From Downtown’s Manager to Yoshimoto Chairman—and Now a Principal: Hiroshi Osaki’s Final Place in Life

It was the older men who had nowhere to belong

At the beginning of “Ibasho.” (“A Place to Belong”), a book published by Sunmark Publishing in 2023 while Hiroshi Osaki (73) was still serving as chairman of Yoshimoto Kogyo, he wrote, “I hope it can help people who cannot find a place to belong or who are struggling with loneliness.”

The book chronicles his life, including his efforts to create a place to belong for Downtown when they had yet to receive recognition, as well as his work to create places to belong for Showa-era comedians who had strayed from the conventional path. He concludes that this was precisely his own place to belong, as someone who had never been an elite white-collar employee.

“I published that book because I wanted to tell children and young people struggling with loneliness, ‘You don’t have to worry about it.’ But of the 100 emails and letters I received after publication, more than 90 came from men in their late 50s and 60s (laughs). I realized that older men, myself included, didn’t have a place to belong.

From the time people become aware of themselves until the day they die, they continue searching for a place where they belong, wondering about where they should position themselves in the world, why they were born, and whether the work they chose was really the right one. I had realizations while writing the book, and I also had realizations from the voices of all kinds of people that reached me after its publication. I’m glad I published that book.”

After stepping down as chairman of Yoshimoto Kogyo, the Osaka-Kansai Expo, with which he had been involved as co-chair of the event planning committee, also came to an end. Around that time, he was invited by Hiroshima Bank to give a lecture. Afterward, one of the people with whom he exchanged business cards at the reception emailed him, saying, “I’d like to visit your office in Tokyo and meet with you.”

The man was the chairman of Kowa Gakuen, an educational corporation, and was approaching 40. The organization operates five kindergartens and a correspondence-based high school that recruits students from Hiroshima and Okayama. From April 1, 2027, it plans to expand its target to students worldwide and launch a new correspondence-based high school. He approached Osaki with the request, “Would you become the principal of that school?”

“It was last November. I turned him down, saying, ‘I don’t have a teaching license, so there’s no way I can do it.’ But he said, ‘The principal doesn’t need to have a teaching license.’ I thought, ‘Oh, really? I see. But I have work commitments, so I could only come to Hiroshima two or three times a month, so I guess it really won’t work.’ Then he said, ‘We’re going to build campuses in Osaka and Tokyo too, so it’ll be fine.’

I’ve been traveling around the regions with a backpack since my days at Yoshimoto, so I was wondering, ‘What should I do?’ Then he said, ‘We can create a learning space if we have an area about half the size of an elementary school classroom. It’s a place where students at the correspondence high school can leave their homes to study on their own or ask adults about things they don’t understand. We want to establish learning centers all over Japan.’

I asked again, ‘Would it also be possible to turn things like mountain schools, seaside schools, riverside schools, schools in shuttered shopping streets, or former barbershops into learning centers?’ He replied, ‘That’s exactly what we want to do!’ When I continued, ‘I’d like to go to Asia too’, he said, ‘Actually, we’re already being allowed to use a kindergarten in Thailand whose management is struggling.’

“‘So in the future, are you planning to build schools or campuses in Thailand too?’ ‘That’s the plan!’ ‘Can you go everywhere in Asia and around the regions?’ ‘Of course!’”

After this exchange, his appointment as principal was decided.

“I felt somewhat uncomfortable about the idea that someone who had been a manager for comedians would become a school principal—it seemed like it was beyond my station. But when I thought about it, I realized that my life as a manager, in which I had gathered children who had barely even made it through middle school and couldn’t find a place to belong, taught them manzai and looked after them so they could somehow make a living, was surprisingly connected to the role I’ll now have as a correspondence high school principal—being a manager for children who have nowhere to belong.”

In the Reiwa era, it is said that one in every 10 high school students attends a correspondence-based high school. In the future, that could become one in nine, one in eight, one in seven, or perhaps even one in six. As he listened to this, the face of his mother came to mind.

Corn and me for credits

Osaki’s mother worked as a kindergarten teacher in Kishinosato, Nishinari, Osaka. In order to fulfill her dream of someday becoming a kindergarten principal!, his late mother devoted herself to studying through correspondence education.

“At 11 or 12 at night, she would quietly get up and study using the sewing machine table. I thought, ‘Since Mom also studied through correspondence education, perhaps becoming the principal of a correspondence high school is part of my own path, too.’ I may have forced the connection a little, but it’s not completely unrelated, either.

When I looked into it more closely, I learned that today’s correspondence high schools use a credit system, just like universities, and students only need to earn 74 credits over three years. For example, someone who wants to study dance can practice dance during the day and study through correspondence education whenever they like. There are all kinds of approaches taken by people who choose correspondence education. It’s not like there’s a fixed timetable saying, ‘Japanese class starts at 8:30 on Monday morning.’ Instead, you can choose the subjects you like, at the times you like, and take them wherever you like.

You can study at a learning center or on campus. You can also study at home in front of your computer. I realized that this is the era we’ve entered. It’s not about being selfish or doing whatever you please; children today are thinking, ‘I want to live more freely.’ I think correspondence schools are breathing in the atmosphere of the times we live in.”

Of the 74 credits, 48 are credits designated by the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, while the remaining 26 credits can apparently be independently approved by the principal, Osaki says.

“Interesting, isn’t it? For example, if you say, ‘We’re going to plant corn. We’ll harvest it in the summer. We’ll pick it from the field, eat it with gusto, and then write a report on the theme “Corn and Me,”’ that can apparently count as a credit if the principal approves it.

I want them to earn things with their own feet, carry a pen and notebook, and go out to meet people. I’d like them to do things like that. There used to be something called a wall newspaper. Everyone becomes a reporter or writer and goes out to meet someone within a radius of 500 meters to 1 kilometer.

