From Downtown’s Manager and Chairman of Yoshimoto Kogyo to High School Principal! The “Final Home” Found by Hiroshi Osaki

It was the older men who had nowhere to belong

In the opening of *A Place to Belong* (Sanmark Publishing), published in 2023 while he was still chairman of Yoshimoto Kogyo, Hiroshi Osaki (73) wrote, “I hope this book will be of help to those who cannot find a place to belong or who are struggling with loneliness.”

The book depicts his life as he worked tirelessly to create a “place to belong” for the then-unknown comedy duo Downtown and strove to “create a place for Showa-era comedians who strayed from the orthodox path”—concluding that this very effort was his own “place to belong,” as he was not an elite corporate employee himself…

“I published that book because I wanted to tell children and young people struggling with loneliness, ‘You don’t have to worry about it.’ However, out of the 100 emails and letters I received after publication, more than 90 were from middle-aged men in their late 50s to 60s (laughs).It made me realize that, myself included, we middle-aged men didn’t really have a place to belong…”

I realized that from the moment we become self-aware until we die, people continue to search for a place to belong—worrying about where they fit in, the meaning of their existence, and whether their chosen career was truly the right one. I gained insights both while writing the book and from the feedback I received from various people after its publication. I’m glad I published that book.”

I stepped down as chairman of Yoshimoto Kogyo, and the Osaka-Kansai Expo—which I was involved in as co-chair of the Event Planning Committee—has also come to a close. Amid all this, I was invited by Hiroshima Bank to give a lecture. After the event, at the reception, I exchanged business cards with several people, and one of them sent me an email saying, “I’ll be visiting your Tokyo office, so I’d like to meet with you.”

He is the chairman of a school corporation called Kowa Gakuen and is nearing 40 years of age. He operates five kindergartens and a correspondence high school that recruits students from Hiroshima and Okayama.He is planning to launch a correspondence high school with a global student body starting April 1, 2027, and he asked me, “Would you be willing to serve as the principal of that school?”

“That was last November. I turned him down, saying, ‘I don’t have a teaching license, so there’s no way,’ but he replied, ‘It’s okay if the principal doesn’t have a teaching license.’ ‘Huh, really?But I told them, ‘I’m already swamped with work, so I can only go to Hiroshima about two or three times a month—I guess it’s still not possible.’ They replied, ‘We’re setting up campuses in Osaka and Tokyo too, so it’ll be fine.’

Since my days at Yoshimoto, I’ve been traveling around the countryside with a backpack, so I was agonizing over it, thinking, ‘I wonder what to do…’ When I hesitated, the chairman said, ‘If we have a space about half the size of an elementary school classroom, we can create a study space. It’s a place where correspondence high school students can leave home to study on their own or ask adults for help with things they don’t understand. We want to establish study centers all over the country.’”

I followed up by asking, “Would it be possible to turn places like ‘mountain schools,’ ‘ocean schools,’ ‘river schools,’ shopping districts with shuttered storefronts, or the site of a former barbershop into learning centers?” He replied , “That’s exactly what I want to do!” When I continued, “I’d also like to go to Asia…,” he said, “Actually, we’re already using a kindergarten in Thailand that was struggling to stay afloat.”

“So, do you plan to build schools or campuses in Thailand in the future?” “That’s the plan!” “Can you cover everything—Asia and rural areas alike?” “Of course!” Following this exchange, my appointment as principal was finalized.

“I’d been feeling a bit uneasy, thinking it was beyond my station for someone who used to be a manager for comedy duos to become a principal…But I realized there’s an unexpected connection between my life as a manager—gathering kids who hadn’t even finished junior high or couldn’t find their place in the world, teaching them manzai, and helping them make a living—and my new role as the principal of a correspondence high school, where I’ll serve as a ‘manager’ for the children without a sense of belonging whom I’ll meet from now on.”

In the Reiwa era, one in ten high school students attends a correspondence high school. In the future, that number might rise to one in nine, one in eight, one in seven—or perhaps even one in six. As I listened to this, my mother’s face came to mind.

Earning Credits with “Corn and Me”

Mr. Osaki’s mother worked as a kindergarten teacher in Kishinosato, Nishinari, Osaka. To fulfill her dream of “one day becoming a kindergarten principal,” his late mother devoted herself to studying through correspondence courses.

“She’d get up quietly at 11 or 12 at night and study on her sewing machine table. I thought to myself, ‘Since Mom studied through correspondence courses, maybe being the principal of a correspondence high school is part of my destiny…’ It’s a bit of a stretch, but I figured there might actually be some connection after all…

When I looked into it more closely, I learned that today’s correspondence high schools use the same credit system as universities—you just need to earn 74 credits over three years. For example, someone who wants to study dance can take dance classes during the day and do their correspondence coursework whenever they like. People choose correspondence education for all sorts of reasons. It’s not like there’s a fixed schedule where, “On Mondays, there’s a Japanese class starting at 8:30 a.m.” Instead, you choose the subjects you want, take them whenever you like, and study wherever you like.

They can study at a learning center, on campus, or even at home on their computer. It really struck me that we’ve entered a new era. It’s not about being selfish or doing whatever they please; today’s kids are thinking, “I want to live more freely.” I realized that correspondence schools are truly in tune with the spirit of the times.”

Of the 74 credits, 48 are designated by the Ministry of Education. Mr. Osaki says the principal has the discretion to approve the remaining 26 credits independently.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it? For example, if a student says, ‘I’m going to plant corn. I’ll harvest it in the summer. I’ll pick it right from the field, munch on it, and write a report titled “Corn and Me,”’ that can actually count as a credit—as long as the principal approves it.

I want students to go out on their own, armed with a pen and a notebook, to meet people… That’s the kind of thing I’d like them to do. There used to be something called a ‘wall newspaper.’ Everyone would become a reporter or writer and go meet someone within a 500-meter to 1-kilometer radius.

