more times. He handed his executives the report and told them to read it
and answer his question by the time they landed in Germany.
But the “vague” conclusion the executives came up with—that the
education, mindset, and attitude of Samsung employees were lacking—
didn’t satisfy Chairman Lee.
In his hotel room in Frankfurt, the chairman next watched the secret
surveillance tape made by his in-house investigative reporters.
What he saw appalled him. The doors of washing machines were so
poorly manufactured that they scratched against the mold when shut.
Instead of restructuring their assembly-line processes to reduce errors, the
engineers chose quick fixes, such as shaving off the excess plastic with a
utility knife. How had things come to such a pass?
He called Samsung executives in Seoul and yelled at them for an hour,
demanding that his call be recorded and distributed within the executive
group.
“What have you been doing all this time?” he shouted at them. “How
little you have changed, despite my repeated emphasis on quality
management. From now on, I will be in charge.”
Samsung would replay recordings of the chairman’s voice for years in
company buildings, as a continuing reminder of the mandate of every
Samsung employee.
Next the livid chairman ordered two hundred of Samsung’s executives
in Seoul to fly to Frankfurt for an impromptu management session
immediately.
—
ON APRIL 29, 2016, I visited the chairman’s presidential suite at the
Kempinski Hotel Frankfurt Gravenbruch—room 312. It was a majestic
duplex, furnished with a Samsung television, overlooking a pond near
Frankfurt. Over the years, it had become the closest thing to a holy site for
Samsung. The chairman chose the hotel for a reason—Frankfurt for its
industry, and the Kempinski for its quietude. With fresh air and forests
nearby, it was a refuge for self-reflection.
“Samsung sent a film team here a few years ago, to make a
documentary,” my hotel guide told me on my tour. Samsung’s executives, I
later learned, returned occasionally for pilgrimages.