[One Thousand Characters a Day] The Body of a Veteran <5> - Sikjagong

Editor's NoteIn his nineties, typesetter Kwon Yong-guk stands for long hours at the typesetting table, moving tiny type pieces like dust with tweezers to create letterpress printing plates. The years he spent mastering the craft to quickly and accurately imprint sentences have thickened his slender fingers, yet even amidst the printing machines that churn out paper at a terrifying speed, he remains a typesetter.
No one becomes a veteran alone. Love for the work, outstanding skill, patience, and diligence alone do not lead to mastery. It requires colleagues to shoulder the burden with, a heart that cares for the surroundings and workplace, and efforts to build relationships, nurture, and share concerns. In this way, one shapes their body to fit the work while forging better workplaces and better labor. As the author says, a veteran is not simply someone who has accumulated time. It is someone who has pondered and strived to fill that time well. In an era of survival of the fittest, the point where we care for the bodies of those who became veterans and are moved by the time they have walked is right here. Word count: 928.

"Back then, we thought this would be a success, but I never imagined it would disappear so soon. Everything went digital. It vanished beyond words."

In the 1980s, Kwon Yong-guk was running a printing shop. There was no place for the old-fashioned letterpress printing shop anymore. Orders plummeted. Publishing houses he dealt with closed one after another, and the business faltered. He sold the printing shop cheaply to a junior and went abroad. Since he was in debt, he worked day and night.

"I went in 1990 and came back during the World Cup."

Korea in the early 2000s had changed even more ruthlessly, and he had forgotten about type. But one day, someone said they were looking for him. It was Park Han-su, the representative of the letterpress workshop 'Hwalpan Gongbang.' Park traveled the country collecting letterpress machines and casting machines that were treated like junk and opened Hwalpan Gongbang in 2007. He had been quietly searching for retired printing technicians to operate the letterpress machines.

On the day he entered Hwalpan Gongbang in Paju, Kwon Yong-guk met letterpress again, which he thought had disappeared from his life. He was 75 years old.

"I thought it was all gone, so I was glad to see it."

It didn’t take long for his hands to move nimbly between the type pieces. His body remembered. But it was not the same body as before. Each year his body changed. He felt his fingers, which once moved like machines in his youth, noticeably slow down. Now he uses a magnifying glass to find the type. Even in the brief moment of moving the letterpress, his wrist aches. The plate contains hundreds of lead pieces. It was nothing when he was young, he thinks. But there is no need to rush. The printing shops that once had several typesetters are now nowhere to be found.

Hwalpan Gongbang is kept alive by two people: a printer (Kim Pyeong-jin) well over seventy and a typesetter nearing ninety. The first-class typesetter, who once didn’t notice his legs stiffening from the joy of making money, now says, "Beyond money, it’s truly fun." He is just grateful for the time he can stand before the type.

- Text by Hee-jung, photos by Choi Hyung-rak, Body of a Veteran, Hankyoreh Publishing, 20,000 KRW

This content was produced with the assistance of AI translation services.