Gratitude, Hard Work, Bold Action, and Devotion

“So, boy. You wish to serve me?”

Silhouetted against the purple sky, the man on horseback, with his horned helmet, towered over me like a demon as I knelt in the dirt before him. I could not see his face but there was no mistaking the authority in his growling tone, nor the hint of mockery in his question.

I tried to speak and managed only a faint croak. My mouth had gone dry, so dry I felt as if I were dying of thirst. But I had to respond. My fate—and though I didn’t know it then, the fate of all of Japan—depended on my answer.

Raising my head just far enough to brave a glance at the demonic figure, I saw him staring at me, like a hawk poised to seize a mouse in its talons. When I managed to speak, my voice was clear and steady, and I drew courage with each syllable.

“That’s correct, Lord Nobunaga,” I said. “I do.”

It was a time of carnage and darkness: the Age of Wars, when the land was torn by bloodshed and the only law was the law of the sword. I was a young boy then, wandering the countryside alone, seeking my fortune, without a copper in my pocket. Even then I wanted to be a leader of men, but I never could have guessed how far that desire would take me.

My name is Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and today I am the supreme ruler of all Japan, the first peasant ever to rise to the absolute height of power. I was the only feudal lord—out of more than 200 who lived during my rule—to earn my position through hard work rather than birthright. I rose from poverty to rule a mighty nation and command hundreds of thousands of samurai warriors. Now, I record these words so that my story might inspire others to become better leaders.

Some of you already lead many followers. Some of you have just begun your leadership journey. Some of you follow now, but aspire to lead. Regardless of your station in life, the timeless secrets disclosed in this book will serve you well, for they apply equally to subordinates and superiors.

People called me Monkey for my mischievous ways—and because of my big ears, my oversized head and my scrawny physique. I’m short and ugly. Those who meet me for the first time are shocked—they don’t expect the most powerful person in the nation to resemble a bald, deformed dwarf. Some say I’m the homeliest leader in Japan’s history!

So be it. Perhaps I take the prize for the most unsightly overlord, but in my lifetime the people became dedicated to me—because I dedicated myself to them. That is the Secret of Devotion, about which I will reveal more later.

You may be surprised to learn that my successful quest to achieve the epitome of leadership was built on the commonplace notions of devotion, gratitude, hard work, and bold action. These principles appear so simple you might not consider them “secrets.” But few people comprehend their true power, and still fewer understand that they form the cornerstone of the samurai code, an honored protocol of conduct handed down for hundreds of years. The samurai code covers far more than the mere use of weapons, which is fortunate for me, since I have a reputation as the worst fighter in Japan’s history! But my most formidable weapon has always been my mind: You might call me the swordless samurai.

Throughout my ascent to the pinnacle of leadership I adhered rigorously to these precepts, and they served me well. The leadership lessons I learned then still hold true today, and the samurai code continues to resonate with leaders throughout the realm and beyond.

I was born a poor peasant in Nakamura, in Owari Province. Penniless, ugly, without social standing, resembling an ape—that was me: Hideyoshi, the monkey boy. My father died young. I changed jobs often and fought constantly with my stepfather. I was uneducated and enjoyed none of the privileges of the elite.

But I exploited the few assets I possessed. Poverty became an advantage because it allowed me to understand the common man’s struggles. Ninety-nine percent of those who fight in battle are footsoldiers—people who live on the bottom rungs of society. I understand how such men feel and think because I was once one of them. That’s why I became so adept at winning their allegiance, and their admiration; they would do anything for me and gladly. In that respect, no other lord could hold a candle to me. How can those who’ve never wanted for food or clothing understand those who have?

My biggest disadvantage—or so I thought at first—was being short and skinny. As a youth, I wanted more than anything to become a samurai, but I lacked sufficient strength and dexterity. During the Age of Wars, each lordhad to rely on his own private army to maintain power, and they often drafted soldiers from the peasantry. It was tough for those of us with puny physiques to distinguish ourselves. I was never much of a swordsman. Hell, even a third-rate ronin could lop off my noggin in a street tussle! I realized I needed to work with my mind rather than my body, especially if I wanted to keep my head attached to my neck.

