Wong Kim Hoh meets...... (Sunday Times Interview Series)

If you are born rich and stay rich all your life, i doubt you know the meaning of what is "poor".

Very inspiring! From a bad boy and a dropout to earning a 5-figure salary as a chef and then starting and running his own business. Hats off to him for his resilience and cheers to his continued success!

The Straits Times
www.straitstimes.com
Published on Apr 07, 2013
Wong Kim Hoh meets... Edwin Tan
No more rebel, now he dreams of sushi
Fatherhood - and the food industry - ended Yoyogi owner's gangster days

Edwin Tan was a regular presence on the stage of Mei Chin Secondary School when he was 13 years old.

A young thespian treading the boards? Not quite. He was getting his buttocks whipped.

"Public canings took place on Fridays, and I was always one of those getting disciplined. I was so notorious that if there was a public caning and I was not involved, the whole school would clap," recalls the former hooligan whose trespasses ran the gamut from bullying to fighting and extortion.

He was a hellraiser outside school too. A secret society member from the time he was 12, he regularly took part in gang clashes. Once, he was set upon by three men who stamped on his right hand, fracturing three fingers and breaking his tendons and knuckles. He needed surgery to insert a metal plate and four screws, which were removed only several years later.

When he dropped out after Secondary 3, nobody - not even his long-suffering parents - expected him to amount to much.

But today, Mr Tan, 43, is a popular sushi chef and owner of Yoyogi, a Japanese restaurant with an annual turnover of $2.5 million.

Formerly located in Mohamed Sultan Road, the eatery - which counts politicians and professionals among its patrons - moved to spanking new premises at The Grandstand (formerly Turf City) three months ago. It has a 20-seater sushi bar and a cellar stocking more than 100 varieties of sake.

"It's been a long journey but I went from being a big bully and hooligan to a proper businessman. In life, it does not matter whether you're educated or not. What's important is your willingness to learn and desire to achieve," he says.

Chatty and personable, he jokes that his wayward phase should not surprise, given the environment he grew up in.

"You can expect a lot of scholars from Bukit Timah, but Bukit Merah?" he asks. His neighbourhood was a notorious haunt of gangsters.

The second of three children whose parents sold prawn noodles and laksa at Everton Park, the young Edwin joined a gang when he was a Primary 6 pupil in Keng Seng Primary School, Alexandra Road.

The catalyst was an incident when he was beaten up by nearly 20 schoolmates.

"I was a cocky kid and I think I yelled at one of them. So they waited for me after school and beat me up when I was walking home. The trip home usually took me 10 minutes but I was in such pain that it took me more than an hour that day. My white socks and school shoes were soaked in blood by the time I got home," he recalls.

For an amulet against bullies, he turned to the gangsters who often hung around basketball courts and coffee shops in search of recruits. He took to being a ruffian like a duck to water, and became a serial extortionist, fighter and all-round trouble-maker.

"Nobody dared to look me in the eye, nobody dared to run when I shouted at them. I could go up to people and give them a slap on the face and ask them why they were like this or that. It was much better than being a prefect," he says with a sheepish grin.

By the time he was 13 and at Mei Chin Secondary, he had his own gang called Land Hawk. There were nearly 80 members, all recruited from his school.

"I was the lao da," he says, using the Mandarin phrase for ringleader. "When we played truant to go to the East Coast to smoke and chill, there were enough of us to fill up a whole bus."

The rebelliousness was fuelled partly by anger, he says.

"Maybe I had the middle-child syndrome but I felt that my mother loved my younger brother more, while my father doted on my sister," he says.

Beltings and other forms of physical punishment by his late father failed to set him on the straight and narrow.

"I was very angry with him then but now I understand why he did what he did. There was nothing he could do to control me. Once he was so incensed that he threw a stool at my head. My mother, who is timid, just cried all the time."

His chronic truancy - he would skip school once he had his attendance marked in the morning - caught up with him when he was in Secondary 3.

"One day, the discipline master called up and told my dad that he was giving me one last chance. He said I could remain in school on one condition: I had to wash the school toilets every Saturday. I told my father I was not going to do it," he recalls.

Job options for a dropout were limited so he became a storeman for retailer Homestead, earning less than $300 a month. After a year, he became an apprentice for a ceiling panel company.

"I earned $18 a day but often didn't turn up for work because I couldn't wake up at 8.30am," he says with a laugh.