They’d ask the butcher why he always gives them a discount on croquettes. Or they’d want to talk to the cleaning lady they’ve never spoken to before. That’s perfectly fine. By conducting their own interviews and creating a wall newspaper, they’d learn the basics of the 5Ws and 1H. It would also give them material for self-introductions.

Saying, “This is who I am, and this is what I’d like to talk about,” is the foundation of communication. If you post your articles online, people all over the world can see them. I want to help children realize just how wonderful that is—by having them create things with their own hands and write their own articles.

The trend of immediately turning to AI whenever a question arises is accelerating rapidly. I think we need to learn to deal with that, too. That’s exactly why, if we don’t establish times when we don’t touch our smartphones—and learn to think for ourselves first before asking AI—we won’t be able to gain that sense of self-discovery: “Who am I?” That realization leads to a sense of belonging.”

Mr. Osaki hopes to become the principal—and the children’s manager—of a school dedicated to helping them find their place in the world.

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

The other day, while I was having dinner in Gion with an older gentleman from Kyoto, a maiko there said, ‘I heard you’re starting a correspondence school. I want to go, too!’ She entered the world of maiko right after graduating from junior high, so she’s interested in high school.

There’s also someone I’m thinking of asking to be a music teacher who never went to high school either, and they said, “I’d rather be a student than a teacher” (laughs). If we could get even just one or two people like that, I think it would make for a really interesting school.

We haven’t signed a formal contract yet, but I’m actually in talks to turn a temple in Kyoto into a learning center. It’d be just like a traditional terakoya, wouldn’t it?When I asked the chairman of KBS Kyoto, “Do you have any vacant space at KBS Kyoto?” he said, “I want to do it! I want to do it!” It’d be a learning center inside the broadcasting station where students could study radio broadcasting systems and create and broadcast their own programs. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

It’s More Fun Than Becoming a Millionaire

As mentioned earlier, the chairman in question gathered students from Okayama and Hiroshima and opened a correspondence high school last year. It has a wild name: “Singularity High School.” I hear it’s housed in a defunct elementary school in Kure City.

“The local population was aging, and festivals had become impossible to hold—but then this high school opened. I hear the students set up about 50 tents, handed out flyers, and did all sorts of things to organize a summer festival. As a result, local residents pitched in to help at the stalls and with cleanup.It’s not exactly ‘the town raises the children,’ but I hope it becomes a place where adults other than teachers can teach the students all sorts of things.

The school’s name, ‘Ame ni mo Makezu’ (Unbowed by Rain), might sound a bit idealistic, but the image I have in mind is of children whose hearts are rained upon—children who, undaunted by the rain, team up with their peers and adults to hold up an umbrella.”

Being principal is my final job—and a way to create my own final place to belong. Mr. Osaki says he sometimes finds himself thinking that.

“At 73, it wouldn’t be surprising if I died at any moment. Even if people tell me, ‘Mr. Osaki, you’re so young!’—it’s not uncommon to hear things like, ‘He was fine just yesterday…’ or ‘We had plans to grab a meal next week…’ So, I’m going to give it my all while I’m still healthy.I’m not exactly prepared to die at any moment… (laughs), but I’m happy when people ask me for help or rely on me.

As AI continues to evolve, the wealth gap will likely widen even further. Even now, in places like Tokyo, there are plenty of people in their 20s and 30s who have 10 billion yen, aren’t there? We’ll have dinner together, saying things like, ‘We’re amazing,’ and then I end up paying the bill, leaving me wondering, ‘Why?’ (laughs)”

Mr. Osaki has an acquaintance in Kyoto who publishes a free newspaper called “Hankei 500m.” Kyoto has over 800 bus stops, and the paper features articles about what’s happening within a 500-meter radius of each one. An article he read there about a guitar repair shop still sticks with him today.

“That guy has loved guitars since elementary school, and he’s always loved fixing them, too. Even after he graduated from middle school and went to college, he just kept playing with guitars and fixing them… that’s what he did.Now, he’s over 50, and he says he gets orders for guitar repairs from all over the world. He might not become a millionaire, but if you find something you love and keep doing it, you’ll manage to make a living.

Of course, it’s great to master AI and become a millionaire, but I want to encourage the many children who can’t do that by telling them, ‘It’ll work out somehow—don’t worry.’ I even find myself thinking that this path might actually be more fun than you’d expect…”

As I listened to Mr. Osaki, I was particularly struck by the story about his late mother. The name of his private office, where the interview took place, is “mother ha.ha.”

“All men are mama’s boys, aren’t they? Someone once said, ‘When my mother died, I felt like half the blood in my body had been drained.’ It’s true that when my father died, I just thought, ‘Oh, he’s gone,’ but when a mother dies… I think it’s a real shock for a boy.That’s why I put ‘mother’ in the company name and added the ‘ha-ha-ha’—it’s kind of a pun, but it’s meant to be funny (laughs).

I go to a golf course run by an acquaintance of mine who owns a pachinko parlor in Osaka, and it just so happens that’s where my mom’s parents’ house—the place where she was born—used to be. Whenever I go back to Osaka, I always make sure to visit the okonomiyaki restaurant, the public bathhouse, and the udon shop in Nishinari—that’s the area where my mom used to come to teach piano after finishing her work at the kindergarten.I hardly ever go to places like Umeda. Lately, as death draws near, I feel like I’m walking in my mother’s footsteps. It’s funny—I wonder if she’s calling me (laughs).”

My mother’s dreams—her work at Yoshimoto and her books. It’s all connected—now that Mr. Osaki has found his final place to belong, what insights will he gain as principal? Returning to his beloved mother will come after he’s completed this major undertaking.