A couple of months
ago, I was catching up with two good friends, Yeow Teck Chai and Tan Koon San,
over dim sum at a restaurant in Mutiara Damansara. Teck Chai is about my age,
while Koon San is several years our senior. Both spent their careers in public
service. Teck Chai rose to become Deputy Director-General of the Malaysian
Industrial Development Authority (MIDA), while Koon San retired as Malaysia’s
ambassador to a European country and as a representative of an international
agency. He is also a prolific author and, although he didn’t say it, a Datuk.
As close friends often
do, we exchanged stories and laughed over the idiosyncrasies of some of the
movers and shakers we had known personally. I was particularly happy to share
my experiences with several of my former bosses. During the conversation, I mentioned
that I had once written a manuscript entitled On the Emperor’s Shoulder,
but never succeeded in getting it published because it was deemed unpublishable
by my most formidable editor and critic—my wife, Saw Hwa.
Naturally, they
wanted to know about the title.
I explained that my
late father was a devoted follower of spiritual Daoism. At the beginning of
every lunar year, he would acquire the latest edition of the Tōng-shū (通书), the traditional Chinese almanac, and
diligently study its many prescriptions, taboos, and cultural observances for
the year ahead. Villagers frequently sought his advice when selecting
auspicious dates for ceremonies, weddings, house-moving, or the commencement of
important ventures.
According to my
father, the almanac classified my birth under the category of being “on the
emperor’s shoulder”. The interpretation was straightforward: I should never
aspire to become a great lord or a powerful boss. However, I could expect a
reasonably comfortable life.
There was, however, a
caveat. The emperor’s robe, my father liked to remind me, was made of silk and
therefore difficult to cling to. One could easily slip and fall. Looking back,
his prediction turned out to be remarkably self-fulfilling. My career and life
unfolded very much along those lines.
The stories in this
proposed book are not all entirely factual. Like everyone else, I am
susceptible to moods, biases, and the distortions of memory. Some episodes may
have been embellished for dramatic effect, while others have been softened or
abbreviated for reasons best left unsaid.
My intention is not
to disparage anyone. Rather, I hope to share with readers both the greatness
and the human quirks of a number of remarkable corporate leaders with whom I
had the privilege of working. Yet beauty, as the saying goes, lies in the eye
of the beholder. Some individuals may not appreciate my portrayal of them. For
that reason, certain names and organisations have not been fully identified.
Nevertheless, discerning readers may still recognise the fingerprints of people
and institutions they know. I shall leave the guessing to them.
I remain deeply
indebted to many of the personalities featured in these pages. I learned much
from them—lessons in leadership, business, ambition, resilience, and,
occasionally, human folly. Whatever modest successes I may have achieved owe
something to their influence. Unfortunately, I could never quite rise beyond
the limits that the Tōng-shū appeared to have ordained for me.
It is therefore
fitting that I begin with one of the greatest entrepreneurs I have ever had the
privilege to work with—the legendary Tan Sri Lim Goh Tong.
If readers are happy
to indulge these recollections, I shall continue to share more chapters from
this “unpublishable” book.
4
Genting Sempah
I
joined the Genting Group in September 1977. It was already a formidable name by
then. The name Genting was, and still is, synonymous with its founder, the late
Tan Sri Lim Goh
Tong. Moreover, its former general manager, Tan Koon Swan, had also made a name
for himself in politics as well as in the corporate world. With the Supreme and
Multi-Purpose groups, he was heading to big leagues as well. Tan became the
president of Malaysian Chinese Association (MCA) but never made it to the cabinet.
His saga is too well documented for me to bore readers here.
But few know how the name Genting came into being. In Chinese it reads 云顶or Ying Ding. Ying by itself means ‘cloud’ and ding
means ‘top’, as in rooftop. It certainly sounds appropriate—with the resort
sitting right at the top of Gunung Ulu Kali and clouds hugging it. So, Genting
is ‘Cloud-top’ to those reading the name in Chinese. But I
believe the name was derived from Genting Sempah. If you look at the Pahang
map, you will find Genting Sempah right at the foothill of Genting Highlands.
