betrayal he had felt when he lost the pheasant, how the entire sky had seemed to turn black above him.

Shin’s secretaries had called in the company executives, and they filed into the meeting room one after another. The executives figured that an unplanned visit from the Blue House could not be good news. The main reason that Blue House officials secretly visited companies, they knew, was either to ask for political funds or to line up jobs or business for their connections.

After Shin explained what was happening, all the executives looked down at the table. Even if it weren’t for the precarious political situation, the first lady, Yuk Young-soo, had been shot and killed by the assassin Mun Se-gwang just a few years ago. If the Blue House wanted them to lower the building for the president’s security, the executives thought, they had no choice but to do its bidding.

On top of that, nothing could be done about a special directive from the Blue House’s chief of security. He was an influential figure—second in power only to the president and answering to nobody else. He was so powerful that the people he invited to a flag lowering at the Blue House dared not decline the invitation—even members of cabinet and army generals. Not even the constitution was inviolable under the dreadful Yushin dictatorship, and government officials could get away with just about anything they set their minds to.

The executives, who were fully aware of all this, could only sigh. None of them were in a hurry to speak, but after collecting their thoughts, some said they ought to adjust the building plans and lower the building to seventeen floors.

It’s really unfortunate, Mr. Chairman, but there’s nothing we can do. If we get on the bad side of the Blue House’s Office of Security, how could we possibly keep this company in business?

One way to cover for the missing five floors would be to build an annex here in the Hoehyeon-dong neighborhood later on.

That’s a really good idea! The building isn’t far away, Mr. Chairman, so we could build an annex here later.

If we have to lower the building to seventeen floors, we shouldn’t waste any time to revise the plans and wrap up the construction.

After quietly letting the executives have their say, Shin responded. For now, please don’t say a word about this matter and leave everything to me. The construction work should be halted until we’ve dealt with this, but keep paying the workers their daily wages while the work is on hold.

Shin’s determined attitude made the executives uneasy. They had a feeling he would refuse to remove the five floors. This diminutive man whose remarkable perseverance and resolve had earned him the moniker the little giant wouldn’t give up his original plan, they believed. That would obviously lead to friction with the Blue House, and they couldn’t help but feel concerned about the company’s future. As the executives rose to leave the room, they all looked troubled.

After the executives had gone, Shin closed his eyes and tried to figure out the cause of this situation. It boiled down to two reasons, he guessed. The first was his rejection of a government proposal to build a hotel on the lot where the Kyobo Building was going up. He had gotten that proposal from a senior government official soon after the Daehan Education Insurance Company finally acquired the lot at Gwanghwamun. Because of the severe shortage of hotels for foreign tourists in downtown Seoul and because there were few sites capable of hosting international conferences and other large events, the government was naturally interested in the lot. But Shin had flatly turned the proposal down. In his view, it would be degrading to the nation’s pride and prestige to build a hotel in front of the main government office, the place where the affairs of state were discussed.

The second possible reason was that Shin’s ties with government officials had never been very warm, and this might all be a scheme by people displeased with his company’s rapid growth. Shin believed that collusion between political forces and corporations ultimately harmed customers. Companies that were patronized by the government might thrive for a time, but their success was a mirage. When those companies eventually failed, their customers (and the public) would be left to discharge their debts.

To be sure, there could have been another reason, but Shin thought this had nothing to do with the president’s security, as the Office of Security was claiming. The Kyobo Building was not even facing the grounds of the Blue House, not to mention the fact that the nineteen-story Central Government Complex had already been built ten years ago, back in 1970. The complex, which was eighty-four meters tall, was located very close to the Blue House. Since the Kyobo Building was just three floors taller than the Central Government Complex while being much further away from the Blue House, the president’s security was not a legitimate reason to demand that the building be shortened.

Whatever the reason, a powerful figure in the Yushin regime was involved, making this a truly awkward situation. But that didn’t mean that Shin would just take this lying down. Shin had made the Daehan Education Insurance Company what it was after leaving home empty-handed, traveling around China, and surviving the chaos and challenges of Korea’s liberation and the Korean War. He had fallen countless times only to get up again, and he was not about to give up the office building into which his company and so many of his staff had poured their hopes and dreams.

Shin thought of one of his most common sayings—you need the grit to stick your bare finger through a tree. It might seem impossible to drive a finger through a tree, but the human will has the remarkable ability to make the impossible possible. Just watch as a mother who has never learned to swim somehow makes her way dozens of meters through the water to rescue her drowning child.