He was a lot more serious about his gang activities, often taking part in clashes involving batons, fruit knives and an assortment of other weapons.

A particularly memorable one, he says, took place in Bukit Merah View when he was 15.

"About 100 people were involved. When the police task force arrived, I ran barefoot all the way from Bukit Merah View to Leng Kee Road. I was so scared that I would be caught that I peed in my pants," he says. "I was also afraid that the police would come to my home so I hid in a rubbish chute in Leng Kee Road for more than six hours."

His entry into the food industry was serendipitous.

"I used to hang around Liang Court a lot and there was a sushi counter where the chef would display freshly sliced sashimi in a sashimi boat. I knew nothing about sushi but I thought it looked interesting," he says.

So he started work, first as a waiter and later, a kitchen help, in a company which ran several Japanese restaurants in the River Valley Road shopping complex.

"I enjoyed the work because there were a lot of waitresses for me to ogle," he says cheekily.

He married one in 1989 when he was 19, three months before he started his national service with the Singapore Civil Defence Force.

Marriage and impending fatherhood forced him to finally take stock of his life.

"Before that, I never stopped to think about whether what I was doing was right or wrong. But I realised I could not be irresponsible. I had to make sure I could afford milk powder when the children came," says Mr Tan, who has three daughters, aged between 18 and 23.

After clocking off from a day's work as a firefighter at Alexandra Fire Station, he would pull nights as a part-time kitchen help.

"Sometimes, I would also work as a shipyard forklift driver from midnight to 6am. And on weekends, I could make $80 a day as a trishaw rider ferrying Japanese tourists around," he says.

After his national service, he became an assistant to the sushi chef at the Japanese restaurant in Pine Tree Club.

By then, he decided there was a future for him in the trade. He resolved to learn as much as he could, not just cooking and food preparation, but also kitchen management and customer relations.

"I told myself I could not be lazy. When I was free, I'd go into the kitchen, write down recipes and learn from colleagues how to prepare dishes.

"I also learnt how to be a better sushi chef, how to serve and entertain customers. My English and my conversation skills improved from daily interaction with customers."

His efforts did not go unnoticed. Two and a half years later, an investor poached him - with better pay and the promise of profit-sharing - to set up and run a sushi restaurant in Bugis Junction.

The eatery did well but the profit-sharing did not materialise. So when his old employer at the club asked him to go back as executive chef, he leapt at the offer.

"It was a big jump for me. I really learnt a lot about managing people when I went back, I had more than 20 staff working with me."

The young man obviously did a good job as he was next headhunted to become executive chef at the Japanese restaurant in Copthorne Harbour View (now M Hotel).

He was paid $8,000 to oversee the restaurant which had 50 staff, two teppanyaki counters, one robatayaki counter, one sushi counter and one hot kitchen.

"The big kitchen was a real luxury, it allowed me to refine my palate and do a lot of experimenting," he says. "But more importantly, when you work in a big hotel, you get to interact with other chefs, including Chinese and Western ones."

At chef meetings, he was exposed to products not usually used in Japanese cuisine like foie gras and truffle.

"But I found that egg custard tasted great when a little foie gras was added," he says.

During his three years there, his salary crossed the five-figure mark. But his marriage broke down, and he got divorced in 2000. He has custody of his daughters and remains cordial with his former wife.

In 2004, he decided it was time to do something for himself. He rounded up three partners to set up Yoyogi in Mohamed Sultan Road with $160,000 - half of it his own savings.

Renovations for the 45-seater cost $60,000 and he tried to save on costs by buying mostly second-hand equipment.

The restaurant broke even in five months. Suppliers rallied to give him good credit; old customers turned up to support him.

"In my first month, one of my customers told me cash flow was very important for my business. So he gave me $10,000 and told me, 'Every time I come and eat, you just deduct from that amount.'"

Patrons helped him in other ways.

"Some would criticise but I didn't mind because they were helping me by being honest. Others took me to eat at other restaurants to expose me to different ways of doing things.

"I also watched a lot of cooking shows on TV; I never missed an episode of Iron Chef," he says, referring to the famous Japanese cooking show.

Business grew between 15 and 20 per cent every year, and in 2006 he opened a robatayaki restaurant across the road from Yoyogi. He sold it more than two years later.

"My health was not that great, and I had to run between the two restaurants. On a Friday night, I would have 120 customers at the two restaurants. Can you imagine what would happen if everyone wanted you to drink?"