So I became a samurai who relies on wits rather than weapons. I chose strategy over swords, logistics over lances. My approach to leadership allowed me to best all rivals. Scores of samurai followed me, and the lowborn and elite alike gave their very lives on my behalf. I’m deeply grateful for their sacrifices. And gratitude lies at the heart of leadership, as you will see.

Leaders Must Be Grateful

My tale has a humble beginning. Besides being poor, uneducated, and of undistinguished lineage, I was short, weak, and odd-looking. But I refused to allow those disadvantages to dictate my destiny. I had a passion for life rarely seen in this world. Though born a farmer’s son, I wanted to be a leader, and I was determined not to let my imperfections stand in the way. Deep in my heart I knew I was more than what the rest of the world thought me to be.

My father started out as a farmer, then became a footsoldier in the Oda army, only to be crippled in battle. My mother had to make ends meet by working as a farmhand. After my father’s death, when I was seven years old, she married a man named Chikuami, another farmer and former Oda soldier.

I was devoted to my mother, whose life had been a succession of trials from childhood onward. Even as a young boy, I sensed the depth of her hardships, and my desire to ease her burden shaped my destiny—but not before I caused her even more pain.

For I was a naughty lad who detested school and loved throwing rocks and playing at war. My mother had trouble controlling me, so she entrusted my care and education to a Buddhist temple, hoping I would learn some discipline. But I ignored my would-be teachers and romped outdoors all day long, brandishing bamboo spears at stray cats and battling butterflies with wooden swords. The monks threw up their hands. Buddha himself lacked the patience to look after Hideyoshi, they said. So I returned to my family.

Back home, I cut grass and caught fish to help my mother make ends meet, but we often went hungry nonetheless. Worse, my stepfather and I were constantly at odds, and he took to whipping me. One day, my mother could take no more.

“Hideyoshi,” she said. “Since you’re unable to stay in school, and the monks will no longer accept you, I’ve arranged an apprenticeship with a nearby family, so that you can learn a trade.”

I couldn’t believe it. I had always thought of my mother as my one true ally. “How can you do this to me?” I asked. Hearing that, she seized me in an embrace so tight I could barely breathe, as tears streamed down her face.

“I’m afraid of what might happen if you continue to fight with your stepfather. One day he may not be able to stop himself when he beats you. I can’t bear it any longer. Please, in heaven’s name, leave this house. I’ll miss you with all my heart, but you must go.”

“No! I don’t want to leave!” I cried. “I love you, Mother!”

“Listen to me carefully, Hideyoshi,” she sobbed. “In this world you need land and money to get by. I didn’t want to remarry, but I had to survive. Now you must do your part, for all our sakes.”

That was not the last time I would leave home to pursue an apprenticeship at my mother’s insistence. The same scene played out over and over, each time with the same results. My mother would plead with me to find a steady position. I would leave, apprentice with another family, get fired after a few months, then return home. Mother scolded me. She wept. She wailed with exasperation. But I’d lost ears for her counsel, and patience for any profession other than serving a samurai.

One day I reached a decision. “Mother, I’m leaving for good to find my own way,” I announced. “I won’t return until I’ve made a name for myself.” Though I was only fifteen years old, the resolve in my eyes convinced her that argument was useless.

Before saying a tearful goodbye, she presented me with a heavy sack of copper coins, enough to buy a year’s supply of rice. My mother knew the dangers a young boy roaming the countryside alone would face, and feared we might never see each other again. So she gave me the money she’d been saving for my inheritance. This was a greater legacy than most working farmers could leave. How she must have scrimped and saved to put it aside! Suddenly I realized how deeply she loved me and how much she had sacrificed. For the first time, I felt true gratitude. That very day, as I walked down the dirt road leading out of Nakamura, the only village I’d ever known, I resolved to give my mother a better life. I would work my way up, take her away from the farms, and provide her with the kind of comforts she’d only known in dreams.

