This is my Rifle and these are my Guns

I joined the Army in 1962, figuring it would give me time to decide what I wanted to do with my life while getting my military service out of the way. (The draft was in play at the time. If you were drafted, you only served two years versus the three years required of those who volunteered – four years if you joined the air force. But you had no choice as to the training you received or the job you did. This generally meant you became a fighter, a warm trigger finger with a rifle that they could point in whatever direction they decided, usually while others were trying to shoot you.) They sent me to nearby Fort Ord for Basic Training.

One of the first things I discovered was they wouldn’t let me practice karate while there. But they would let me box. Seems the various company commanders had a serious competition going to see who could win the most medals at the camp boxing championships.

I had never boxed before but volunteered when the call went out, thinking I’d at least get to work out on a body bag. And the Captain picked me to join his team, I think because of my prior martial arts training. On the way to the gym for our first workout, however, I discovered that everyone else had some boxing experience - high school and college teams, Golden Gloves, local Y teams, and so on.

As soon as we arrived, I went up to one of the heavy bags and began punching it. When I looked around, everyone was staring at me in amazement, including the trainers who were there to tape our hands. They had never seen anyone punch a bag barehanded before. And I had never seen fighters with such soft, lily white hands.

While working out, I threw a couple of kicks, just to get the kinks out, and our coach – the Captain himself – got worried I would reflexively kick someone while boxing. He repeatedly warned me, inferring I could possibly be court martialed if I did. Since it wouldn’t be a good idea to get this coach mad at me or I would be scrubbing commodes for the next 6 weeks, I made a strong mental note to keep my feet on the floor.

I don’t remember being nervous as we arrived for the Fort Ord Boxing Championships. I figured I’d be fighting someone around my own weight division. Plus, I had grown ten inches in height during my junior year in high school, although I hadn’t put on a lot of weight. I was 6’ tall and weighed only around 127 lbs – low body weight to keep my speed up and a long reach relative to others in my division. It was all good.

When the announcer introduced me and my opponent for my first match, he listed our records. Mine was 0 for 0. My opponent had a bunch, all wins, and was a Golden Glove champ from somewhere. That phrase “Golden Glove Champ” rang loudly in my ears. Now, I was nervous. I had never boxed before and here I was fighting a Golden Glove Champ.

I started out giving him far more respect than he probably deserved. But one of the lessons I had learned in a tough, no holds barred – or techniques controlled – dojo was it’s often better to pass up an opportunity than to go for one you should have passed on. In the former, you end up with your nose intact. In the latter, it acquires a hard left or right hand turn to it.

So I started out very cautiously, making sure to stay well out of his reach. With more experience and weight (and a “peek-a-boo” style of fighting, where his hands and arms completely covered his face), I didn’t know how good he was nor wanted him landing anything until I could safely find out. But I definitely knew a nice front kick to the stomach would have dropped those arms right down so I could have easily buried a glove into his face. But I waited, instead.

Every time he launched one of his strong, quick, looping roundhouse punches, I either slid back or slipped to the side, constantly thwarting his efforts to get close enough to connect. After a while, he got frustrated… and careless. He dropped his arms as he lunged at me and ran straight into a stiff jab to the face.

Blood flowed from his nostrils.

The referee stopped the match so the medic could stem the flow of blood. As he stuffed cotton and chemicals up his nose, my opponent stared daggers at me, letting me know he hadn’t learned anything from the exchange, basically telling me what he intended to do next and where to find his nose.

As soon as the match was restarted, he did exactly as he had indicated he would, repeating his last mistake and reaping the exact same result – another bloody nose. Now trailing badly in points, he had no options left but to keep attacking or I would have coasted to a win. But every time he lunged at me, I jabbed him again to keep him off.

Half way through the second round, my opponent quit.

I was dumbfounded. The concept of stopping during a fight was completely foreign to me. I had once seen a guy get almost beaten to death on the street after he tried to quit. I knew the potential cost and never allowed the thought of quitting to even enter my thinking during a fight. At Sensei Brown’s dojo and on the East San Jose streets, the winner decided when a fight was over, not the loser. The loser was there, as the Army said, for the duration.

I was allowed a brief rest, then had to fight again. This time, my opponent was a Golden Glove Champ from Hawaii. I was again nervous and started out very cautiously. I knew guys from Hawaii. They were all tough. And this was a Golden Glove Champ, the best of a group of tough people.

But my jab landed again and again, the benefit of my much longer reach and distance control, keeping him continually just out of his reach but inside mine. And I was finally able to launch a reverse punch, which put him on the mat and ended the fight.

So far, I hadn’t even been touched. Maybe I had found my calling, I thought. Visions of fighting on national TV, big pay checks, and so on started seeping into my young mind.

I was cocky as I entered my final match with, guess what, yet another Golden Glove Champ, this one from Chicago. Big deal, I thought. I’d already beaten two Golden Glove Champs.

The bell rang. I closed on him… and found myself sitting on the mat.

