The Founder's Daughter

The men in the city room of Tokyo's Asahi Shimbun (Rising Sun Newspaper) have always enjoyed a welcome insulation from meddling. Co-Founder Ryohei Murayama believed firmly that the editorial content of his paper belonged to the editors alone, and with that formula he built the paper into the largest in Japan (present circ. 4,700,000). Before he joined his ancestors in 1933, Murayama tried to make sure that his no-meddling policy would survive: he vested control of the paper in a board of directors drawn from Asahi's ranks. But that same year meddling began. Although Asahi's editors did not like it, and could have stopped it at any time, they suffered it politely. For the meddler was Ofuji Murayama, the founder's daughter.

Kekko Desu. An only child, Ofuji Murayama had long been accustomed to having her own way, and she saw no reason why the paper should be an exception. Her obedient husband agreed, and he was in a position to help. After marrying Ofuji and taking the family name--an old Japanese custom --he replaced his father-in-law as publisher and president. Whatever Ofuji wanted was absolutely kekko desu with him.

Mrs. Murayama's hints, suggestions and commands were rarely followed, but that only increased their volume--and the irritation of Asahi's editors. When members of a Japanese Antarctic expedition radioed home that an advance party was in trouble and might have to abandon their dogs, Mrs. Murayama, who is an ardent dog lover, ordered the paper to contact the expedition. Tell them to rescue the dogs, she said, and, if necessary, to abandon the Japanese. Asahi's editors refused. They also refused when she demanded a Page One story on her experience at an art show attended by Emperor Hirohito: when she approached too near the imperial presence, Mrs. Murayama was rudely jostled by a guard.

Declaration of War. Asahi's private power struggle became the talk of Japan, and the paper's indecisive editors, who had the courage to veto Mrs. Murayama's mandates but could not find a way to keep her quiet, lost considerable face. To recover some, five board directors, who had resigned in protest against her highhanded ways, changed their minds and went back to work. After that, Mrs. Murayama publicly declared war. She got her husband to bring suit against the five directors, on the ground that he had accepted their resignations and that their return was therefore illegal.

In Tokyo's Osaka District Court last week, Judge Taneo Sawai brought the wholly avoidable 30-year feud to an end. Having previously warned Mrs. Murayama that any verdict was bound to go against her, the judge directed both sides to work out an amicable settlement. That meant that the five directors would stay. It also meant an end to Ofuji's meddling. And it probably meant that old Ryohei Murayama could relax at last with his ancestors.

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