Gratitude sparked in me a burning desire to better myself and help others. Contrary to what many think, the essence of leadership lies in serving, not in being served. Those who aspire to motivate followers need to learn the Secret of Gratitude: Leaders must be grateful.

Leaders Must Work Harder than Others

Leaving my childhood home marked the beginning of a new life of job-hopping. At Kiyosu, my first destination, I used most of my inheritance to buy needles for sewing cotton. Needles were expensive, but lighter to carry than a sack of coins, and they were in demand. At the time, Japan needed cotton—not only for clothes, but for armor, and other military uses. I planned to sell the needles to village seamstresses and samurai families.

The life of an itinerant peddler was harsh, especially for a fifteen-year-old novice. Soon I had exhausted my remaining savings and resorted to working sundry jobs—cleaning, carting, anything I could find—just to keep food in my belly. I found myself sleeping outside and going for days without eating. At times I even begged!

Eventually, I managed to find work, however menial and short-lived. I plied dozens of trades, working as a carpenter, a cooper, a fish hawker, a metalworker, a field mower, a charcoal-burner’s assistant, an oil peddler, and a knife sharpener—to mention just a few. I became expert at buying and selling, at judging customers’ and employers’ moods, at sensing a crowd’s temperament. I witnessed graciousness and greed, thankfulness and thievery, virtue and villainy. Observing firsthand life’s many transactions, both commercial and social, made me a keen judge of character. Gradually, my insight into the human condition deepened, and I cultivated the ability to read people from all walks of life and win them over.

But I still held onto my dream of becoming a samurai, rather than a master of menial trades. With that goal in mind, I traveled to Sunpu, home of the Imagawa Clan, a powerful samurai family that ruled three provinces bordering the Pacific Ocean. It took me weeks of walking down the long Eastern Sea Road—a major highway linking western and eastern Japan—to reach my destination, and as I trudged along I turned over and over in my mind a plan to ask the Imagawa to enter their service.

One day, as I was resting on a bridge, a Matsushita family vassal named Naganori rode by on horseback. Later he told me that when he first saw me, he wasn’t sure whether I was a man who looked like a monkey or a monkey who looked like a man!

“Where are you from, boy?” Naganori asked, looking down on me from atop his steed. “I’m from Nakamura in Owari Province,” I told him, “but I’m heading east to find work in a samurai household.” Naganori laughed. “Who would hire a scrawny runt like you?” he said. “Well, you don’t exactly have the face of a lord yourself,” I countered. “Just because you don’t like my looks doesn’t mean other people won’t!”

He laughed again at this unexpectedly spirited retort, and quizzed me further. I had attracted the attention of a member of an important samurai family!

Naganori took me back to the Matsushita household and introduced me to the other vassals as “an interesting fellow.” I made them all laugh by gnawing hungrily on the chestnuts and persimmons they tossed me, and they began to call me “Monkey.” Soon everyone knew me, and I was enjoying two square meals a day.

So began my new life with the Matsushita Clan. The Matsushitas were retainers to the Imagawas, who were headed by Yoshimoto, a renowned general and patron of the arts. My first duties were as a sandal bearer. Sandal bearers follow their masters everywhere on daily errands, performing countless miscellaneous tasks as well as tending to the constant donning and doffing of footwear. Next, I became a house servant, looking after the family’s wardrobes and helping them dress and undress. Finally, I was put in charge of the warehouse.

Because I performed my work so efficiently, I was considered a valuable servant. Lord Matsushita bestowed upon me my first surname: Nakamura, the name of my hometown.

I took great pride in my role as warehouse manager. I got a watchdog and made security my top priority. There had been occasional thefts, but they ceased completely after I took over. I delighted in this and every other job I held—and not just because I had finally lifted myself above abject poverty. I saw each new task, however trivial, as one more rung up the career ladder. Because I was not physically gifted, I decided that extraordinary devotion to work was the only way to distinguish myself.

But outsiders who rise swiftly in an organization attract envy. One day, a jealous vassal falsely claimed I had stolen something from the warehouse I was guarding. Others added new accusations, and in the end Naganori told me that, though no fault of my own, I had brought dissension to the Matsushita household. He felt sorry for me, but could not afford to replace an entire staff of spiteful retainers just to keep me on. Then he fired me.