I was only down long enough for my butt to hit, then sprang back onto my feet – thanks to Sensei Brown’s training. But those visions of national TV grew very faint and that big paycheck shrunk to a fistful of one dollar bills.

The referee wiped off my gloves and restarted us. I hadn’t even seen the punch and couldn’t figure out where he had hit me as nothing hurt. As we jockeyed for position, I kept rubbing my chin and jawline with my glove, trying to figure out where he had hit me. (I never was able to identify exactly where his punch had landed but was far more careful after that and was never put down again.)

I also returned to fighting in the manner that had gotten me into the finals and ended up winning the medal and some very useful information.

The company commander took those of us who won to steak dinners at the Officers Club and introduced us the next day to the company at morning formation.

Then, the dream ended and everything got back to normal – scrubbing floors, marching, marching, and more marching.

After basic training, I was sent to the Presidio of San Francisco for advanced training, then assigned to a missile battalion at Travis Air Force Base. Our unit’s assignment was to protect Travis and Castle Air Force Bases and Central California from enemy plane or ICBM (intercontinental ballistic missile) attack. We were at the peak of the Cold War with the Soviets and Chinese.

While at Travis, I was able to train with an on-base Shotokan instructor. They also had a good judo club on base, which I trained with on occasion. The Strategic Air Command (SAC) based some of its B-52 bombers at Travis. The B-52 was our major security deterrent at the time. Atomic bomb laden B-52s were literally in the air 24 hours per day, 7 days per week, 52 weeks of the year, to discourage any attacks on American soil. The B-52 was a neat looking plane. Its wings bowed down when on the ground. But in the air, they bowed up, like a condor’s wings.

SAC was run by tough-as-steel General Curtis LeMay. At some point, he decided he wanted to make sure his people had the best possible preparation for all possibilities, including being shot down behind enemy lines. To better prepare them for this, he introduced Japanese martial arts training – karate, judo, and aikido – to his bomber pilots and crews. California Judoka Mel Bruno was selected to oversee the SAC martial arts program. Beginning in the 50s, he arranged for some of the top Japanese instructors to tour American air bases and train SAC pilots and crew. These instructors included Shotokan greats Funakoshi, Obata, Nakayama, and Nishiyama. Some airmen were sent to Japan for advanced training so they could come back and teach karate and judo to others. So there were always strong karate and judo programs on any base where SAC personnel were stationed.

In late October of 1962, we came under Red Alert, the military’s highest alert level. Everyone was immediately recalled and restricted to base. Civilians were escorted off and all base entrances secured.

All Army personnel were issued rifles and assigned guard duty at the missile sites. We quickly learned that the alert was prompted by President Kennedy’s confrontation with Soviet President Khrushchev over the placement of missiles in Cuba. Things were very tense for a while. But Khrushchev thankfully agreed to remove their missiles and the crisis was over.

During the lull, I married my wife, Diane, and moved her into an apartment in Fairfield, a mile outside the base front gate. We’re still together 48 years later.

Soon after we were married, I was on base, walking past the Day Room when something on the TV caught my eye. I heard the news that President Kennedy had been assassinated. I ran through headquarters, telling everyone the news. We all gathered around the TV, watching events as they unfolded in Dallas – the race to get the President to the hospital, the search for his killer, the capture of Lee Harvey Oswald, the confrontation between Dallas police and the Secret Service at the airport over removing Kennedy’s body, and the rest.

The nation was stunned.

The next few days were as strange as any I’ve experienced in my 67 years, except perhaps for the 9/11 attack on the Twin Towers in New York.

Every TV channel ran only news about the assassination until they signed off at night. (TV channels would shut down around midnight each night. None broadcast all night as they do now. At around 7 the next morning, they would all start their broadcast days as they had ended them, with the playing of the National Anthem.) Every radio station broadcast nothing but somber, funeral type music. This went on for days, only ending after Kennedy was buried.

I received orders reassigning me to Korea for the last thirteen months of my service.

In my next post, I’ll talk about training in Korea and the Easter Bunny incident.

Thanks for taking the time to read my ramblings.

Two Acclaimed Books from Two of Our Blog Supporters

Two senior martial artists, readers of this blog and Facebook friends, Paris David Blumenthal and Hoosain Narker, have books out. Both are available from both the authors themselves and from Amazon – perhaps other booksellers as well. And both have received Amazon 5-Star reviews.