That was the kind of willpower he would need, Shin realized, if he was going to protect his dreams and the dreams of the company’s staff. It would mean facing down someone with nearly unlimited power. As they say, you don’t really own something unless you’ve had to fight for it. Even companies grow through challenge and conflict, he reasoned.

Shin used every trick in the book to convince the Office of Security to reverse its stance, but the only response he got was that there was no going against the Blue House’s orders.

If this decision was made by the Blue House, my only course of action is to appeal to the president himself. But what if even that doesn’t work? In that event, Shin thought, he would go public with the government’s unfair demand, even if that meant risking his life. He couldn’t let this tower that had been built by the backbreaking effort of his employees be toppled by unjust government officials.

Not only that, but the Daehan Education Insurance Company was not just a private company—it rested on the assets of millions of policyholders. Lopping off five floors of the building would be tantamount to failing to protect the assets that the policyholders had entrusted to the company and its founder. If Shin failed to keep his customers’ assets intact, he would be betraying his paramount duty as an insurer. The costs incurred by changing the plans, shortening the building, and repeating the construction would have to be borne by the policyholders. If Shin backed down now, who would trust him and his company in the future?

Furthermore, the building was the first thing Shin had promised to his employees when he founded the company twenty-five years before. He had said he would build the finest office in the finest location in Seoul. If the founder couldn’t keep his very first promise to his employees, he wondered whether they would be willing to follow him in the future. The more he thought about it, the stronger his resolve. Getting rid of those five stories, he concluded, would be failing to keep his promise to his customers. It would be decapitating his company and crushing his hopes, his dreams, and his very life. It was time to play his last card.

Having made up his mind, Shin wrote a letter to the president. He felt as determined as Confucian scholars during the Joseon Dynasty when they prepared a petition for the king. Those scholars had denounced officials for their wrongdoing, fully aware that they might be taking their lives into their hands. The letter ran as follows:

Since establishing the Daehan Education Insurance Company in compliance with the laws of this land, I’ve dedicated myself to promoting national education and forming domestic capital without committing the slightest violation of the relevant laws grounded in the Constitution. I’ve also received several presidential citations and even the Order of Civil Merit.

My company is currently in the final stages of erecting an office building, for which we have received a permit according to the relevant laws without a hint of illegality, and the building is on the verge of completion. But we were recently told by the Blue House Office of Security to lower this twenty-two-floor building to seventeen floors. We were told that this is necessary for reasons of your security. If we had been given such instructions when we first started construction, we would certainly have obeyed them. But it’s incredibly disheartening to receive an order to lop five floors off a building without any legal problems now, when construction is nearly finished. I think that being told to shorten the building at this belated hour is much the same as you or the government being told to tear up the laws you have created. This ultimately legitimizes disregard of the law, and if such illegal behavior proliferates in the future, on what grounds could you prevent it?

For your sake and for the sake of this country and the authority of the law, I cannot do this. If we’re told to shorten this building that we have built legally, we will not shorten it but instead risk our lives to fight this injustice.

After writing the letter, Shin felt a great sense of relief. It was a peculiar feeling—as if all the energy in his body had drained out of him, but also as if some undefinable power was enveloping him. Heat was radiating from his body, just as it had that time in his childhood when he was suffering from a mysterious illness. After dreaming that Mt. Wolchulsan was being absorbed into his body, he had suddenly risen from his sickbed. Shin thought he would never regret this decision, no matter what kind of difficulties it might bring.

With his heart at peace, Shin went to meet someone who could deliver his letter directly to the president. If the letter was filed as an ordinary petition instead of being delivered personally to the president, Shin was concerned it would never reach him. After entreating his contact to make sure the president got the letter, Shin returned to Gwanghwamun.

Looking at the idle construction site, Shin made up his mind that if the president rejected his request, he would organize a press conference for domestic reporters and foreign correspondents at the Sejong-daero Intersection and make a statement. If he put his life on the line to resist the unjust government pressure, he believed, the government would never be able to shorten the building. He was desperate to protect the building, even if it required a sacrifice.

After hearing a few days later that Shin’s contact had delivered his letter to the president and that they had discussed Shin and the Kyobo Building together, Shin shut himself up in his office and awaited the outcome. He felt unbearably anxious. The executives were also filled with dread as they watched Shin continue to resist the Blue House’s instructions to shorten the building while the construction remained on hold. The chairman’s reckless resolve, they feared, might prove disastrous for the company.