When I protested and proclaimed my innocence, Naganori became angry and scolded me for my impudence. I burst into tears, and fled the Matsushita household on the spot. I was eighteen years old.

Being fired was a terrible shock, but my discouragement quickly faded. I was sure someone, somewhere, would value me for who I was. I was beginning to understand that viewing experiences as either good or bad was meaningless. The only thing that mattered was drawing lessons from them.

Years later, after I became successful, I had time to consider how I might repay the debts I owed to those who helped me in my youth. I went looking for Naganori, the Matsushita vassal who had both hired and then reluctantly fired me, to let him know how grateful I was to him for taking me on in those early days. Unable to locate him, I awarded his son, Yukitsuna, a massive land holding instead, and later made him a lord. Thus I repaid my debt as best I could.

Sheer effort enables those with nothing to surpass those with privilege and position. This is the Secret of Striving: Leaders must work harder than others.

Act Boldly at Critical Moments

Having been fired by the Matsushita household, I resolved to choose my next master rather than trust my employment to a random encounter, as I had two years earlier on that bridge. But whom to serve?

In the neighboring province of Mino there lived a young warlord named Oda Nobunaga, whose father, Nobuhide, my own father had once served. Lord Nobunaga was referred to by his retainers as the “Thunderbolt of War” for his ferociousness on the battlefield. Based on his reputation, as well as what I was able to observe myself, I decided Lord Nobunaga would serve not only as a suitable employer, but a potentially powerful mentor.

Having selected him as my lucky new master, the problem of how to draw his attention arose. I had plenty of enthusiasm, but lacked every other necessary qualification, including rank, lineage, and reputation as a warrior. Trade was the only domain in which I felt confident. Daily haggling had left me with strong knowledge of the fair market value of goods and services, and I had noticed that samurai families, who prided themselves on being above such things, often fared poorly in their dealings with merchants. Because I had been so poor, I knew how to stretch a copper. If only there was some way I could use this knowledge to impress Lord Nobunaga! I resolved to appeal directly to him for a position in his organization, as I sensed he was a man who appreciated boldness and valued performance over pedigree. I was right!

To oil the wheels of my scheme, I paid an acquaintance who worked for the Oda Clan a hundred coppers—all the money I had—to let me know precisely where and when Lord Nobunaga would be traveling. It was the best investment I ever made.

One spring evening in 1554, outside of Owari Province, near Mino, I found myself crouching behind some shrubbery, beside a massive gate surrounding the home of a noble family that Lord Nobunaga was visiting. This was the third time I had awaited the arrival of the young warlord and his entourage. The first time, his horse had trotted away before I could leap to the roadside. The second time, I had called out, but a sudden outburst of rain drowned my salutation and left me drenched in the bargain.

But on this night, luck was with me. As Lord Nobunaga rode slowly through the gate, I sprang forward and prostrated myself in the dirt, bowing so deeply my brow brushed the earth. “Lord Nobunaga, I offer my services!” I cried.

From atop his steed, the master of the Oda aimed an unforgiving glare in my direction. “So, boy. You wish to serve me?” He spat out the words.

“That’s correct, Lord Nobunaga,” I said.

“This little monkey thinks he might be of use,” he mused. It was an observation more than a question, but I responded anyway. I lifted my head and faced him squarely. “Yes, sir. I believe so,” I answered in a respectful but confident tone.

The general cocked his head. “Well, then, tell me,” he said in a booming voice, addressing his entire entourage. “How much do you think it costs to hire one of you?” He did not wait to see if anyone would hazard a reply.

“One man eats three hundred thirty-one pounds of rice per year. Add to that miso, salt, vegetables, beans, fish or foul once every ten days, plus cooking and transport costs, and every man I hire costs my treasury the equivalent of two hundred seventy-eight pounds of rice every year. Add the cost of two sets of clothes annually and some spare change to spend on women and drink, and even a hut-dwelling runt like this monkey groveling here receives, from me, nine hundred twenty-six pounds of rice per year!”