I haven’t yet read Sensei Blumenthal’s book, All American Karate Champ, but it has received great reviews. The following is one from Amazon:

“All-American Karate Champ is an autobiography of Paris David Blumenthal’s odyssey of life. The title may leave many to believe it is just another sports Karate book, however it is not. This book belongs on the shelf next to books like the, “Warrior Athlete: Body, Mind & Spirit “by Dan Millman , “The Book of the Five Rings,” by Miyamoto Musashi. A scrawny little kid, oldest of four with three younger sisters, that grew up on the mean streets of New York to the ganglands of California. Mr. Blumenthal is more than a two-time National USA Karate Champion and AAU/USA All-American. His Karate sport and business ventures have taken him all over the world. He is one of the few Americans who actually was able to train with Karate Masters in Okinawa, as so his martial arts teacher was from there -- Stephen E. Hughes”

I have read Sensei Narker’s book, My Karate Odyssey. A few years ago, South African Sensei Narker literally crisscrossed the breadth and depth of North and Central America, visiting dojos, training under many instructors, passing on his Ashihara style to others, getting lost, finding wonderful people, and competing in a couple of tournaments. His book is a recounting of his travels. It also contains a very interesting chapter on the origin and meaning of “OUS” (OSS/OOS) and another on what it was like to live and train as a martial artist under Apartheid. It was a fun and informative read.

I’ve linked their titles to Amazon but the following are their personal links so you can contact them or order directly from them:

Here is Sensei Narker’s website address: http://www.karateodyssey.com/

This is Sensei Blumenthal’s: http://karatechamptv.com/index.asp

You Hold the Power to Save Lives

I’m deviating away from my recollections of my early days in karate to discuss a question raised by a serious young instructor who asked how I decide who to select for membership in my dojo.

Imagine you were a doctor and traveled to a primitive land, where you discovered that thousands of children were dying daily from a deadly disease which you could cure with a shot of the antibiotics you carried in your medical bag. But most of those who had the disease didn’t realize they were sick – although you could read the subtle early symptoms clearly. And those who knew they were sick didn’t trust Western medicine, thinking only a witch doctor, herbal medicines, or blood offering to a deity could cure them.

If you knew thousands and thousands of children would surely die early deaths unless you could find a way to get them to agree to the shot, would you have a duty to find a way to get them to take it? Or would it be enough to simply tell yourself they didn’t want it so what more could you do? (Or, worse yet, feel that since they were so ignorant, they deserved what they got.)

I believe we’re in a very similar land. Tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, die each year from illnesses that could be cured with something you alone within your local community have the ability to give them.

How many do you imagine die each year from heart disease, lung and colon cancer, cirrhosis of the liver, high blood pressure, obesity, high cholesterol, stroke, diabetes, and other diseases? The last statistics show that almost 2.5 million die each year. And a significant percentage of them die from preventable causes.

These latter die from illnesses that arise due to a lack of the self discipline and self control necessary to make the right choices in life.

People who fail to follow healthy lifestyles don’t do so because they don’t know what’s best for them. How many today don’t know that smoking is unhealthy… yet continue to smoke? How many today aren’t aware that they need to regulate the quantity and types of food they eat… yet continue to eat in an unhealthy manner? How many today don’t know they should get regular exercise… yet don’t get off their couches? How many today don’t know drugs or excess alcohol consumption will surely lead to early deaths… yet never slow down?

Everyone knows all of this, yet do it anyway.

People don’t fail to make healthy choices in their lives because they’re stupid. They merely lack the self discipline and self control necessary to make the right choices in life.

In the old days, most children gained self discipline and self control in three places - home, school, and church. But no more. In fact, laws have been enacted in this country to prevent parents from disciplining their children as they think most effective and schools from disciplining children or even teaching moral or ethical values. And church attendance in many parts of this country has unfortunately dropped significantly over the last 50 years.

The only places remaining within most American communities today are us.

As such, I believe we have a duty to reach out to as many people as possible within our local communities, a crusade of sorts, and do whatever is necessary to get them to “take the shot”, to get involved in your school. Then, you must work equally hard to keep them there long enough to instill in them critically needed self discipline and self control.

This is not in any way to downplay the value of instruction in self defense skills. In fact, we must make our young students proficient in defending themselves. Without that ability, they are still vulnerable to potentially destructive peer pressure. But when a teenager is able to defend him or herself, they don’t need the security of the group. They possess the self confidence necessary to not only achieve greatness in many areas of life but to also say and live “NO”.

Realistically self confident kids (those with real skill) don’t need to pacify their peers, to do what their peers want them to do in order to fit in or gain the approval or security of the group, who may lead them to drink, smoke, use drugs, join gangs, etc. Their peer group should need to gain their approval, not vice versa. My teenage students have become the leaders within their peer groups, not one of the compliant followers. And, since they possess the inner strength (from their self defense skill and their self discipline and self control) to make the right choices in life, they become positive role models for their peers to follow.

What would your local community look like, how would it change for the better, if a large percentage of your local residents were involved in your school? What would happen to teen drug and alcohol problems? Gangs? Childhood obesity? And so on?

It would change significantly for the better!

They’d run the drug dealers and gangs out of town.

You have within your hands a life-saving gift. Do you keep it to yourself and only share it with a handful? Or do you seek out and share it with everyone within your community who could use it?

I think you should do the latter.

Thanks for reading the ramblings of an old karateka.

Kick Someone or No Promotion

This will be the last installment of my remembrances of my time in the late 50s, early 60s with Sensei (now Sijo) Sam Brown.