During this nerve-racking time, the senior official from the Blue House Office of Security who had delivered the instructions to shorten the building to seventeen floors paid Shin another visit. The moment Shin saw him, his heart leaped into his throat. As the official sat down, he apologized while smiling awkwardly.

I was reprimanded by the president. You may finish construction on the building as planned. I’m sorry for troubling you, the official said.

Shin felt such relief that he nearly leapt to his feet and shouted for joy. It was the moment when the highest hurdle was cleared away. Through his resolve—the strength to drive a bare finger through a tree trunk—he had managed to save the Kyobo Building from its crisis.

After clearing away several obstacles of this sort, the company completed construction on the building, which had twenty-two floors, three basement levels, and a total floor space of 94,634.21 square meters. Standing tall at the Sejong-daero Intersection, the Kyobo Building was the first structure in South Korea to use only round pillars. The building drew the eyes of passersby with the dignified auburn color of its pillars and bricks, which conveyed a sense of stability and familiarity.

An interior garden was included from the basic planning stage, and this eco-friendly approach to architecture was also reflected in the lobby greenhouse, which Shin designed himself—he even personally selected the plants that would appear there. The greenhouse measured 992 square meters in area and climbed to the building’s fifth floor. Over 150 species of broadleaf and evergreen trees native to South Korea were planted in this garden, including the pine, bamboo, plum, and orchid, which are traditional symbols of Confucian loyalty. The plants in the greenhouse made it possible to experience the abundance of nature and the nobility of the Confucian scholar throughout the year, and all in a building in the middle of a metropolis.

When the greenhouse was complete, the most impressive part was the bamboo trees, which typically grow in more southern regions. Shin was pleasantly reminded of the bamboos that had grown around his home in Yeongam-gun. At the same time, the verdant branches of the zelkova tree in front of the building, near Sejong-ro Street, were swaying in the pleasant spring breeze. Zelkovas grow throughout Korea—they are the trees that stand at the entrance to a village, protecting it from harm, providing a place of rest, and sharing the villagers’ joys and sorrows. Shin called them the trees of the people.

The ribbon-cutting for the Kyobo Building and the grand opening of Kyobo Book Centre were held on June 1, 1981. The ceremonies drew prominent figures from South Korea and other countries. After the events were over and all the guests had gone home, Shin sat by the window in his office.

Just as I promised during the company’s launch ceremony, I’ve made this South Korea’s best insurance company, and I’ve built the finest office in the finest location in Seoul. I kept the promise I made to my employees and to myself!

Shin didn’t achieve this dream until he was over sixty years old. The building he had dreamed of stood tall and proud before all the world, just like Mt. Wolchulsan. As Shin basked in the glow of an early summer sunset, he looked out at the people passing by at the Sejong-daero Intersection. He seemed to see himself as a child, clambering up Mt. Wolchulsan. Now the young Yong-ho was striding toward him, looking at Kyobo Building, the object of his hopes and dreams. At that moment, Shin could feel that the mountain in his heart was rising up as well.

The boy saved by the energy of Mt. Wolchulsan

The long winter had passed, and the hills and fields were wet with the spring dew. A few days after a spring shower, the forsythias outside the low wall were sending up yellow blossoms, while green sprouts had started to appear in the barley fields outside the entrance to the village. The spring shower had even washed away all the clouds and mist from Mt. Wolchulsan, which had silently guarded young Shin through his sickness, and now the mountain was so vivid he almost thought he could reach out and touch it.

Sitting on the porch in the spring sunlight, Shin gazed at the magnificent sight of Mt. Wolchulsan. The sickness that had tormented him for so long had mysteriously vanished, and energy infused his body, restoring his appetite. The spirit of spring had also filled Shin’s heart, after he emerged from the long tunnel of his illness.

For three years, from the age of eight until ten, Shin was deathly ill and nearly succumbed on several occasions. Shedding silent tears, he spent day after day surrounded by the whispers of neighbors who assumed he would not survive his sickness. Shin’s mother, Ryu Mae-sun, held her son’s pallid face in her arms and swore that the power of the mountain would not let her son die.

When Shin awoke after several days in a coma, his breath coming in gasps, his mother handed him a bowl of medicine and gripped his hand tightly. After that, she wept