It was 5:30 on a typical Wednesday afternoon and I was in my office preparing for the hour-long commute home, when suddenly the phone rang.
        "Hello. English Advisor?"
        "That's me. Who am I talking to?"
        "That's not important. You've got a job to do. I'll be there in five minutes."
        Click! The phone went dead.
        Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at my door and a vaguely-familiar shadowy figure carrying an innocent-looking envelope entered and made himself comfortable.
        "Is that it?"
        "Yeah. Twenty-five pages of pure Konglish. You're the only one that can help."
        "All right." I made some quick mental calculations. The bus ride, a quick snack instead of dinner, a few hours of sleep, another bus ride the next day, no lunch. "I'll have it for you this time tomorrow."
        "That's not soon enough. It's only twenty-five pages, and it's English--that's your native language, you know."
        "When do you need it?"
        "I was told not to leave this office without it.
        I knew the situation called for drastic action. I took a key out of my pocket, unlocked my desk drawer, and took out the secret weapon. It looked like any other red ball-point pen, but...
        Zap! A few seconds later, I was handing over the stack of corrected papers.
        "Here you go. Perfect English."
        "Thanks. You're the best."
        "Remember, same as always. Not a word to anyone."
        The shadowy figure nodded and walked out the door, but I knew we'd meet again--and soon.
        I got up and headed for the door. If I hurried, I could still miss the rush hour traffic.
        Ring! Ring! The phone again. Should I just ignore it? My sense of duty won out.
        "A quick job. Nothing to it. Just five pages."
        "All right." First thing tomorrow..."
        "Now. Please!"
        I thought about the bus, dinner, my wife. There was no other choice. I picked up the red pen and pointed it into the receiver.
        "OK. Put the papers on the desk next to the phone, and then stand back a few feet."
        Zap!

        Too bad. It was just a daydream. The truth is that reading and making corections in twenty-five pages of English written by a non-native speaker requires many hours of hard work, even for someone with four years of experience. (Has it really been four years?)
        Well, I'd better stop daydreaming and get to the real point of this article. I've been asked to comment on the contents of The Hong Ik Tidings.
        First, there are some questions that need to be answered: What is the purpose of this paper? Who reads it? Why is it so difficult to get contributions?
        The university's catalogue says that The Tidings "improves English education at the university and plays a role fr its publicity at home and abroad."
        According to the lead article on the front page of the very first issue of The Tidings, the paper "should be interesting...it must be able to turn on the readers.... Only when we successfully grasp the interest on the part of the readers, can we expect their positive participation. If so, we will not have to beg column contributions from reluctant readers."
        The reporters tell me that every month they have to beg column contributions. Very few letters are received. Students tell me that they know about The Tidings, but almost none--even English majors--tell me that they read it regularly. Some people I know have even gone so far as to imply that they are "turned off" by it. Why?
        I believe in freedom of the press. I believe that a university is a proper place to discuss political issues. But does nearly every article have to be politically-oriented? I am interested in current events, but I have learned very little new about the Korean political situation from reading these articles. Generally, they repeat, or simply translate, information available from many other sources--in both Korean and English.
        A few years ago, I used to send copies of The Tidings to my family in Ohio. They passed them around and honestly enjoyed reading news about the university, students' essays, articles about Korean culture, interviews, etc. More recently, I showed some of them a copy of the current issue: "Boring!" Judging by our readership, it seems that Koreans feel the same way.
        One more question: How well has The Hong Ik Tidings lived up to its original statement of purpose?

        And one more daydream:
        It was just thirty minutes before the deadline to submit the articles for the next issue of the paper. The reporters were gathered together in the small office with the curtains drawn.
        The editor checked the hallway one more time, and then locked the door. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked a metal cabinet, and took out a typewriter that looked like any other typewriter.
        "OK. Line up and put the blank papers in one at a time."
        Zap! Zap! Zap! The papers rolled through the old machine.
        "The readers will love this."
        "They always do."