At one point in my early days with him, I was passed over for promotion and had no idea why. As he’d become angry if anyone asked about belts or promotions (training was for the sole acquisition of knowledge, not belts), the results from a test were expected to speak for themselves.

A new student once made the mistake of asking how long it would take to earn a black belt. Sensei Brown jerked off his black belt, threw it in the guy’s face, and told him, “There’s a black belt. Take it and get out!” The guy left, without a black belt - earned or otherwise.

Sensei Brown eventually told me the reason for being passed over. He thought I was “too nice a guy”, going too easy with my partners. “If you don’t start kicking people, you’ll never be promoted,” he told me.

Hitting people had been a problem for me. I had an older brother and knew too well what that felt like be on the receiving end and got no pleasure out of making others feel as I had.

My view too was that hitting was easy. I wanted to hold myself up to what I felt was a higher standard.

One of the questions I’ve gotten over the years is “What’s the difference between a martial artist and a fighter?” To me, one difference was the level of control each possessed over their techniques.

A martial artist differed in that he possessed the ability to always control his techniques to a very fine degree, even when both he and his opponent are moving at full speed. A boxer, for example, is trained to always make contact. There is no reason for him to learn anything but how to hit someone as hard as he possibly can. But for a martial artist, there are occasions when control is the appropriate (and legally best) course of action. At times, we want to stop our punches or kicks just short of contact as a warning. At others, a quick jab to the nose is enough to change an attacker’s mind about the probable outcome of fighting you. At the other end of the scale, however, are those situations in which we must be capable of delivering deadly, board breaking, brick crushing, perhaps life-taking force.

As I said, hitting is easy. Having the skill to always determine the amount of damage you do, from none to terminal force, takes mastery. And that was my goal.

I later learned an old saying, “Karate is where you go to learn how to say ous.” For those not familiar with the word, ous (also spelled oos and oss) is an acknowledgement by a student or person of lower rank or position to do what is asked of them and do it to the best of their ability. (I won’t get into the disagreement relative to the use, origin, and/or meaning of the term here.) I always had an Ous Mentality, even before I had ever heard the word.

Although I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I always did as asked by my instructors. (And none ever asked me to do anything that was immoral or unethical. I would have left them had any ever asked something inappropriate of me.)

So I began targeting my techniques for light contact.

I’m not sure of Sensei Brown’s reasons, whether to make me tougher or to help me discover the following, but things changed after I started targeting my techniques differently – besides getting promoted. I found that when a sparring partner knew I would never make contact, he was free to completely ignore my techniques and hit (literally) me at will. It also allowed them to stay closer, meaning their attacks and counterattacks had less distance to travel, meaning they landed much quicker. That changed as soon as I started making contact.

And throughout the remainder of my karate life, I always used (and taught) what Sensei Brown had helped me learn.

When I began competing, I always tried to leave a great deal of doubt in my opponents’ minds about whether or not I’d control my techniques. I only actually hit an opponent and was penalized for it one time, at Professor Ralph Castro’s California Karate Championships in San Francisco, but they didn’t know that.

This approach became even more important when I became a national coach (under the United States Olympic Committee). I told my athletes the same thing – make your opponents think you’re not just going to hit them but hit them hard. This forced their opponents to respect their techniques, yielding more ground to make sure they were out of range, and making them counter in a more careful manner, slowing down their attacks or counterattacks. With greater contact generally allowed at the time, if our national athletes didn’t make their opponents fear their techniques, they’d be hit extremely hard, often with no penalty to the hitter. (I saw a foreign competitor get hit so hard in an international match, it took four surgeries to repair his face.)

I trained with Sensei Brown until I went into the army in 1962.

While in the military, I studied with several other people, all in different styles. (I’ll relay some of it later.) I came back with a black belt and opened a dojo on the opposite side of town, where I lived.

I don't even remember being aware Sensei Brown was still teaching. Someone had told me he had gone back to Hawaii. But he hadn’t.

He showed up at my dojo one day with some of his students. I wasn't there but Bob, my older brother was. Sensei Brown asked him what I would do if someone tried to bomb my dojo. I don’t remember what Bob told him, but he wasn’t one to be intimidated by anyone. (He took after my father’s side of the family, who were very large Scottish men. Bob later moved to Alaska so he could hunt grizzly bears.)

Sensei Brown also told my brother that he had instructed his students to be prepared for me seeking retribution. I didn't take the bomb comment too seriously, knowing his nature and the tough conditions under which he had been raised. But I was careful for a while just the same, as he and the military had taught me to be. But I didn't expect any explosions. I also didn't understand why he thought I'd try to seek retribution or what I could possibly have to seek retribution for. I still had a great deal of respect for him, as I do to this day. But my rank was in a different style and my last instructor had asked me to open a dojo, which I did.

We operated in the same town for many years and never had another meeting or incident. And I’m glad we didn’t because I learned a lot from him.