Yoyogi moved to The Grandstand in January this year. Mr Tan - who has made some shrewd investments over the years - is the sole owner, and invested $700,000 in equipment, crockery and cutlery as well as renovations.

His monthly turnover is considerably more than at the old place.

Ms Joan Lim, 38, director of Japanese food trading Yoshiya, has known the restaurateur for nearly 15 years.

"He has changed so much. He was young and a bit blunt when I first met him but now he sets targets for himself, he has a vision. He is focused, and a lot more open."

"I'm contented," says Mr Tan, who has a share in a food consultancy business in Jakarta and plans to open a Japanese restaurant in Bangkok next year.

Last December, he married Ms Jacqueline Goh, his "right-hand woman" at the restaurant, after a courtship of 10 years. His daughters are doing well, the eldest is an outdoor adventure instructor and the younger two are studying business at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology and Singapore Polytechnic respectively.

Together with his 71-year-old mother, they live in a four-room Housing Board flat in Tanglin Halt.

"My only regret is that I didn't manage to take very good care of my father when he was still around. But I promised him I would take very good care of my mother," says the chef, whose father passed away more than 10 years ago.

So far, he has not crossed paths with the ruffians of his youth.

What would happen if one came into his restaurant?

"Well, then, I'd treat him like a very good customer."

kimhoh@sph.com.sg

Great food. Used to makan at yo yogi a fair bit at old place. Will go support the new one at turf city soon!

This is not a story of success despite tough environment. He WAS the problem. He was not even from a broken family. His late father was righteous enough to impose discipline, but he did not made good.

After reading the article, my thoughts are with the people whom was bullied, shouted, slapped and terrorised by him, victims of his extortions etc

Quote: ....."My only regret is that I didn't manage to take very good care of my father when he was still around....."
But imho, he owed all his victims an apology, the sense of remose is sorely lacking.

Only a society which worship money will applause his current "success".
I would ranked someone who earn less but has always been a good member of the society, above him.

(07-04-2013, 03:49 PM)wsreader Wrote: This is not a story of success despite tough environment. He WAS the problem. He was not even from a broken family. His late father was righteous enough to impose discipline, but he did not made good.

After reading the article, my thoughts are with the people whom was bullied, shouted, slapped and terrorised by him, victims of his extortions etc

Quote: ....."My only regret is that I didn't manage to take very good care of my father when he was still around....."
But imho, he owed all his victims an apology, the sense of remose is sorely lacking.

Only a society which worship money will applause his current "success".
I would ranked someone who earn less but has always been a good member of the society, above him.

I think if we really want to know the truth, (about regret & remorse being a bad boy) we should go and ask him directly. May be he does???
Besides, he had his just dessert of injuries too for being a bad boy.

there is a "ediwn" in all of us at some stage of our lives.
we may resort to all sorts of rebellious act - fighting, smoking ,etc to get attention from our loved ones.

we were "angry" with them and ourselves. We could not understand why then and rough it out the hard way to understand.

Along the way, I believe God came in to interfere and guide us back the right path if we bother to listen , to slow down and reflect.

We must learn to forgive others as well as ourselves so that our heart remains open for bigger things that God has created for us........

Good story of hardwork, responsibility, focus, desire for success and learning. I believe everyone has a talent. He sharpened his via perservance, thirst for doing better and lots of good relationship with his customers and previous bosses (minus the one that did not keep his word of profit sharing).

An RI boy who made his fortune in logistics/freight forwarding!

The Straits Times
www.straitstimes.com
Published on Apr 14, 2013
Wong Kim Hoh meets... Rajoo Amurdalingam
Life lessons from a hooligan's game
Freight-forwarding towkay picked up his never-say-die attitude playing rugby

Mr Rajoo Amurdalingam first set foot on a rugby pitch as a 14-year-old student at Raffles Institution.

It became his second home, and the sport changed his life. He learnt more than just how to crouch, touch, pause and engage; he learnt how to to give it his all and how to pick himself up after a fall.

Rugby taught him all about camaraderie. It exposed him to highs and lows and tested his limits, both physical and mental. It bruised and humbled him, but also charged him up and made him feel tall.

The discipline and the training on the pitch have served him well in life. He survived some hard tackles, and pushed through a few scrums to found and build The National Forwarder, a freight-forwarding business which employs more than 60 people and has a turnover of $20 million a year.

