[Joseon Images] Streetcars: A time for change in Joseon

A streetcar passes through the West Gate, circa the early 1900s. / Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

In 1899, streetcars began operating in Seoul. This was a time of great change, and one of the biggest problems facing their operator, Seoul Electric Street Railroad, was time.

Clocks and watches made abroad were highly valued in Korea, and sometimes given as expensive gifts. In July 1883, a Korean official visiting Japan bought several diamond-studded gold watches from an American merchant as gifts for the Korean monarch and his queen.

In 1892, one American observed:

"A curious penchant of Koreans is for cuckoo clocks. The cuckoo is a native of the peninsula, and the people seem never tired of entering a store and listening to the cry of the birds which come out of the clocks and tell the hour. Dozens of these are kept in the Chinese stores, and they sell readily at a good profit."

However, those who could not afford a clock or watch were forced to make do with other time-keeping methods, such as the large bell used to signal the opening and closing of the city gates (a practice which, ironically, ended with the introduction of the streetcar). According to another Western visitor in 1893, common people "also reckon time by the number of pipes smoked. Thus, you will hear them say, 'He only stopped long enough to smoke one pipe.'"

However, streetcars could not operate based on a timetable dictated by the number of pipes smoked by their motormen and conductors.

The company's manager, James H. Morris, recalled:

"No sooner had we made out time-tables than we struck our first problem. Timepieces were few, and most of our men did not know how to tell time on a watch. So we held night classes to instruct them in how to tell time. After a few of them could do this we had the cars running on a schedule."

However, timing problems did not end there. Sometimes culture stood in the way of being on time. One motorman departed 20 minutes late because he'd been discussing family business with a relative from the countryside. Morris made it clear that if that happened again, the motorman would enjoy a very long vacation with no pay.

Women boarding a streetcar circa 1900 / Robert Neff Collection

Yangban (Korean gentry) ― who were famous for their slow but dignified pace ― had to adapt quickly. The streetcars "would not tarry at the demand of the attendants of one of the gentry, and even when the great man himself would simply stop at the car steps and give some orders to his menials, the imprudent contrivance was likely to go off and leave him standing there in the road."

Not only did the streetcars demand the yangban's punctuality but also his complacency in traveling with commoners. The clashes in culture were at times amusing:

"Another problem was to get the people who rode the cars to keep their shoes on. They would leave them on the platform. This was an impossible situation as there were delays in finding shoes and shoes would fall off when rounding curves. It took us over a year to get the people to understand that this was one room where you must be impolite enough to keep your shoes on when you entered."

One of the most amusing examples of culture clash involved a Korean employee named Yun In-sik. He was in charge of ticketing at the last stop near the tomb of Queen Min (Empress Myeongseong) and was constantly annoyed by his rural patrons. The cost of a ticket from the tomb to the East Gate was five cents, but passengers constantly tried to haggle with him for a lower price. Eventually he solved this problem by raising the price to six cents and then allowing himself to be haggled down to five.

A streetcar on the road to Queen Min's tomb circa the early 1900s / Robert Neff Collection

Yun's intelligence and business finesse did not go unrecognized and he was soon moved to a new station near Yongsan. He was encouraged to choose an English name (perhaps to make it easier for his foreign supervisors), and promptly began to sign all documents as "A.N. John." After a few months, one of his supervisors asked him what the "A.N." stood for and he quietly answered, "American Name."

Time played a role in some of the accidents involving streetcars. Sometimes the passengers tried to get on or off a streetcar before it came to a complete stop and ended up falling beneath its wheels. A particularly horrific incident took place one summer night when the last streetcar was delayed and three tired men ― believing the streetcar had already passed ― decided to use the rail as a pillow, only to be decapitated when the tardy streetcar made its appearance.

Occasionally, people intentionally jumped in front of the streetcars ― not because they were suicidal, but because they believed they were being haunted by ghosts. They thought that if their timing was just right the streetcar would barely miss them and take away their ghost.

There were other superstitions associated with streetcars. Some believed the frequent droughts were caused by the streetcars disturbing the sleep of the dragon that dwelt beneath the city, while others claimed the electric wires sucked the moisture from the clouds.

A streetcar in Seoul circa 1902 / Robert Neff Collection

According to Morris, one day when he was at the power plant near the East Gate, he encountered an elderly gentleman visiting from Gangneung (on the east coast). The old man told him he had heard unbelievable stories from people who claimed to have visited Seoul. Before he died, he wanted to see with his own eyes the small houses that were pulled through the streets by ropes in the air and the lights that would illuminate without the use of matches or fire (electric lights).

Morris accommodated the man's curiosity and showed him around, explaining how each thing worked. The man was truly impressed and when it was time for him to leave, he told Morris that everything he had heard about Seoul and the wonders of electricity were true. However, he was determined to keep the knowledge to himself once he returned home, because he was sure everyone would accuse him of lying. And, when it was time for him to leave this world, he didn't want to go branded as a liar.

Robert Neff is a historian?and columnist?for The Korea Times. He can be reached at robertneff04@gmail.com.