He taught me many things, both directly and indirectly, in addition to the technical things we’ve discussed.

Some (or maybe a lot) of Sensei Brown’s perpetual defensive awareness rubbed off on me. Never let anyone know when you’re ill or injured. Check out anyone who enters your dojo. And training while injured or not feeling your best toughens you for having to continue fighting after being injured in a real fight, as is inevitable.

I leave him… and you for reading my ramblings… with my deepest thanks.

Sensei Longfellow suggested another book I read and reread many years ago. It's a martial arts classic. Zen and the art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel. He and I both recommend it. Again, click the title and it'll take you to Amazon listing for this great book.

Great Books - One

Throughout my martial arts career, I read literally every book I could find on the martial arts - many several times. Whenever I traveled, one of the first things I’d do was track down every bookstore in town and check out their martial arts sections. My constant reading helped me accrue a huge amount of information over the years, much useful, some not.

I will try from time to time to recommend books I've especially enjoyed or found especially informative. One of my all time favorites was a book I first read in the 70s, C.W. Nicol's Moving Zen. It gave me great insights into what it was like to train in the early 60s at JKA headquarters in Tokyo and taught me a lot about proper dojo etiquette. I also picked up some technical advice from it that proved very valuable when I became one of the national coaches.

I have linked the book title to the Amazon website. If you’re interested in reading Moving Zen, click on the title and it will take you to Amazon, where you can check out availability and pricing and, if you like, order a copy. I buy most of my books through Amazon. They don’t always have the cheapest prices but they have an extensive selection (including many I couldn’t find anywhere else), are easy to do business with, have quick delivery, and always make a purchase right.

Ball Peen Hammer Punches and Bull Whip Kicks

Continuing on my study in the early 60s with kenpo sensei Sam Brown.

Sensei Brown told us about “pinging”, a Hawaiian practice in which a martial artist punched an anvil so hard he made it ping. The goal was to “break the cap” of their middle knuckles. Then, when it healed up, the knuckle would be much rounder and larger.

According to Sensei Brown, when one “pinged” his knuckle in Hawaii (where he grew up), his enemies would see his swollen hand and know that he would soon have a formidable weapon at the end of his arm. So they would attack him on sight while he was still vulnerable. So the pinged person would lay low for a couple of weeks, until his hand had time to heal.

He told us that when done properly, your middle finger, post-pinging, would feel like a ratchet if moved up and down.

I don’t remember if he recommended we ping our hands or simply mentioned it. But at some point I decided to follow the tradition.

Lacking an anvil, I punched a concrete wall. Feeling no ratcheting, I punched it even harder. This time, my knuckle clicked as I moved my finger, like a ratchet.

My hand swelled up and turned purple. It stayed that way for awhile. But after it had healed, I was disappointed in it. Although my middle knuckle was larger, it was not as large as I had hoped. So, I did it again. The result this time was a much larger middle knuckle.

Sensei Brown also taught us to make a fist differently than anyone else I’ve encountered in my 55 years in the martial arts. His unique punch was formed by extending the index finger and locking it into position with his thumb. This rounded the back of his hand and separated the knuckles.

When combined with a nicely “pinged” hand, the enlarged middle knuckle protruded even further, allowing us to focus all of our force into that one knuckle, rather than the traditional two, greatly increasing the pounds per square inch (psi) of impact. This had the effect of hitting someone with a ball peen hammer. I’ve used it as a specialty punch ever since for attacking certain targets and used a standard flat fist or half fist to attack others. But it’s served me well through the years.

Sensei Brown also taught us a different and dangerous (to both us and our opponents) way of executing a front kick. The standard approach is to raise the knee, execute the kick, then wait for the foot to return before placing it back on the floor.

Between the start and the execution of the kick and between the kick and its return to the floor is what we call “dead time”. There’s two reasons for this name. One, it’s time in which nothing is going on. But second, if you allow much of it to exist in the execution of your techniques, you’ll soon be dead. So Sensei Brown’s approach removed much of the dead time, especially on the recovery phase.

We were taught to snap our knees upward and whip our kicks out, with lightening quickness and as little telegraphing and dead time as we could possibly muster. But instead of waiting for our foot to recover, we’d snap our knees downward while the kick was still in route to its target, forcing the kick to hit and immediately snap back to keep up with the knee action. The kick was executed much like one does to crack a bull whip. But the result was a hyperextension of our knees. And the practice negatively affected my knees.

Several years later, after I had completed my military service (and studied martial arts with others), I returned to San Jose and opened my first dojo. Someone asked Sensei Brown about me. He wasn’t happy about me opening a school even if it was on the opposite side of town, miles from his. He told them I wasn’t bad for a skinny haole with bad knees. Considering him and his history, I took it as a complement, even though he may not have meant it that way. (Fortunately, after learning to kick in a safer – but slower – method, my knees healed up. But I’ve kept that lightening quick snap kick in my arsenal and been times I’ve silently thanked him for it and the ball peen hammer punch.)

