George Byrd – one of our little known greats

Ron Glaubitz holds IKA flag. George Byrd is to the right. David Vaughn is
between them. George and David both made the 1972 U.S. team.

I promised some of his family members a while back that I would talk a bit about what I knew about George Byrd.

I first met George when he was a purple belt (6^th Kyu), training with fellow International Karate Association (IKA) black belt, Ron Glaubitz. I think Ron brought George to Ralph Castro’s old California Karate Championships in San Francisco. I later learned from someone that George, by profession, was a master lens grinder. He worked at labs that turned out prescription eye glasses.

George, even back then, was a tough fighter. I don’t remember how he did that day. But Ron ended up fighting great kenpo stylist Steve Saunders in the finals. Steve scored with a couple of hard punches to Ron’s face, which Ron never even attempted to block. I joked with Ron afterwards about him possibly working a bit harder on his face defense. He said his defense was perfect. He blocked everything Steve threw. I joked that he might not want to use his eye in the future to block his head. Eyes weren’t really designed for that purpose. I found out that Ron had been hit hard in the head during an exchange in an earlier match. He couldn’t see out of his left eye when he entered the ring to fight Saunders. He had fought with a concussion. But that was the kind of guy Ron was.

At some point, Ron opened a dojo in Mexico and George went with him, at least for a while. I was told that Ron, soon after his arrival in Mexico, went around to the other schools in town and invited the instructors to close their schools or train with him. Or they could have a private lesson on the spot. (I’m not sure if it was true or just someone’s fanciful image of Ron.)

George and Ron stopped for lunch one day at a taco shop. Ron bought a couple of tacos. Then, George went to the window to order. The clerk told him to beat it, they didn’t serve “N-words” there. George reached in through the window, grabbed the racist clerk’s lapels, and pulled him out through the opening. The two fought. George foot swept the guy and slammed him into the gutter. While he was working him over, Ron handed out business cards to those in the crowd that had quickly gathered to watch. He told them “I can teach you to fight like my student here.”

In 1972, a tournament was held at Los Angeles City College to select the U.S. team for the WUKO World Karate Championships in Paris. It was an unusual team trials. The officials employed what they called the “Brazilian System.” Most coaches hate using a straight elimination tournament to select team members because the outcome can rest on luck in charting. If the second best fighter is paired with the best fighter in an early round, someone who should be on the team could be eliminated. (This was later rectified by requiring double-elimination. For our team selection event for the Mexico City World Karate Championships in 1990, we used triple-elimination to make sure we had the best of the best. It made for a very long day.) With the “Brazilian System” used in 1972, the five officials could decide to advance one fighter or the other to the next round, as was normal. But, if both fighters were great, they could also advance both to the next round. If both were not strong enough, they could also decide not to advance either of them. It was also the first time a “control test” was administered, to make sure competitors could properly control their techniques.

George Byrd was one of the fighters who survived the elimination process and selected to represent the U.S. at the championships. I don’t know how he did in Paris. It was a strange event, with several national teams – including the U.S. and Japanese teams – walking out because of problems in the officiating.

The original charter called for the WUKO World Karate Championships to be held every two years. This meant that the next event should have been held in 1974. But it wasn’t – and I forget why. Instead, it was held in Los Angeles in 1975. (All others would be held every two years, as originally planned.) Not just one world championships, however, were held in LA that year. Both WUKO and Sensei Nishiyama’s ITKF held their world events there within a month of each other, if I remember right.

George was selected to represent the USA at one of the championships but I don’t remember which. However, when the event rolled around, he was too injured from a fight to compete.

I lost track of him after that, although I heard rumors on occasion. All in all, I didn’t know George well but liked him. He always seemed a loner and had a hard outer shell. But, underneath, he also had a good sense of humor.

George Byrd died many years ago. I don’t know the year or the cause. I only learned of his death after the fact. We’ve lost several great IKA karateka through the years, three or four within the last year alone. George Byrd was one of those who died far too early.