Ask the butcher why he always gives you a discount on croquettes. Talk to the woman who does the cleaning because you’ve never actually spoken to her before. That’s enough. By conducting their own interviews and creating a wall newspaper, they can learn the basics of the five Ws and one H. It can also give them material for introducing themselves.

Saying, ‘I’m this kind of person, and this is what I’d like to talk about,’ is the foundation of communication. If you post the article online, people all over the world can see it. I think that’s pretty wonderful. By having children use their own hands to make things and write articles, I want to give them opportunities to discover things for themselves.

The tendency to immediately ask AI whenever something comes up will accelerate at an exponential pace. I think that’s something we have to learn, too. That’s precisely why children need to learn to spend time without touching their smartphones and to think for themselves first instead of asking AI. Otherwise, they won’t have the chance to realize, ‘What exactly am I?’ That realization is what leads to finding a place to belong.”

Osaki hopes to become the principal—and the manager of the children—at a school where they can find their place to belong.

“It would be interesting to recruit adults as students too—people who wanted to go to high school but couldn’t, or who went but dropped out. I think there’s a need for that. Maybe these ‘adult students’ could also serve as teachers. Even if they only have a junior-high-school education, they all have plenty of life experience.

The other day, I was having a meal in Gion after being taken there by a middle-aged man from Kyoto, and a maiko who was there said, ‘I heard you’re starting a correspondence school. I want to go, too!’ She entered the world of maiko immediately after graduating from junior high school, so she’s interested in high school.

The person I’m thinking of asking to teach music also didn’t go to high school, and he said, ‘I’d rather be a student than a teacher’ (laughs). If there were even one or two people like that, I think it could become an interesting school.

We haven’t reached a formal agreement yet, but we’re actually discussing turning a temple in Kyoto into a learning center. That would be a terakoya in the truest sense. I asked the chairman of KBS Kyoto, ‘Do you have any vacant space at KBS Kyoto?’ and he said, ‘I want to do it, I want to do it!’ Students could study radio broadcasting systems at a learning center inside the broadcasting station, produce programs, and broadcast them. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

More fun than becoming rich

As mentioned earlier, the chairman in question opened a correspondence high school last year, recruiting students from Okayama and Hiroshima. Its name is rather outlandish: “Singularity High School.” Apparently, a closed elementary school in Kure City serves as its school building.

“The area’s population was aging, and they had reached the point where they couldn’t even hold festivals anymore. Then a high school opened there, and the students put up around 50 tents, handed out flyers, did all sorts of things, and held a summer festival. The local residents then pitched in to help the shops and clean up afterward. I hope it can become something like the town raising the children—not quite literally, but where adults other than the teachers also teach them all kinds of things.

The name ‘Amemasu no Makezu’ is a bit idealistic, but the image is of children who have rain falling inside their hearts, yet refuse to be defeated by the rain and team up with their friends and adults to hold up umbrellas together.”

Osaki says he sometimes finds himself thinking that becoming a school principal is his final job, as well as a way of creating his own final place to belong.

“At 73, I could die at any time. People might say, ‘Mr. Osaki, you’re so young!’ but then there are plenty of cases where someone was perfectly healthy just yesterday and suddenly they’re gone, or where you had plans to have dinner together next week. So while I’m still healthy, I’ll do my best. I don’t have the resolve to say I’m ready to die at any time (laughs), but I’m happy when people ask me to do something or rely on me.

As AI evolves further, the gap between the rich and poor will probably become even wider. Even now, there are tons of people in their 20s and 30s in Tokyo who have 10 billion yen, aren’t there? I’ll have a meal with them, saying, ‘You guys are amazing,’ and then I end up paying the bill and thinking, ‘Why?’ (laughs).”

Osaki has an acquaintance in Kyoto who publishes a free paper called “Hankei 500m.” Kyoto has more than 800 bus stops, and apparently the paper covers things within a 500-meter radius of each bus stop. An article he once read there about a guitar repair shop has stayed with him.

“The owner had loved guitars since elementary school and also loved repairing them. Even after graduating from junior high school and entering university, he kept playing with guitars and repairing them. He’s now over 50, and apparently he gets guitar repair orders from all over the world. He may not become extremely wealthy, but if you find something you love and keep doing it, you can somehow make a living.

Of course, it’s great if you can master AI and become extremely wealthy, but I want to encourage the many children who can’t do that by telling them, ‘You’ll be okay. Don’t worry.’ Sometimes I think this might actually be more fun.”

As I listened to Osaki, I was particularly intrigued by the stories about his late mother. The name of his personal office, where the interview took place, is “mother ha.ha.”

“All men are mama’s boys, right? Someone once said, ‘When your mother dies, it feels as though half the blood in your body has been drained.’ I can relate to that. When my father died, I could basically just think, ‘He’s gone,’ but when your mother dies. I think it’s a shock for a son. So I put mother in the company name, and then added ‘ha.ha,’ which sounds like a pun but also represents laughter—‘hahaha’ (laughs).

I go to a golf course run by a pachinko-parlor owner I know in Osaka, and it happened to be where my mother’s family home, where she was born, used to stand. Whenever I return to Osaka, I always go to an okonomiyaki restaurant, a public bath, and an udon shop in Nishinari. That’s the area where my mother used to come to teach piano after finishing work at the kindergarten.

I hardly ever go to Umeda. Now that I’m getting closer to death, I sometimes feel as though I’m walking in my mother’s shadow. It’s funny—I wonder if my mother might be calling me (laughs).”

His mother’s dream, his work at Yoshimoto, and his books. Everything is connected—the man who has found his final place to belong will now serve as a principal. What realizations will Osaki gain through this new role? Returning to his beloved mother will come only after he has completed this great undertaking.