IN SOUTH Korean politics the word "conservative" tends to denote those wishing to preserve the economic philosophy of the go-go 1970s and 80s. Small-"c" conservatism and a love of tradition do not usually feature: this is a country keen to escape a painful past. Pity then Yi Seok, a man who paid a higher price than many for modern South Korea. Mr Yi is a scion of the Jeonju Yi family, which ruled Korea from 1392-1910 (they were kept on as puppet quasi-royals by the invading Japanese after that). A palace-born grandson of Gojong, the country's penultimalte monarch, he is considered the Yi household's rightful successor by many. Had the 20th century, with its colonialism, war and division of Korea, not happened, Yi Seok may well have been King of Korea. Instead, Mr Yi and his family had to make a living. For his mother, Lady Yang, this meant selling noodles at the local market. For him, it meant singing to American officers at the swanky Walkerhill Hotel, where he performed alongside stars like Louis Armstrong (“I thought he was in his room practising, but when he came out he had powder on his hands,” he told The Economist) but earned a distinctly un-princely 8,000 won per month. He was later drafted into the Vietnam War. “History was gone. And in Vietnam there was no future, only the present. I just went there to die,” he says. A shoulder injury saw him invalided-out after a year and a half. He took up singing again, even having this modest hit. But the good times did not last. Having been allowed to live in one of the old imperial palaces throughout the 1970s, he and his four brothers were ordered out at gunpoint in December 1979 by troops loyal to General Chun Doo-hwan, who had just staged a coup.

After emigrating to America—first as an illegal immigrant and later, through marriage, as a legal one—he took a number of odd jobs including house painting and pool cleaning. He later became the proud owner of a liquor store in Inglewood, California, which was held up by gunmen 13 times. Following another return to Korea in 1989 he suffered a car crash, emerging from a coma after 12 days. “I just laughed and laughed, because life was so empty. The doctor thought I was crazy.”

Penniless and lost, Mr Yi spent much of the 1990s as a drifter, staying in monasteries. Buddhism, he says, helped him detach himself from his troubles. Finally the city of Jeonju, the historic hometown of the Yi clan, awarded him a house, where he lives to this day as a human tourist attraction. Lecturing on Korean history also keeps him busy.

Mr Yi's home is in the Hanok Village area of town. Though most Koreans live in apartments, Hanoks (traditional Korean houses) are currently the subject of renewed attention, alongside other aspects of ancient national culture. This history-averse country looks to be finally ready to take the occasional proud, nostalgic glance over its shoulder. A recent TV series, "The King: Two Hearts" imagines what modern Korea would be like if it had a monarchy.

72-year-old Yi Seok's chances of becoming a symbolic, restored king of Korea seem small. But at least the ending of this turbulent, 20th-century life should be a happy one.