A WELL-OILED LITTLE COGWHEEL

World events dominated even the tepid headlines of our local press: Eisenhower elected President (a general! in a democracy!). Stalin dead. Hillary and Tenzing conquer Everest. The end of the Korean War.

That last piece of news did not bode well for Japan. American procurements were bound to drop off if the peace held. But not to worry: Japanese industry was working hard to find new markets, and with increasing success. The range of products was growing steadily: chinaware, transistor radios, all kinds of textile goods, steel sheets, accessories for cars, bicycles, light motorcycles. The reconstruction of the country was in full swing, it was a national project, centrally led, and pursued with religious zeal. The workforce was constantly reminded of the need for single-minded commitment to Japan's complete economic reconstruction. Personal comfort and immoderate pay raises must be postponed. Industrial growth came first.

The nation obeyed. The hours people made in this country! Nobody took any holidays. Middle and senior management found some escape in company-sponsored golf or nights out on the town, to entertain customers or bureaucrats, but taking time off with the family was all but impossible. Even our Japanese staff forwent their holidays, though our rules of employment entitled them to at least a week or two each year. Coming to think of it, we Dutch staff did not get any holidays either, but we had our home leaves to look forward to, a half year of leisure after six years of uninterrupted Asian duty.

The diligence and enthusiasm of our Japanese staff was contagious. Mr. Waimatsu, known among the Dutch staff as Big W, was our most senior Japanese employee. He never flagged in his attacks on the bundles of export documents that were delivered every day from our Japanese client-banks. He checked what came in, decided who did what, kept an eye on the dock to ensure productivity, double-checked the output, authorised payments, handled complaints, approved telegrams, letters, guarantees.

Our Osaka office — a tiny sub-branch located in a comer of the marble-clad banking hall of a major branch of the Bank of Osaka (formerly: Sumitomo Bank) — had been picking up a lot of new business lately. The volume of export bills and import L/Cs reaching this ignominious little outpost was staggering. No wonder it was bursting at the seams.