"One of the things we learnt in rugby is to take defeat graciously, and to win with humility," says Mr Rajoo, now 51.

The amiable entrepreneur is the youngest of five children of a port foreman and his homemaker wife.

His late father, he says, came to Singapore as a 14-year-old, and ended up at the port in Tanjong Pagar, where he worked his way up from coolie to foreman.

"He was illiterate but he picked up English from the ship captains," he says.

The family lived in the quarters for port workers in Tanjong Pagar. "There was no living room, just one bedroom, and one room where we ate, studied and slept," he recalls.

The area was not exactly genteel. It was rife with bad hats and he remembers many a ganja smoker puffing away at the void decks.

"A few sets of parents, including mine, took it upon themselves to make sure that we children did not fall into bad company," he says.

"I actually had a lot of friends who were gangsters but they knew I could study, so they would always tell me not to join them but to go and hit the books," he says, with a laugh.

Although his parents kept their financial struggles to themselves, the children knew life was not easy.

"All of us had just one pair of shoes and one uniform to last us through the year. I was the youngest, so all my schoolbooks were passed down from my siblings," he says, adding that his eldest brother had to stop school after his O levels to help with the family income.

Fortunately, young Rajoo was a self-starter. He was head prefect and consistently topped his class at the now defunct Peck Seah Primary School.

"My teachers were always urging us to study hard so that we could go to Raffles Institution and I was fortunate enough to end up there," he says.

"It was only after I went there that I realised the school had produced all these ministers, scholars and fantastic sportsmen. But the great thing was, my classmates came from all walks of life. I had friends whose fathers were peons and hawkers," he says.

The boys from his year include Education Minister Heng Swee Keat and A*Star chairman Lim Chuan Poh.

He took up rugby when he was in Secondary 2.

While the game gave him a few injuries, it also left the flanker a treasure trove of experiences and memories, one of which was playing in the last Kiwi Cup in 1978. The annual clash - a tradition between RI and St Andrew's School - was discontinued when the two schools could not agree on fielding junior college players. It was revived only in 2008, after an absence of 30 years.

Mr Rajoo's love affair with "the hooligan's game played by gentlemen" continues to this day. He plays touch rugby every Sunday and is the president of the Raffles Rugby Union, set up to continue RI's dominance in the sport.

He left school after completing his A levels.

"If I had studied a bit harder, I would have gone to university. I could also have attempted to resit my exams, but I wanted to start working," he says.

His first job after national service was as a delivery clerk for a local freight-forwarding company in Changi's cargo complex.

Commuting to and from work was a tedious affair, each journey taking two hours and three buses.

"My mother could not understand why I had to struggle to get to work every day instead of getting a job nearer to home," he says.

But Mr Rajoo - who started out doing declaration permits and making deliveries - enjoyed his work.

"What inspired me were my supervisors. I guess they wanted to find out what this boy could do, so every day, they would pick on my mistakes. But it spurred me. I told myself, 'Wah, I got whacked today but tomorrow I will go back and learn some more.'

"The rugby training helped. That's how our coaches trained us - just tekan and tekan," he says, using the Malay word for applying pressure. "But you have to get up and keep going."

His superiors were won over quickly by the young man's fleet-footedness. He got the hang of more complex responsibilities, like costings, very quickly.

"One of the great things about working for a small company is that you get to learn everything."

By the time he left the company three years later, he had mastered the industry's notoriously complex paperwork.

"I understood the chain of action, where something originates and where it finishes. That's what logistics is all about," he says.

Two more stints with different freight-forwarding companies followed before he struck out on his own with two friends from RI. He was then all of 28.

"I had chalked up six years in the industry by then. I told myself that if I could serve customers the way I wanted to, I could be making my own money."

They started the company with $100,000.

"It was big money in those days. You wouldn't believe it, but I actually got the money from a customer I had been serving for several years. He just gave it to me and said, 'You go and start out on your own.'"

He adds: "Even if I hadn't been given that money, I would have gone to my cousins and other family members to borrow it. I was very confident of paying them back, and quickly too."

The trio decided to carve a niche for themselves by specialising in marine logistics, transporting ship spares, oil well spares and cargo for the marine industry.

"I had noticed that demand in the marine industry was immense. People wanted things yesterday but not many freight companies were ready to do round-the-clock work to cater to them. They also didn't have the right staff to do this, staff who were empowered to make their own decisions and who were independent operators."

