Great Books - Five

I highly recommend Patrick McCarthy’s Bubishi. Until recently, the handful of Okinawan karate greats who possessed copies of the Bubishi guarded them as closely as the military guards its secrets today. Only their uchi deshi were allowed to read them. If they were deemed deserving, these uchi deshi were allowed to hand copy a version of it. In fact, the copy used by Hanshi McCarthy for his translation had been hand copied by none other than Kenwa Mabuni from Anko Itosu’s personal copy.

The following is what one of our greatest martial artists had to say about Hanshi McCarthy’s translation of the Bubishi:

“… the Bubishi is a historically important document whose secrets, until only just recently, have remained closely guarded by karate-do masters in Okinawa.

“In addition to the copious amount of intriguing information contained within the pages of this profound document, the Bubishi also reveals the original application of orthodox kata and the moral precepts that govern the behavior of those who understand these secrets. Disclosing the principles of tuidi and kyusho-jitsu (art of attacking vulnerable points on the human body), the reader will come to understand that which has been kept secret for generations.

“The Bubishi must be considered mandatory reading for all serious enthusiasts of true karate-do and is therefore an essential addition to one’s personal library, a work to be deeply studied by both teacher and student alike. In so doing, the torch of true karate-do will continue to burn long into the future, lighting the arduous path upon which others may follow.” - Shoshin Nagamine, Hanshi, 10^th Dan, World Shorin-ryu Karate-do Federation

Make sure you get Hanshi McCarthy’s latest version, printed in 2008. If you click the book name, Bubishi, you will be taken to Amazon and the correct version.

Kimchee, Whiskey, and the Easter Bunny

I just found some photos from my army days. The first two were taken during my first year, before Korea. They were taken to publicize me being named Soldier of the Year. The second is from an R & R one of my army buddies and I took to Japan (after a few days in Hong Kong). We went on a night life tour, which included a visit to a Geisha House.

A funny story about the friend who took R & R with me. His name was Arthur J. Virgin Jr. His army name tag always read “A. Virgin”, for which he took a lot of ribbing. One day, we were at the NCO club, sitting at the bar, when a soldier came in and sat down next to my friend. Virgin looked over at the guy, then removed his own name tag. He started ribbing the guy about the name on his name tag – Cherry. He eventually got the soldier so angry, he jumped off his stool, ready to fight. Then, Virgin says “You never asked me my name.” The soldier told him he couldn’t care less. Virgin insisted, “Ask me my name?” The frustrated soldier finally asked to shut him up. When Virgin told him his name, they both laughed, bought each other a beer, and got rip roaring drunk.

Soon after arriving at my unit in Korea, I joined a taekwondo club that trained almost daily in the base gym. It was taught by a Korean instructor named Kim (the most common last name in Korea).

Taekwondo was very different back then. Their kihon (basics) were the same as Shotokan form, low solid stances and strong blocks and punches. I had studied Shotokan in the beginning and while at Travis, so I was very familiar with it. Taekwondo practitioners back then moved with lower centers, like punchers, not kickers. They also did the exact same kata. (This was all reportedly due to General Choi, founder of taekwondo, having trained with and received his dan grades from Gichin Funakoshi. I don’t know if this is true or not but the taekwondo that Mr. Kim taught looked an awfully lot like Shotokan.)

A fellow soldier and I volunteered to teach English conversation classes for the local adult education program. I was assigned an assistant, the vice governor of the province, to act as my Korean translator. He was a nice, very well educated man. At the end of the school year, he and the head of the English department for the local schools, Mr. Ho, hosted a party for us at Mr. Ho’s home. We hadn’t met Mr. Ho before so when we shook hands I said “I’m glad to meet you.” He said, “I’m fine, thank you.”

During the party Mr. Ho said something about how appreciative he was that we had given them so much of our time, especially considering we were paid such a small amount of money for it. I asked my friend if he had gotten paid. He shook his head. To this day, we don’t know where the money went.

Mr. Ho appeared with a bottle of American whiskey in his hand. He beamed as if holding a bottle of the finest Champagne. In the early 60s, it was illegal to possess almost everything produced outside of Korea as the government was trying to improve their economy and wanted their people buying only Korean-made products. Everything else, including the bottle of whiskey, was considered an illegal black market item and probably very expensive. So it was a great honor.

Mr. Ho poured everyone at the party a shot so we could drink a toast to our service. We then drank another to U.S./Korean friendships. Then, another and another to a long list of noble ideas.

