I recently wrote about where my career as a music editor began. Now, as a writer and someone who believes in preserving meaningful memories, I want to set down the story of the person who had the greatest influence on that starting point — once I’ve wiped away my tears.

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Sad news of my mentor’s passing

Last night, just as I was about to head to bed, a message came in. I only had to read the first few lines to realize that someone had passed away.

It was news of the passing of a former boss from the company I had worked for in Japan.

The moment I learned of her death, memories came flooding back.

She went by “Astro-san”(アストロさん) — her name was Kimiyo Sasaki(佐々木喜美代).

I first met Astro-san in the early 1990s.

Publishing company in the 1990s in Japan

I had joined a company straight out of university, but I never really fit in with the work, and after only a couple of months I quit — even though I’d finally started living on my own, something I had always wanted. I didn’t know whether to go back to my hometown or stay in Fukuoka city and look for another job, and on top of that, I had no idea how I was going to pay next month’s rent. I was completely lost.

Around that time, I happened to pick up a local Fukuoka magazine — something similar to Time Out New York — and saw an ad for a part-time position. Something about it caught my attention, so I applied, and I got the job.

The publishing company where I started working as a part-timer was an interesting place, even back in the ’90s. The building itself, designed by architect Arata Isozaki, was stylish: the first floor was the reception area, the second floor had a meeting room and a café, the third floor housed a printing company, the fourth floor was occupied by the publishing company, and the fifth floor had more meeting space. It had a free-spirited, forward-thinking atmosphere that felt nothing like a typical traditional Japanese company or publishing house in Japan.

These days, it might not be unusual to hear English spoken in an office in Japan, but even in the early ’90s, English could already be heard in one corner of this workplace. There was an English-language news media department staffed by Canadians, Australians, and Americans.

The annual company trip (shain ryokō, 社員旅行) was overseas, to places such as China, South Korea, and Thailand and so on.

Meeting my boss, who would later become a mentor

Astro-san was the founding editor-in-chief and head of the publishing department at this company that was so ahead of its time.

She was tall, a thoroughly capable career woman — a woman in her forties who was brilliant at her job and incredibly cool.

Even though she held an executive position, one of the staff members (senpai, 先輩) quietly let me in on something early on: “Remember, she is called Astro-san.”

At this company, the president was called “Chief,” while the vice presidents were called “Astro-san” and “Urata-san.” The company did have positions such as managers and editors-in-chief, but it didn’t use traditional Japanese corporate titles like bucho (部長) or kacho (課長). I liked this company culture.

The company was in Fukuoka, a fairly large city with a population of about 1.2 million at the time.

The company published a biweekly magazine, which cost 250–300 yen, as well as many guidebooks. The magazine had a circulation of 120,000 copies and sold around 100,000 copies with each issue. This was around the time the internet was just beginning to take off, and the magazine industry in Japan was booming.

As for my job as a part-timer — I wish I could say I got the editorial assistant position I had hoped for, but unfortunately, that position wasn’t available at the time.

The company ran a service called “Otasuke Bank” (“Help Bank”). Readers would call in with questions, and staff — nicknamed “Otaban” — would answer them. More than thirty years ago, humans were doing over the phone what ChatGPT does today.

I started out working as one of these “Otaban” staff members.

My desk was right near Astro-san’s.

Astro-san’s desk was in the very center of the office — a huge, curved, stylish wooden desk, like something out of a movie. Staff members and guests were constantly coming by to see her.

As part of my job, I also helped Astro-san with various small tasks.

There wasn’t much someone in their early twenties with barely any work experience could actually do.

What could a fresh newcomer do?

First, always be on time and practice Aisatsu (挨拶) — greet coworkers and guests properly, with a cheerful “Ohayō gozaimasu (おはようございます)!”

Every morning, bring a cup of coffee to Astro-san’s desk.

When Astro-san asked us to “look this up” or “pull this document,” I was expected to respond immediately with a cheerful “Sure!” and get it done right away.

And when the phone rang, I would answer brightly, “Hi, this is Otasuke Bank!” and help answer the reader’s question.

The pay as an Otaban wasn’t much, and I was living paycheck to paycheck, but I was surrounded by great coworkers, and the whole culture had the feel of a college club transplanted into a workplace. Coming to work every day was genuinely fun, and my days felt full.

My career as an magazine editor begins

After about a year of that life, the company opened up hiring for full-time staff, and I applied for the position without hesitation.

The interview was with three executives: Chief, Astro-san, and Urata-san.

“What do you want to do here once you’re on staff?”, Chief asked me in a Hakata accent (博多弁). I said something like, “I want to make books that are…” — some idea along those lines. Apparently, it didn’t align with the direction the company wanted, and Chief gave a little laugh. Astro-san, throughout it all, just smiled.

Finally, I got a full-time position as a magazine editor, and that’s where my career began.

My first assignment was editing the music pages and conducting interviews with professional musicians.

Astro-san was one of the people who opened a major door in my life.

The Lesson: a journalist’s responsibility

At a training session that brought together editors from local magazines across the country, the first thing we were taught was the responsibility that comes with putting information out into the world.

To people living in today’s world of nonstop online news, this might not land the same way, but with print media, once something goes to press, there’s no fixing it.

“Putting out wrong information can be enough to sink a company. That’s how serious a responsibility this job carries.”

I remember feeling my whole body tense up when I heard that.

The Lesson: the importance of meeting people

“Walk the streets to gather information.”

“Meet people before you think.”

Astro-san told us this often, and it’s still written in my notes from back then, attributed directly to her.

I understood “before you think” to mean: instead of sitting around agonizing over something, get outside and meet people. No amount of thinking at your desk will solve everything on its own. Ideas come while you’re out walking, while you’re talking to people.

First, get outside. Walk the streets.

Meet people and listen to what they say.

Look with your eyes and listen with your ears.

Gathering information through reporting — that’s the basics of journalism.

Part2: a reunion in New York — To Be Continued

Image: Stock photo from Pexels

Text by Kasumi Abe — original Japanese version published on August 20, 2026