The company flourished. In five years, annual turnover hit more than $5 million.

He was, he says with a laugh, a young towkay, one who could afford to buy a terrace house in the West Coast and drive a fancy car.

But problems soon cropped up between him and his partners.

"We had differences," he says simply, reluctant to go into details.

The situation became so bad that he decided to walk out after 10 years in 1998, at the height of the Asian financial crisis.

The split, he says, still leaves him a little sad.

"All of us were good friends. One of them was my best man, and I was the best man of the other one," says Mr Rajoo, who got married when he was 26. He and his wife Sharmala - who works with him - have four children aged between 17 and 25.

"If we had all sat down and spoken about it, things could have been salvaged. I'm not saying I'm an angel; I have my flaws as well but..." he says, trailing off with a sigh. "But that's life. Sometimes things don't turn out the way we want them to."

Several of his staff walked out with him, even though they had no idea where he was heading.

"I never felt I was going to collapse. I just told myself I could crawl back up," he says.

And he did, although it was not easy.

With four young children, debts and a mortgage, he had no choice but to sell off his house in the West Coast and his Audi.

He moved his mother and family into a rented apartment and cobbled together $100,000 by borrowing from friends and relatives to start The National Forwarder.

Given an old car by a friend, he remembers once driving up to a petrol kiosk debating whether he should pump in just $20 or $50 worth of petrol.

"It is very easy to get cash-strapped in this business. Every time you move a shipment with an airline, you've got to pay within 30 days. If you don't pay, you don't get the space," he says.

Business was sluggish because of the crisis.

"My staff's salary was my top priority. I could not let them down," says Mr Rajoo, who went without a salary for six months.

His experience and his persistence helped him ride the shaky start.

"We just kept at it, aggressively marketing and taking care of our customers. Then the referrals came," he says, adding that the business turned around in its fifth year.

The company started out with five employees and two lorries from a small unit in Changi's cargo complex. Today, it occupies six units in Changi, has a 20,000 sq ft warehouse in Penjuru, employs 60 workers and owns a fleet of 12 trucks.

Along the way, it chalked up some pretty nifty achievements.

In 2006, it set an industry record by air-freighting quite possibly the world's heaviest item of cargo - a 19.8m-long and 32,000-tonne shaft used for deep sea drilling - from Singapore to Germany on a commercial carrier.

And in 2008, it freighted the longest item, an oil rig slip joint measuring 23.2m to India, also on a commercial carrier.

Asked if he harbours hopes of one day listing his company, Mr Rajoo replies: "No, I can't list because I like to give. I like to do things which give me satisfaction, and when you're listed, you can't do as you please."

Indeed, he has been making regular five-figure donations to various charities since 2004 - from Sinda to the Down Syndrome Association of Singapore and Singapore Children's Society.

He has also been known to hire underprivileged individuals as well as youths with a past.

Mr Danny Lee, 42, has known the entrepreneur for more than 20 years. Now deputy director of student and alumni affairs at Temasek Polytechnic, he used to work as a sales executive for Mr Rajoo.

Mr Lee says: "He's just a really good human being. Sometimes what he does makes no business sense. We've asked him why he keeps giving opportunities to people who do not always appreciate them. But he just does.

"But in the larger scheme of things, perhaps someone up there thinks he is doing a good job because his business is flourishing. He is doing well by doing good."

kimhoh@sph.com.sg

She's been through a lot of struggle just to be where she is today, hats off to her! It takes guts, grit and perserverence. Ditto for her personal life as well - can't be easy with all those IVF!

The Straits Times
www.straitstimes.com
Published on Apr 21, 2013
WONG KIM HOH MEETS... DIANA PHEE
Gunning for the next big sale
Don't mess around with the boss of Caesar's, a replica weaponry business

Diana Phee is petite and fair, with big doe eyes, long silky tresses and a soft, mellifluous voice.

Her demure demeanour is at odds with her occupation which is decidedly macho and aggressive: She runs a business peddling replica armours, swords and guns.

And the former cosmetics salesgirl, 37, is doing a pretty good job too. Caesar's - which her brother set up in 2000 and which specialises in collectible weaponry - was haemorrhaging and on the brink of collapse until she joined the business and took charge 10 years ago. Today, it has two shops, customers from all over the globe, and an annual turnover of more than $1 million.