The party was held on our Easter Sunday. When someone suggested the next toast be to Easter, I told them how we celebrated Easter in the States – the Easter Bunny hiding eggs so the children could find them and so on. They all stared at me in disbelief. Next thing we knew, the bottle of whiskey had disappeared. They thought me and my friend must be drunk to make up such a story.

When Mr. Ho discovered I was involved in the martial arts, he told me he had a Chinese friend who was a skilled martial artist and lived in the country. The next day, he drove me out into the countryside and introduced me to Dr. N.B. Lee.

Dr. Lee’s home was in a very dramatic setting near the river, with a steep, jagged mountain range behind it. It was beautiful country, especially in Winter, when I first visited Dr. Lee. Training on the packed earth of his back courtyard with that vista behind us was awe inspiring.

The first time we met, Dr. Lee tried to discover if I spoke any language other than English. He spoke several but English was apparently his worst. He was clearly disappointed when he learned it was all I understood. As a result, we ended up speaking a form of pidgin English much of the time, which very unfortunately made it difficult to talk about anything of any depth or complexity.

Occasionally, Mr. Ho would stop by and translate for us. But, considering his first comment to me – “I’m fine, thank you” in response to my “Glad to meet you” – I was never sure if he or I got things right. Dr. Lee was an older gentleman at that time so I doubt if he’s still with us. But I wish I could see him again in the company of a reliable translator and clear up a lot of questions I’ve had over the years.

From what I thought he had said at one point, he taught Iron Fist. And that was what I believed for several years. But I later became friends with a great California Iron Fist master, Al Novak. We talked and what I showed him was different than the Iron Fist system he knew. So I don’t know exactly what system I was taught.

Dr. Lee never charged me for lessons but Sensei Brown had taught us it was the duty of students to take care of their teachers. (At one point, Sensei Brown told us that he needed new shoes and didn’t have the money to buy them. So I always tried to add an additional $10 to my $20 monthly dues when I was one of his students.) I would always leave money for Dr. Lee in an envelope on the table near his front door. And I would bring him things from the PX – like a warm coat, a good quality hot plate, and so on – to make his life a little more comfortable.

When my tour of duty was coming to an end, I paid Dr. Lee a final visit. He seemed honestly sad to see me go. The last thing he told me was to open a school when I got home and invite him over. (I sent him a letter soon after I opened my first school but never heard back. Not sure why.)

I arrived back in the U.S. and was discharged on New Years Eve day, 1964.

Within a few weeks, after the time lag had worn off, I opened my first dojo. In my next post, I will probably talk about meeting Bruce Lee, then a struggling instructor in Oakland, and catching arrows on the beach in Santa Cruz. (I’m never sure what I will actually get into until I’ve written it, as the process of writing these things down always jogs my memory and stuff starts flooding back. There are a huge number of very interesting stories I could tell about my army days but I’m trying to stay more focused on just my martial arts life. I’ll likely save those other stories for the book, if I ever write it.)

Thanks for reading my humble ramblings.

Great Books - Four

Another of my favorite books is Hanshi Stan Schmidt’s Spirit of the Empty Hand. South African Schmidt was the highest ranking non-Japanese JKA Shotokan practitioner in the world for many years. He traveled often to train at JKA headquarters in Tokyo and had many tales to tell. Rather than write an autobiographical book on it, he chose a different approach. He wrote about a fictional karateka who travels to Japan to train, weaving stories from his own experiences and those of several friends and students, into a single story.

As with Moving Zen, Spirit of the Empty Hand is a fun read, full of humor but also insights into Japanese life and dojo etiquette. Spirit of the Empty Hand probably contains far more technical information for the martial artist, allowing him to go away with greater knowledge about higher martial arts concepts.

I mentioned in my writeup of Moving Zen that I had learned something from it that not only helped me in my own karate at the time but I also found useful while a national coach and advising members of our national team when competing in international competition. I scanned through my copy of Moving Zen and couldn’t find the exchange. I searched for my copy of Spirit of the Empty Hand but haven’t found it yet. But I’m pretty sure the exchange in question was in that book, not Moving Zen. The exchange was between the ficitional karateka and Sensei Tabata, I think. They were talking over lunch at a restaurant. The conversation went as follows – as I remember it:

Karateka: What’s the most important thing in karate?

Tabata: Distance.

Karateka: What do you mean by “distance”?

Tabata: I have told you too much already.

It launched a huge amount of thought and experimentation on my part at the time. (This was many years ago.) I came to several very useful conclusions. But what do you think he meant by this?

(Again, I've linked both books to Amazon books, for those who haven't yet read these classics.)

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.