Dealing With Pain – A Martial Artist’s Frequent Companion – Part X

Tom Sadowski (right) punches Kenny Kuch (left)

     Tom Sadowski was one of my great, old black belt students. He started with me as a white belt in the late 60s, I think. He was tall, quick, handsome, charismatic, and a very experienced and successful street-fighter. When he reached brown belt, I took him to LA for Soke Kubota’s IKA All Star Karate Championships. In those days, Soke still used the old system – no belt divisions, only sparring and kata. Tom beat a number of black belts but lost in the final match to take 2^nd. (He would later win the event.) In 1975, Tom was selected to the U.S. team for Sensei Nishiyama’s ITKF World Karate Championships in Los Angeles.

Tom wasn’t able to compete because of an accident that occurred just before the event. While at a pool party, he climbed onto the top of the fence to dive into the water. As he jumped, the fence collapsed and he fell onto the deck, breaking his shoulder.

A few weeks later, a friend invited him to a party at a ranch outside of Watsonville, then a rural area about 40 miles south of San Jose. Later that night, while everyone was inside drinking and talking, someone asked Tom about karate. As Tom talked, a guy let out a big laugh. “Karate’s a bunch of bullshit,” he said.

“What do you know about karate?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know anything,” he said. “But I’ve seen all these big names you talk about, Nishiyama, Kubota, and the others, and they couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag.”

Tom told him he was full of it. The guy invited Tom outside to settle the matter. Tom said he couldn’t fight until his shoulder healed, but he’d be happy to meet him anytime, anyplace when it did.

“You karate assholes are all alike,” said the guy. “You always have some excuse why you can’t fight. All you do is yak, yak, yak.”

Tom had had a bit too much to drink and knew it. But, even with a broken shoulder and a good buzz on, this was a challenge he couldn’t let go unanswered.

As they went outside, the guy said “I’ve been looking for someone as stupid as you for a long time.”

Everyone followed them outside to watch. The guy looked around and said he didn’t want to fight in front of everyone as someone might call the cops when he kicked Tom’s ass. So, they got into the guy’s pickup and drove out into the orchard, where they squared off. The guy immediately kicked Tom all his might in his broken shoulder with his booted foot. Then, he worked him over, helped him back into his pickup, dropped him back off at the party, and left.

I don’t know if Tom ever found this guy when he was sober and healed up. I know he looked for him. In his search, he learned that the guy had lived for a long time in Thailand and was reportedly a world Thai kickboxing champion. To my knowledge, this was the only fight Tom ever lost – and it wouldn’t surprise me if he later evened the score.

Although it was surely unnecessary, as Tom was a very smart guy, I discussed with him the need to keep certain information confidential and maintain a level of sobriety when among strangers.

I had been taught from the very beginning to always keep injuries and illnesses to myself, as they gave enemies an opportunity. I’m always amazed at how often I see martial artists openly discussing their injuries, illnesses, and disabilities on Facebook and other public forums. I don’t think it’s a good idea to reveal any of this or act in a manner that would allow someone to tell that you were sick or injured, if you possibly can hide it. Perhaps, when you’re well, or healed up, you can reveal it, but not during. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, such as when you break a leg or limb or tear a hamstring. But I don’t think announcing it online is a good idea. If I were going to have surgery, I might only tell my most senior student, who had to cover for me at the dojo and I knew would keep it confidential.

I can’t remember a time when I missed teaching a class, unless I physically couldn’t (perhaps I had the stomach flu) or had something contagious. I was on the floor with broken bones, fevers, or whatever. If I was sick, I doctored myself up and taught. Samurai mothers told their children, “If you cry from a little scratch, what will you do when you have to commit seppuku?” Plus, maybe it’s just an ancient practice from the days of us dinosaurs, but men in general never talked about their illnesses when I was growing up. I shook my head when I read a recent comment by a middle level black belt, who headed his own organization, discussing on Facebook his current battle with diarrhea.