I’ve gotten feedback that most people prefer shorter posts. So I’ll try to keep them shorter. The good side of this approach is it gives me more time to remember more details, many stored away for 50 years and only seeing the light of day again because another detail opened them up for me.

Take care and thanks for reading.

ADDITION: The following was added after the above post originally appeared.

I received a very insightful email from someone who knows alot about such things and has asked he remain annonyous. But he pointed out something I failed to mention when I described what I called the Ball Peen Hammer punch. (I just made up that name - as I also did the Bull Whip Kick - for dramatic and more descriptive effect. No one ever called it that. It was just a description of the resulting effect when someone was hit with it.) He quite correctly noted that the index finger is not pressed down towards the palm but, rather across towards the middle knuckle. That's exactly what I do, and what I was taught. Thanks to him for the correction and a bunch of very interesting and educational information about the history and practices of Hawaiian kenpo, the many great martial artists who have come from the Islands over the years, and the many contributions they have made to our arts.

James Mitose

Leslee Kufferath posted tonight on my Facebook page in response to a link to a new page I posted on Sensei James Mitose. I posted it in response to questions I was getting about him and why I had avoided revealing much about stories I had heard about him. She posted the following:

"My father knew James Mitose personally. I have his original book that he signed and gave it to my father. He was a great man."

Her father was one of our greatest jujitsu masters, Professor Sig Kufferath, one of my favorite people on the planet, and one of our USNKA Living Martial Arts Treasures. I wanted to pass on the perceptions of one who actually knew him. As I told her, I had always heard only negative things about Sensei Mitose. Yet he taught many who became great martial artists. So I always felt there had to be more to his story - or at least hoped there was.

I think our society tends to be too quick to focus on the negative side of people. I think it makes them feel better about themselves, even superior, thinking or knowing one who achieved great things was worse than they are in some aspect. I always tried to focus on people's positive sides and use their example to elevate myself, rather than focus on the opposite and try to bring them down to my level. While they help me become better, others end up exactly where they've always been.

My thanks to Leslee Kufferath for her input. I prefer to hold her father's image of Sensei Mitose in my mind than what was there before. Just my 2 cents.

Learning to Kiai... the Hard Way!

Sensei Brown named his new group Ken-Ju-Bo-Ai and began offering classes at Pacific Judo Academy.

I was one of the first 12 to join. I was not just the only white belt but also the only teenager. The other 11 were grown men and black belts in judo and jujitsu. Most were either current or former judo competitors. And one of the group, Joe Molo, was a defensive tactics instructor for the San Francisco Police Department.

The first thing I learned was how to kiai. Now, people learn most things via one of three methods – reflection, instruction, or experience. The latter – experience – is generally the most memorable but also the most painful. And that was the method by which I learned to kiai. In my very first class, everyone knocked the wind out of me at least once.

Not only did I learn how to kiai in the process, but also how to keep fighting until I could regain my breath. If I hadn’t learned this skill quickly, I would have had far more than my breathing to worry about because no one ever stopped until told to do so. And Sensei Brown had announced at the start of our first class that he wanted to see blood at every workout… and he did… as well as broken legs, arms, toes, fingers, jaws, and collar bones. A fair amount of it was mine.

Sensei Brown focused much of our training on perfecting ways to attack four vital areas – the groin, solar plexus, throat, and eyes. We practiced attacking each of these in a variety of ways and from all angles, over and over until we could find them even in the dim light of nighttime streets.

We began each workout with a lot of body conditioning and toughening drills, especially our stomachs. In one drill, we practiced punching each other in the gut. In another, we would lie down on the mat side by side, our belts lined up with that of the person next to us. The first in line would get up and run across everyone’s stomachs, then lie down at the opposite end. The second person would repeat the process, then the third. But as this continued, people would pick up speed. Soon, feet were not always on target and would step on your groin, neck, or face.

Whenever someone got promoted, he had to stand in horse stance (kiba dachi), with his hands tucked into his belt behind his back. Everyone would line up and punch him one time in the gut, as hard as they could.

Laughing or joking around was forbidden. The only time we were allowed to laugh was when someone fell. Then, everyone would run over and laugh as they kicked the downed person relatively hard as he tried to get to his feet. This was done to teach us the price of going down in a fight and make us always struggle to stay on our feet.

To become an assistant instructor, I had to stand in a low horse stance with my thighs parallel to the floor and my arms out straight in front of me, level with my shoulders. I had to stay in that position, without moving, for thirty minutes. It was an extremely difficult task physically. But it was perhaps even more difficult mentally and spiritually – our spirits that part of us that keeps us going when every other part wants to quit.

It was a great learning tool, enabling me to better know myself and my level of inner strength. And it contributed towards the development of one of the most critical of martial qualities, self discipline. My mind learned through this and other drills and experiences to dominate my body.