This name was in existence well before Tan Sri Lim developed Genting Highlands. I may be wrong, though.
But the pioneers of Genting should be saluted for choosing a very
tasteful name for the resort. Whether in Romanised form or in Chinese, they
sound good. They could have settled for ‘Silver-top’ or ‘Money-top’, for ying
in Chinese can also mean ‘silver‘ (银, yin) or ‘money‘. Fortune is the obsession
of many, but only those with wisdom know the value of subtlety.
Hello, it is Saturday
It was Saturday. I was ready to pack up for home
when the phone rang. Silly me, how could I be so assuming?
“Yu Bok, we have to go Pahang to see the
menteri besar today. Get ready.” The voice was distinctly that of the Old Man
(no derogation intended; it was a just a way of showing respect when we
referred to our ultimate boss those days.) He hung up as soon as he finished
what he had to say. You were simply not given a chance to waste his time.
The drive to Kuantan was a
pleasant one, especially if you were travelling in a big Mercedes. It still
took a few hours, though. The sun had already set by the time we reached
Kuantan. We called on the director of the Land and Mines Office and he was happy
to receive us in his home. A few more meetings followed. By the time we checked
into the Hyatt, it was already close to midnight.
My wife must have been
concerned, as I did not have a chance to call her before I left the office
(there were no mobile phones back then). But I have the most understanding
wife. Saw Hwa always takes these things well. She was already fast asleep when
I reached her.
After a quick bath, I
headed for the bed straightaway. There was still some revelling going on in the
hotel. Someone told me earlier that the sultan would be around. I was too tired
for anything.
Few hotels were thoughtful
enough to provide toothbrushes and toothpaste those days. The next morning, I
had to use my fingers…
I had nothing clean to
change into. I thought I would be able to pick something up from the arcade,
but I had to wait, as the shops would only open at around 9 or 10 am. I bought
a batik shirt, and I could not find any briefs. Too bad. I had to make do with
the one I had been wearing.
* * *
Sunday was not an off day for some of us in Genting. It was the day Tan Sri Lim would go around inspecting
all the civil and engineering works that were being carried out around the
resort. As always, he started his day early. He would gather the key
construction executives in the coffeehouse or the theatre restaurant, give a few
instructions here and there, and jump into his waiting car. Everybody would
scramble towards his vehicle to try to catch up with him. The resort is quite a
sprawling mass of land but lose him at your own risk!
Wherever he went, you just had to follow, and
make sure you brought a notebook along. By the
time he headed for his suite, your Sunday was as good as gone. But Tan Sri Lim was not an inconsiderate
man. You could take a day off every week if you wanted to, as long as it wasn’t
a Sunday.
* * *
The resident architect CH and I decided to go up to Genting by
helicopter one Sunday. We wanted to catch the first flight. But the weather was
simply impossible. Segambut, where the helipad was situated, looked very sunny,
but the traffic controllers at the resort advised us that visibility there was
too poor. So, we waited.
The resort was staging a big show. It was one
of the first big-money affairs for its very impressive new theatre restaurant.
The girls were from France, all very pretty. Two of
the showgirls were also waiting at the helipad to go up. CH and I chatted them
up. They were very friendly. Weathermen at the resort continued to give
‘no-fly’ advice. Before long, we ended up having lunch with the two girls in
one of the nice restaurants in town. By the time we finished lunch, it was too
late to head up the hill.
The next day was Monday. Tan
Sri Lim was early as usual. The phone soon rang. The secretary said, “Yu
Bok, Old Man wants to see you. Where is CH?”
I never missed my Sunday
outings with Tan Sri Lim again,
no matter how bad the weather was.
* * *
“Yu Bok, ask Captain to bring a few 955s and RBs to the golf course. I
want to do something there.”
The golf course at the resort was not very
great then. Enthusiasts had it that the course was not well-designed. Some
remodelling work was therefore ordered. Ron Fream, a leading golf course
architect, was commissioned to do the job.