David Letterman once said what he liked best about dogs is their attitudes that “If they can do it, you can watch.” We seem in a “let it all hang out” era. I heard on the news yesterday that a couple had had sex earlier in the week while skydiving and had someone follow them down to videotape it. Perhaps I’ve lived too long. This is clearly not my era.

Thanks for reading my humble ramblings.

Dealing With Pain – A Martial Artist’s Frequent Companion – Part IX

My father had a friend many years ago named Jerry Bolden. (Both he and my dad died a few years ago.) Jerry had been raised in the Florida Everglades by his grandmother, who he often described as one of the toughest women on the planet. He said he once sassed her, then ran and jumped on the back of his horse. He spurred it to race away before she could get to him. She calmly reached down from her rocking chair on the porch and grabbed her bullwhip. She whipped it out, wrapped the end around Jerry’s neck, and yanked him off the back of his horse.

Jerry moved to San Jose in the mid-50s, where he met my dad. He lived out in the country and drove heavy equipment for a living. But he did a lot of hunting on the side – deer, bear, and wild boar. A friend of his brought the first Pit Bull dogs into California for Jerry to use to hunt hogs. (Pit Bulls were much smaller in those days than most today. Jerry gave me one of his pups in the late 50s and I raised it.)

Jerry was a tough guy, your worst enemy or best friend. He once killed a bear with a hatchet. He killed a 400 lbs. wild boar with a hunting knife. He was a handsome, charismatic, and funny guy, who dated a lot of women, including married ones. He came home from work one day to find the husband of one of the women sitting on his sofa with a shotgun aimed at him. Jerry somehow managed to finesse the guy into letting him move closer. When he was within range, he kicked the end of the shotgun. It blew a huge hole in the ceiling. Then, Jerry beat the guy up so badly that when the police arrived, they arrested him.

On a dare, he once removed an abscessed wisdom tooth with his pocket knife and a pair of pliers.

Jerry was just one of the many strong models of a man I saw while growing up. These images were in my mind when I began karate training in the 50s. Training was very rough in those days. Dojo wars were a common affair back then. Dojo windows were blacked out or boarded over so no one could see inside. The front door was kept locked. When someone knocked, a black belt was sent to answer it. He got into a fighting stance before he unlocked and opened the door. One of my first instructors told us he wanted to see blood at every workout – and he did. Part of training back then was seen as getting used to the presence of injury and pain.

I “pinged” my knuckles – punched a concrete wall full force to break the “cap” on my middle knuckle so it would harden and protrude when it healed, allowing me to hit as with a ball peen hammer. In fact, I broke it twice.

Along the way, I got into the habit of setting my own broken bones. I found that if you reset one soon after it broke, it was numb and not a problem. Some weren’t easy. But with images of Jerry Bolden in my mind, who could dig out a wisdom tooth with a knife, I viewed any hesitancy on my part as wimpiness.

My mind, as I’ve said before, came to be in constant combat with my body. When my body cringed away from my attempts to reset a dislocation or break, my mind would make my body press, pull, or twist even harder.

The only time I went to the doctor or emergency room for treatment of a karate related injury was when it was something I couldn’t treat or fix myself. I put in a couple of stitches once for a cut but it didn’t go so well. The needle didn’t want to penetrate the skin and I couldn’t tie the sewing thread close enough to the cut to be very effective. Next time I got cut, a student’s toenail sliced open the webbing between my middle and ring fingers, I went to the emergency room and let them handle it. It was a strange, gapping cut that I couldn’t figure out how to close. This was in the early days and I was in my gi. The doctor had never seen a karate injury before. He called in all of the other doctors, who all got a kick out of it, at my expense. This was another reason I avoided doctors and hospitals.

I’m certainly not advocating this approach for anyone but myself. In fact, it was probably a bad idea. It made my mind and spirit stronger and raised my pain tolerance but probably did so while putting my body at greater risk.

Thanks again for putting up with my ramblings.