When the chief newspaper editor left to establish his own business, a person called Odaka joined the company and took over the position. Odaka was a good talker with lots of energy and a firm vision. He was liked by everyone. We often went drinking, and on such occasions everyone would be asked to sing with hands on hips. Time always flew by. Once Odaka made everyone laugh when he said jokingly to me, “You know, Wada, you could become a member of the Tokyo metropolitan assembly.” “Why not the National Diet?” I asked. “Well, maybe that’s asking too much . . .”
The newspaper team, led by Odaka, then went independent. I was invited to join them, but I didn’t accept.
Pressed by Odaka, Murata, the chief magazine editor, had left the company at the end of the summer of 1968. At that time our president said, “We can’t make the magazine without him.” As I mentioned before, I had been learning the ropes, and although I didn’t know much about the world, I was confident in my ability. So I said to the president, “I’ll do it.” “Are you really sure you can manage it?” he asked. But his doubt only fueled my desire. “Yes!” I declared. “Okay,” he concluded. “Have a go!” It was the president who had hired me, so I could not let him down. At any rate, I was determined to do my best.
There was one more reason why I was made chief magazine editor. In the company there were two elder women employees. Since entering the company, I had thought that the bubbly one was the president’s wife, but it turned out to be the docile one. She would go about her work quietly and then in the evening pick the president up by car. The president was rather overweight, and fluid would collect in his knee joints, so he was often absent from the office. At such times, his wife would doggedly see to the work.
After the newspaper team left, there were just three of us in the office---me, a 20-year-old female employee who had just graduated from junior college, and the president’s wife. One day the wife said to me, “We have no money.” When I asked how much we needed in a month, she said four million yen. Fortunately, I had worked for about three months in the sales department of a real estate company, and with some success, so four million yen did not sound like that much money to me. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “I’ll see to it somehow.”
Two weeks later I scraped together two million yen, and two weeks after that I earned another two million yen, so I was able to hand over the four million yen. The president’s wife was utterly amazed, but I told her casually, “Don’t worry. You can rely on me.” The next day the president, who had been sick in bed, came to the office and praised me to the skies. The wife obviously had returned home and told him about me. After that, she cheered up a lot, and the president came to the office more often and offered various advice. We became more like a functioning company.
Going back in time a bit, I had asked Murata to give me a day off editing. When he asked what I intended to do, I told him that I wanted to do some marketing. Murata was very pleased and offered my much encouragement. After entering the company, I had watched closely and seen that marketing was our weak point. At that time it was unusual for editorial staff to engage in marketing as well, but for some reason the atmosphere in our office was ebullient. I had gone on the offensive.
So began my career as not only an editor but also a salesperson. It was early autumn in my twenty-fifth year.