There was an undulating
tract behind the clubhouse. Nobody had any earthwork drawings. But Captain Lim
was one of the few who had the uncanny ability to do exactly what Tan Sri Lim had in mind as far as
earthwork went. And the 955s and RBs just cut and cut…
Tan Sri Lim was like an
army commander and I, his aide-de-camp, had no choice but to stand next to him.
But I did not have the slightest idea of what he had had in mind for this
battle front. A few colleagues who happened to come by asked me what was being
built. A new swimming pool? A new clubhouse?
Honestly, I did not know.
And none of the above.
After one week of
sunbathing, I looked over-tanned. Tan
Sri Lim had also run out of steam. Before he walked back to his car, I
heard him telling Captain Lim, “Plant grass.” Or did I hear him wrongly?
955s, 977s and Alab-Bee
“I want you to buy some second-hand 955s, 977s and alab-bees, you see
so-and-so.”
This was the instruction
given to me by Tan Sri Lim. I was still quite new
at Genting. Although I had some project management experience, it was basically
on high-rise buildings. I had never done land development before. But how could
I ask Tan Sri Lim what 955, 977
and alab-bee were? I would be out of my mind. Did I want to lose my job?
“977, 977, alab-bee”
were exactly the figures and words I wrote in my notebook. They had had to do
with earth-moving equipment, I was convinced. After the ‘class‘ had been
dismissed, I took the company car, a Peugeot 503, and went around the grounds
searching for these beasts.
I was not
disappointed—Caterpillar 955 and 977 tractors were busily at work everywhere.
And you could not possibly miss Captain Lim’s alab-bees either—the
always reliable RB draglines.[1]
* * *
When you have a boss like Tan Sri Lim,
you learn to be very resourceful.
CH came to me one day, “Yu Bok, you know
Chinese. Do you know what the Old Man wants?” It was
Tan Sri Lim’s own handwriting, in Chinese of course.
He wanted us to do some improvement to the 脚死诺 (chiao-sei-nor). What is
chiao-se-nor? He had gone around asking; nobody could help.
That was easy. Without
hesitation, I enlightened him. “Casino.” You have to be a Hokkien to understand
another Hokkien. Tan Sri Lim
was thinking in Hokkien when he wrote the three Chinese characters.
Leg in Chinese character is pronounced chiao in Mandarin, but
when it is read in Hokkien, it becomes kar. 死 (se) is pronounced xi in Hokkien, which means ‘die‘ or
‘dead’. Nor (like in Mohamed Noah Omar) is more
abstract, it formed part of the name of Tan Sri Lim’s Malay partner, written in
Chinese. Taken together and read in Hokkien, it simply means ‘casino’.
I heard this from another
acquaintance the other day. He also had the ‘privilege’ to be in Tan Sri Lim’s Sunday entourage when he
went round inspecting works at the resort. Tan Sri Lim wanted some work to be done at “C 楼.” He wrote it clearly on a piece of paper: the letter ‘C’ and楼 (loah, for building, storey, or apartment block, depending on
usage). Pronounced in Hokkien, it should mean ‘C Block’. Or so
everybody thought! But there was no C Block there. What he meant was see lau—in
plain Hokkien, the fourth level!
* * *
This also
came from a colleague: After a visit to one of the work sites, Tan Sri Lim
wrote 刘 (liu, surname), and 水 (shuĭ, water). In Hokkien, 刘水 is pronounced lau chwee.
Everybody was asking
everybody else, “Who is this contractor Lau Chwee? Tan Sri Lim is looking for him.” Tan Sri Lim was furious; he had
pointed out a water leakage problem at one of the sites and it had yet to be
rectified after a whole week.
But he was not looking for a contractor named Mr Lau Chwee. He was
saying that the place was 漏水 (lau chwee),
or had ‘water leaking through’!
Oops, maybe?
All our architects, engineers and surveyors were a very qualified lot,
but each time a plan was submitted to the Old Man, I noticed that he would for
sure show some disapproval; few drawings survived without the need for
amendments. This tendency of his did cause anxiety and uncertainty. I also
observed that he did not bother to refer to the plans when he himself directed
work at site, which he often did on Sundays.