This is not Ms Phee's first stab at a male-dominated industry. Prior to Caesar's, she traversed different time zones for several years negotiating deals and contracts for a manufacturer and supplier of electronic components.

"I've been working since I was 14. Including part-time work, I've probably held about 30 different kinds of jobs so nothing fazes me," says the mother of twin boys, aged 16 months.

The second of three children and the only daughter of a taxi driver and part-time seamstress, Ms Phee grew up in a three-room Ang Mo Kio Housing Board flat.

Her father's income afforded his children no indulgences so she started working part-time at 14 to earn extra pocket money.

"I worked weekends at Sunny Bookshop in Far East Plaza," she says, referring to the famous second hand bookstore which is now located in Plaza Singapura. "I'd get $16 for 10 hours of work."

The 30-month stint, she says, was invaluable.

"Although I was very young, I was entrusted to run the shop and handle the cash flow. I also learnt a lot from the owner," she says. "She knew what her customers read and would recommend books based on their preferences. It was a very personalised service, and I realised then if you put some thought into the needs of your customers, they would come back."

The former student of Da Qiao Primary and Anderson Secondary worked through her teens.

"Every school holiday, when other students were making plans to travel, I'd be panicking, trying to look for jobs," says Ms Phee.

"I've stood in HDB blocks counting the number of vehicles going into the Central Business District before ERP (Electronic Road Pricing) was introduced, I've made sales calls for property agents, I've worked in banks and insurance companies."

Ms Phee paid her own way for a business diploma at Temasek Polytechnic by giving tuition and working three days a week as a salesgirl for Japanese cosmetic company Shu Uemura.

"I would dress appropriately and rush to work after classes, from 3pm to 10pm," she recalls.

Juggling work with studies, she readily admits, was not easy.

"My grades when I was at the polytechnic were terrible," she says with embarrassment.

But it exposed her to different life experiences and gave her a level of maturity far beyond her years.

When she was 17, she sued a property company.

"I worked for them for three months, but they didn't pay me and owed me about $3,000. I reported them to the Ministry of Manpower, and I won but they didn't pay up. I was very disappointed but I didn't have the money to take the case further," she says.

Ms Phee got her diploma in 1996.

"Probably because I have worked so much, I realised that a poly diploma was not enough if I wanted to do well in life," she says.

So she applied to study international business at the University of Western Australia.

Before leaving for Perth, she held down two jobs - one at Shu Uemura and another at an interior design company - for six months, working seven days a week.

She left for Perth in 1996 with about $10,000 in savings. By scrimping and with some help from her parents who came into some money after selling their old flat and upgrading to a new one, she completed her degree in 1999.

"I decided I had to be disciplined; I didn't work at all. And I had the best results here, I aced almost all my subjects," she says with a quiet laugh.

Singapore, unfortunately, was reeling from the effects of the Asian financial crisis when she returned home.

"I sent out 80 to 90 applications, and got three interviews, two of which were for insurance sales," recalls Ms Phee who was not keen on the jobs she was offered.

To earn her keep, she became a store manager for Delifrance for half a year.

Ms Phee finally found a sales and marketing position with a company dealing in security systems.

"I was there for a year and a half but I learnt a lot. I had to make sales pitches to so many different companies, and I came into contact with a lot of big-shot decision makers - from owners of factories to senior executives of banks and listed companies," she says.

She must have acquitted herself quite well. One of her clients poached her to do international sales for a manufacturer and supplier of electronic components.

Although not electronically savvy, she took on the job.

"I had a crash course to learn about what I was selling, what a motherboard was, how the different components worked and came together. After that, I was on my own."

It was a daunting start for a young woman who was tasked to market the company's products in Taiwan and South Korea.

"A lot of electronic components are made in Taiwan so it was like selling ice to the Eskimos," she says.

She netted no sales in the first two months and was close to despairing when she finally closed a deal worth US$500,000 (S$618,000).

The next contract she signed was worth more than US$1 million.

"After that, things just fell into place," she says.

The trick to survival, she says, was to go the extra mile.

"I did my homework. I tried to go beyond knowing how a motherboard worked. I studied how the different parts were mounted, what they could do, what the trends were. I had to show that I could do more than pitch a number," she says.

Being a woman in a male-dominated field, she adds, had its advantages.

"You don't have to know a lot more, you just have to learn a bit more because their expectations of you are so much lower," she says candidly.