A lack of self discipline is the great destroyer of our goals and dreams. Our bodies are born weak. And either our minds control our bodies, or our bodies control our minds. If our minds can’t dominate our weak, pleasure seeking bodies, they will always fail us when things get tough, robbing us of the achievement of any difficult goal we set for ourselves, cheating us of ever achieving success.

To stay in a low kiba dachi, I learned to make subtle adjustments in the muscles holding me up, relaxing one muscle a bit and tightening another to compensate, giving the first some rest before calling it back into service.

But most important, I also learned to keep my mind occupied on other things so it couldn’t dwell on the overwhelming pain and fatigue. I used rudimentary mental disassociation drills, which I would later research and refine, to get through this and many other difficult tasks in my years in karate.

I have a bit more to add about Sensei Brown, including the Hawaiian practice of “pinging”, that when coupled with a unique way to form a fist, allowed us to hit with all our force in a single knuckle, as with a ball peen hammer. I’ll also reveal important lessons I learned for personal security that are still of service to me almost 50 years later.

Thanks for reading the humble ramblings of an old man.

My Introduction to Mean Streets Kenpo

I mentioned in my last post that a young Hawaiian had begun teaching kenpo at Sensei Montero’s judo and jujitsu dojo. This young man was Sensei Sam Brown.

Sensei Montero’s dojo was located in one of those small strip malls so characteristic of the 50s. It had large picture windows in front and a wall behind the reception desk, blocking view of most of the matted workout area.

It became obvious right from the start that Sensei Brown came from a vastly different environment than even I did, who lived on the Eastside of San Jose, the roughest part of town.

When Sensei Brown’s classes were in session, the front door was locked and the shades drawn over the windows. If someone was late for class or wanted in for whatever reason, they had to knock. And when they did, a designated senior student would position himself near the door in a stance before carefully opening it, ready to fight.

The serious manner in which Sensei Brown managed the security of the dojo and ran his classes, as well as the techniques he taught, reflected the seriousness of the environment from which he had come.

His classes were very intense and strict. He told us right from the start that he wanted to see blood at every workout… and he did… as well as broken legs, arms, toes, fingers, jaws, and collar bones. A fair amount of it was mine.

At some point, I convinced one of my best high school friends to train with us. He and I were at a party about a month later when someone sarcastically asked what he thought he could do if attacked after only a month of training. My friend said “Look, we get beat up by experts three times a week. What’s the average guy going to do to us?” And to a great degree, he was right. Part of the training was to learn to take a lot of abuse and keep fighting, a necessary skill in the real world.

It was painful but exciting stuff, especially for me, a small teenager from a tough neighborhood.

Sensei Brown focused primarily on teaching us to attack five of the body’s most vulnerable points – the groin, knees, solar plexus, throat, and eyes. We practiced attacking each of these in a variety of ways and from all angles so we could find them even in the dimmest of light.

Kyoshi Wagner mentioned in a Facebook post that he thought there would be an Ed Parker connection to this story. Until recently, I would have agreed, believing for many years that there was a strong one. I only learned earlier this year, after over 40 years of thinking otherwise, that the connection was far more distant that I had thought.

I had always thought Sensei Brown had been a student of the legendary Bill “Thunderbolt” Chow, teacher of Ed Parker, the Emperado Brothers, and many others. I was told this around the time I first met Sensei Brown. He never spoke about his former instructors, hinting at the time that he couldn’t for some reason. But as I knew nothing of the history of the martial arts at the time, I would have had no reason to even know who Professor Chow was unless someone had mentioned his name. I suspect it must have been Sensei Montero when he first introduced Sensei Brown. And he may have simply mentioned that his instructor had some connection with Professor Chow and I only caught part of it. So it was likely my mistake.

I discovered just this year that Sensei Brown had been a student of Professor Marino Tiwanak, who had been a student of Professor Adriano Emperado, a direct student of Professor Chow and one of the founders of Kajukenbo.

Among the general martial arts population, Professor Chow is one of the lesser known of our great American masters. But he and those he produced were well-practiced, highly skilled, street-oriented fighters, just as our traditional karate forefathers were in their day.

When Professors Chow, Emperado, and Tiwanak were developing and testing their techniques, there was a huge military presence in Hawaii. Saturday nights (especially on paydays) were reportedly huge open brawls between drunken soldiers and sailors and the locals.

The official line for their initial goal in developing their skills and fighting systems was to prepare themselves and the local young men to better defend themselves in these Saturday night main events. But from what I later gathered, both directly and indirectly, from Sensei Brown, there was also a good deal of vicious fighting between local groups, turf wars as have always occurred in poorer sections of most larger cities around the world and throughout time.

As is usually the case in such environments, training methods were far more intense and techniques developed and utilized far more practical than in safe environments, where one had the luxury of being more philosophical in their goals and approach. These men were in a combat zone, which made them relentless in their quest to develop better ways to deal with street situations and acquire an optimal level of skill in their execution, as their very lives could well depend on it.