Many of the foot soldiers around us lowered their eyes as he spoke. This familiar lecture meant their lord was in a bad temper.

“So how about it, Monkey?” Lord Nobunaga asked bitingly. “Can your service cover all these costs?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered without hesitation. “My service will cover twice—no, thrice that amount.”

“How?” roared the warlord, tightening his grip on the reins.

I was firm in my response. “By economizing, my lord. By economizing.”

That very day I formally entered Lord Nobunaga’s service. I began as a lowly servant but did not stay one for long.

A bold gambit changed my destiny, and can change yours, too. Don’t be like the man who, twenty years from now, reflects on days past and belatedly perceives his failure to seize the one moment that would have changed his fortune. Grasp it with both hands!

Luck favors the bold. Leaders must fearlessly exploit the Secret of Decisiveness: Act boldly at critical moments.

Dedicate Yourself to Your Leader

Joining the Oda Clan was the crucial turning point in my development as a leader. Lord Nobunaga enabled my success because he saw value in my exemplary performance of nonmilitary duties. I became his “go-to” man, the one who could perform almost any task.

In the early days after entering Lord Nobunaga’s service, I rarely got a full night’s sleep. A servant was required to be at his lord’s beck and call at all times. I had to anticipate the odd moment, day or night, when he might suddenly decide to go hawk-hunting or horseback riding—and prepare everything in advance. And he didn’t keep just one horse, but many—I had to predict which steed he might deign to ride on any particular day. Not to mention the fact that Lord Nobunaga had a temper like a wild horse himself!

It was a tough assignment, but well worth it. In addition to serving Lord Nobunaga, I had the opportunity to observe the extended Oda family and senior members of other clans. I enjoyed an insider’s perspective on the politics and intrigue so common during the Age of Wars. Most important, through hard work I strove to prove myself worthy of my leader’s trust. My policy was always to work three times harder than anyone else!

Like many others, Lord Nobunaga liked to call me “Monkey” and in later years “Bald Rat.” I’ve always been self-conscious about my appearance, but leaders must learn to turn drawbacks into advantages. Once while hawking with Lord Nobunaga, the raptor became entangled in a net atop a tall tree. “Monkey,” Nobunaga ordered, “Free the bird!”

I’ve never been one to refuse a superior’s attention, and I pride myself on being cheerful and accommodating at all times. “Yes, sir!” I said, loping around like a chimpanzee, then scampering up the tree. “I’m a little monkey who makes quick work of any task!” My antics provoked a hearty laugh from Lord Nobunaga and the entire entourage. A sense of humor and willingness to serve are indispensable assets for an aspiring leader.

Once, on a bitterly cold winter day, I was waiting outside a meeting lodge for Lord Nobunaga, holding his sandals. Though I was freezing myself, I held his sandals close to my chest to warm them. When Lord Nobunaga emerged from the lodge and saw my devotion to his comfort, he was deeply moved. Soon thereafter I received a significant promotion.

Dedication to others begets their dedication to you. Only those who themselves are dedicated followers can claim the mantle of leadership. If you aspire to have others follow you, practice the Secret of Devotion: Dedicate yourself to your leader.

Superiors, Subordinates, and Samurai

Cynics may view gratitude, hard work, bold action, and devotion as simplistic notions undeserving of their attention. But observe the world around you. Note that ungrateful people are unhappy people. Note that hard work is the single most important determinant of success in life. Note how luck favors the bold. Note how devotion—to parents, to children, to superiors, to subordinates—benefits the devoted a hundredfold.

Some may think these simple concepts apply only to followers, not leaders. But those who aspire to lead must first learn to serve. And those who would master others must first master themselves. The principles of leadership therefore apply equally to superiors and subordinates alike.

Gratitude, devotion, hard work, and bold action. These words trip easily off the tongue. But they forge the soul of a samurai and lie at the heart of leadership. Practice them, and you will transform your life, as I did.

Read the Introduction

Copyright 2007-2010 by Tim Clark