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.