Inside Nomura: Working Like a Dog

Yasuyuki Idotsuji was a Nomura salesman in 1973, when stocks on the Tokyo exchange took a tumble, leaving one of his clients with more than $10,000 in losses. Recalls Idotsuji: "I raced over to his house, but he wasn't there. So I kept going back until finally I fell asleep on his doorstep. At 2 in the morning my client returned, and I apologized. We have been friends ever since." Now that Idotsuji is manager of the Nomura branch in the Kichijoji district of Tokyo, he expects the same dedication from his salesmen. Like fierce drill sergeants, Nomura bosses demand hard work and unflagging discipline. Says one employee: "Everyone works like a dog."

A driven dog, at that. At the Kichijoji branch, a section chief gives his sales force a pep talk at 8 a.m. "The world is watching the movements of top- ranked Nomura, and that means right here in Kichijoji," he says. "Put in everything you have, and take the best care of your customers." On the fourth floor, Sales Manager Hidetoshi Koizumi orders his troops to ring up 60 stock sales among themselves that day. "I want you to go all out," he admonishes. Tension often runs high. Recalls an ex-employee who worked in sales for three years: "The metal trash can between me and the person sitting next to me was always full of dents because my neighbor was constantly kicking it. His phone was often broken because he threw down the receiver after every call."

Inevitably, some staffers fall out of favor. Says another former employee: "Only the best survive. At Nomura, one mistake and you're out." Not out, exactly, since Nomura, like most large Japanese companies, guarantees lifetime employment. But "failures" find themselves on a track to nowhere; they become what the Japanese call madogiwa-zoku, or those who sit idly by a window. More than a few failures have moved on to rival companies and report that they do not for a moment miss their life at Nomura. Says one: "It's a rare Nomura man who has a good career and a good family life. Now I have time for my family." To many current employees, however, working conditions seem to be getting less harsh. Says a veteran salesman: "We're gradually becoming an ordinary company, moving from the dark ages to the medieval period."

To the victors in Nomura's internal competition go big rewards. A 35-year- old salesman may earn $90,000 a year, a slightly older branch manager $110,000. Those amounts may seem puny by Wall Street standards, but they are princely sums in Japan, where in most firms only high-ranking executives earn more than $70,000 a year. Unlike many Japanese companies, Nomura does not promote employees solely on the basis of seniority. If a young salesman or trader shows unusual dedication, he can move rapidly to a managerial post. Says a competitor: "For many people, it is painful and very shameful to see older men working under younger bosses. But that's the way it goes at Nomura."

As at most Japanese firms, opportunities for women are limited: most rise no higher than clerk. Last year Nomura finally introduced a modest program that offers women a career path toward management, but so far, only 13 have been tapped. Many female employees wind up marrying a Nomura colleague. Says a male employee: "The good thing is, if you marry within the company, the wife doesn't complain that you come home late. An outsider couldn't understand."