Something did not look quite right to me; his
dismissal appeared too sweeping. Maybe he didn’t really know how to read
technical drawings? My team was asked to suggest how
a parcel of a hillock had to be cut. That should be a fairly simple do;
nonetheless, I asked for four sets of drawings to be prepared, with minor
variations (in contours and colours). True enough, the Old Man expressed ‘concern’
over the first drawing.
“Never mind, Tan Sri, maybe you can take a look at
the second proposal?” I asked.
Turning to the second
drawing, he immediately said it was better. I asked him if he would like to see
more. He signed on the third drawing! Onsite, none of the drawings were used
when we did the actual cutting. And yes, I found a way to handle the Old Man!
What, the Old Man Wants to Change the Provincial
Boundary?
I had a dream. I dreamt I
worked for a company called Above-the-Clouds Berhad in
a country called Bumiland…
* * *
The company was founded by a great entrepreneur
Tan Sri Lin.
Above-the-Clouds owned a hill resort that went by the same name.
“What, the Old Man wants to change the provincial
boundary?”
This was
CH’s reaction when I told him that Tan Sri Lin wanted us to realign the
boundary of some of the lots in the Above-the-Clouds resort to make them more
efficient in terms of land utilisation. CH was the in-house architect, and I
was the development manager of the company developing the
Above-the-Clouds resort, the most popular holiday destination in the country.
Tan Sri
Lin originally had some 15,000 acres of land straddling two provinces in
Bumiland—Gnahap and Langoser—alienated to him. He had to favour some friends
and associates, but the bulk of the land, about 12,000 acres, still remained
with Above-the-Clouds and its related companies, of which about 80 percent was
in Gnahap, and the rest in Langoser.
In some
parts of the country, watersheds determine provincial boundaries. This was
apparently true in the case of the Above-the-Clouds resort, that sat smack on
the Central Range of Bumiland. Looking in the northerly direction, you have
Langoser if the rainwater flows westwards; otherwise, it is part of Gnahap.
The
flagship hotel actually sat on two provinces. But both the provincial
governments were very accommodating; they even formed a joint committee to
administer the Above-the-Clouds resort. With the type of building by-laws we
had in Bumiland, any building had to be hundreds of feet away from provincial
boundaries. That meant that in the case of the Above-the-Clouds resort, you
could only build in the ravines in most stretches.
Tan Sri
Lin knew every square inch of the Above-the-Clouds resort. He had a vision of
transforming the resort into a few thriving townships, one of which would of
course be named after him. The ridges had to be flattened!
The telephone rang. It was
the Old Man. We trooped into the meeting room equipped with many copies of the
contour map of the resort. The inborn surveyor in Tan Sri Lin reached out for his favourite pencil—a
hexagonal or octagonal rarity that was red on the one end and blue on the
other—and began to draw a new provincial boundary…
The result looked very fair
– and a little here to benefit Langoser, and a little there to please Gnahap,
all very equitably apportioned. Neither Gnahap nor Langoser seemed
shortchanged. But he
did not realise that he was drawing a new provincial boundary…
You had
to take Tan Sri Lin seriously.
When he was drawing those lines, you could feel the intensity of his chi.
This concentrated energy could melt all the reservations. You actually believed
it could be done!
Tan Sri Lin did not wait for the drawings. The
in-house draughtsman took too long to do even a simple thing like this. A day or so later, Captain
Lin’s[2] army of earthmovers and dump trucks began to
storm the border. The commander was Tan
Sri Lin himself.
* * *
My dream
did not last long enough. Or maybe I couldn’t remember the ending. I am not
sure if the provincial boundary had in fact been violated. But come to think of
it, after the ridges had been flattened, how could you tell where the
watersheds were? There was no GPS those days.
Not
everybody has the opportunity to contemplate changing provincial boundaries.
You have to be someone in Tan Sri
Lin’s class to do that. He is indeed an extraordinary man. He makes the
impossible happen. Even if you were afforded Tan Sri Lin’s opportunity, would
you be able to do what Tan Sri Lin had done?
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