"But you cannot be a bimbo lah. Don't pretend to know things when you don't and don't laugh things off. If you don't know, just admit it and say you will find out."

However, she's also had some unsavoury experiences.

One took place in Seoul and involved three Korean businessman who were trying to get distribution rights to her company's products.

"We were in a hotel cafe and when I didn't sign the deal, they refused to let me leave."

She quelled the tide of panic rising inside her by banging on the table and shouting at them.

"I told them I was going to make a phone call to my company and that if they didn't let me leave, they would definitely not get the distribution rights."

Ms Phee rose quickly through the ranks in her company. By the second year, her portfolio had expanded and she was travelling regularly to the United States and China to work with manufacturers, distributors and technology companies on new products and designs.

The regional sales manager - one of five sales staff - was also responsible for more than 40 per cent of her company's total sales.

Although she was doing extremely well, she decided to throw in the towel after three years. The death of a close friend had a lot to do with her decision.

"He called me twice while I was travelling. I told him I could talk but he felt bad about imposing. Then one day, just before I went into a meeting, I got a phone call telling me he had died suddenly in his sleep.

"He was only 28. We used to celebrate our birthdays together but ever since he died, I stopped celebrating mine," says Ms Phee.

"I told myself there must be more to life than a good sales record. My parents were getting old and I didn't even have time to spend the money I earned."

After quitting, she took a six-month break from work. In 2003, her brother got her to help out at Caesar's which he had set up three years earlier.

After going through the books, she discovered the company was more than $40,000 in the red.

"There was no money in the bank account, the business could close any time," says Ms Phee.

She injected $30,000 of her savings into Caesar's, cleared the inventory, scaled down the operations and created a system.

"I kept the staff but closed one shop, reduced the size of the office and the warehouse and went without a salary for eight months," says Ms Phee.

She also set out to repair relationships with suppliers and manufacturers, which had been soured by bad debts.

"It was very painful but it had to be done," she adds.

To get a firm grasp of the replica weaponry business, she worked on the shop floor to talk to customers, went online to do research and started reading up on the products in trade and hobbyist magazines.

"When I first took over, the shop stocked mostly guns - mainly replicas of museum pieces - and some Japanese swords," she says.

She started to travel to trade fairs, mostly in the United States, to scour for more products.

Slowly, she began rebuilding the business. Today, Caesar's has two stores - one in Plaza Singapura and one in JCube - which stock replicas and miniature versions of armour, cannons, Japanese and Chinese swords and antique rifles and pistols. Some of the biggest sellers are limited editions of mediaeval weapons from movies such as The Lord Of The Rings and The Hobbit.

Her database of clients - who have to be 18 years old and above - now number more than 10,000. They run the gamut from hawkers to businessmen and international collectors who shell out princely sums for these pieces, some of which meet museum standards and take international artisans months to craft.

"I've just sold two replicas of Emperor Yongle's sword from the Ming Dynasty. They are crafted in China, and take more than four months to make. Each sword costs more than $20,000," says Ms Phee, who also stages exhibitions and organises talks and roadshows to promote her products.

Communications and process manager Sharon Tan, 37, has known her for more than 10 years.

"She is a very determined person. She literally built the business from scratch, which is not easy. She has a never-say-die attitude, she is never afraid to try new things."

Ms Phee - who is three months pregnant with her third child - says her derring-do comes in part from her attempts to start a family.

Married to a civil servant, she went through at least seven operations and very painful IVF treatments before she gave birth to her twins in 2011.

In fact, she not only lost a baby but also nearly lost her own life three years ago when she suffered an infection four months into her pregnancy.

"I lost 40 per cent of my blood. When you've been through something like that, your perspective changes.

"I used to be a control freak but I take more risks now. Nothing is too difficult."

kimhoh@sph.com.sg

Wow! really inspiring! Thank you for sharing Musicwhiz.

(21-04-2013, 09:49 AM)Musicwhiz Wrote: The trick to survival, she says, was to go the extra mile.
....
"She is a very determined person. She literally built the business from scratch, which is not easy. She has a never-say-die attitude, she is never afraid to try new things."

i'm currently reading "The Soy Sauce Towkay - The Story of Yeo Thian In, Founder of Yeo Hiap Seng Sauce Factory in Singapore". The common trait of these successful people is the willingness to go the extra mile and the never-say-die attitude... bravo!