Professor Chow had been the top student of a shadowy kenpo master named James Mitose, who had received his training in Japan. (There is a great deal of information about Sensei Mitose’s life, including some very negative stuff. If you’re interested, Google his name and you’ll probably learn more than you want to know about Sensei Mitose. It’s an unfortunate story about how great skill and potential can be so misspent.)

I had the great pleasure many years ago of meeting Professor Chow and watching him demonstrate kata. One of his students, Sensei Bill Chun, was an early friend of mine. Sensei Chun ran a very good kenpo school in Richmond, California, or thereabouts. It was at Sensei Chun’s tournament, probably in the mid to late 60s, that I met Professor Chow.

Professor Chow was a short (reportedly only 5’2”) but powerfully built man with his white hair cut in a crewcut. Having studied kenpo and known many kenpo and kajukenbo practitioners, I expected him to do a vastly different kata than the one he demonstrated.

Professor Chow performed Pinan Nidan (which we now call Heian Shodan). He did it in the manner that all great old Okinawan/Japanese masters did it – very slowly, with his full attention on each individual move, completely focused on generating as much power as he possibly could. And he could generate a LOT of power. It was not fluid and flowing like the kenpo kata I had learned or seen. Instead, it was very rigid and controlled, like a masterful Shotokan version of Heian Shodan. He was a truly great martial artist in anyone’s book.

I’ll stop here for now. Next time, I’ll focus on some of the unique kihon or basics Sensei Brown taught us, some of which, as I said before, was different than anything I learned or saw demonstrated by anyone else over my over 50 years in the martial arts. In relooking at my time at his dojo and training under his methods, I came to realize what a great instructor Sensei Brown was and the great effect he had on my mindset and martial arts

The Accidental Karateka

1955. Buddy Holly. Milton Berle Show. The first Corvette.

America was a far simpler place. It was in this setting that I discovered karate, the martial art that would change and become the major focus of my life. It occurred purely by accident – two accidents in fact. The first was an accident accident, of the vehicular type. The second was an accident of the happenstance type.

The car accident, fortunately, wasn’t my own – especially since I was only 12 or 13 at the time. The car was driven by a Japanese, Hiro Nishi, who was a student at nearby San Jose State College. My father ran an auto bodyshop on the Eastside of San Jose, where Hiro’s Plymouth was towed after he cut a corner too sharply and clipped off the post holding up the turn signal light.

I noticed a gi and black belt in the back seat and asked Hiro if he did judo, as that was the only martial art I – or pretty much anyone else in the country – had heard of at the time. He said he did karate, which meant nothing to me. But as it wasn’t judo, I quickly lost interest, no matter how grandly he tried to build it up.

I mentioned the encounter to my school teacher the next day. He had studied judo in Japan so I thought he would be interested in some misguided guy thinking he studied an art better than judo. My teacher, however, was one of the few around who knew what karate was. He told me spellbinding stories about men who could break stacks of boards and crush bricks and kill a man with their bare hands.

I lived on the Eastside of San Jose, the roughest part of town, and was very small for my age so karate looked like the answer to my dreams. To give you an idea of my size at the time, when I entered James Lick High School (also the high school of Bob Wall, who would later star in Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon) a few months later and tried out for the football team, I was only 5’2” tall and weighed a mere 88 pounds, the size of a small girl. The coach nicknamed me “Olds 88”, because of my weight, after the Olds (Oldsmobile) 88, a fast car at the time.

When Hiro came by to pick up his car, I asked if he would teach me this amazing art. He agreed, although he never actually taught me in a conventional sense. I was mainly his punching bag, a moving target for him to practice his techniques on. But I was fine with that because it allowed me to pick up techniques as I struggled to adapt to his fighting style.

Hiro returned to Japan a couple of years later and there was no other karate instructor in the area, or pretty much the rest of the country. So I enrolled at Pacific Judo Academy. There, I studied judo and jujitsu under a great teacher, Bill Montero Sr. Sensei Montero had been a student of the legendary Professor Henry Okazaki, who also turned out Professor Wally Jay, Professor Sig Kufferath, and Professor Willy Cahill.

I enjoyed the training, especially in jujitsu, but quickly discovered I had too little weight spread over too short a frame. One day I was paired with a heavyset guy, who was not only twice my weight but was an intermediate judoka. (I was still a bare beginner.) We were working on a new (for me) beginning throw. I couldn’t move him, which gave him great pleasure. Sensei Montero saw what was happening, asked me to step away, demonstrated the throw in great detail, then slammed my partner HARD into the mat. He then told him to never treat a beginner in that manner again.

Sensei moved on and I had a much more cooperative partner. But I had learned my lesson. I wasn’t genetically designed for judo.

Fortunately, a young friend of Sensei Montero’s demonstrated kenpo at the dojo one night. He had just moved to the mainland from Hawaii and looking to teach his art.

In my next post, I will talk about this man, who stands out to this day as a very different type of instructor and one who taught me things I never learned from anyone else, including a unique way to create a crushing punch… and later threatened to bomb my first dojo.