Days of Wine and Roses
The Tournament Scene
The Sixties and Seventies
I have always been grateful for the manner in which Sensei Nagle taught me to fight. As I have mentioned in the past, we were similarly built, just sinew and tendons and so I did my best to emulate his fighting style and steal his techniques. As a result, I always enjoyed fighting and couldn’t wait for the kumites to start. I took pride in my kumites and the fact that I never feared anyone so much, that I wouldn’t attack them. I worked very hard on my defense right from the start, having noticed that Sensei always stopped you, before he attacked. I believe that, if you can develop an excellent defense, then you can make use of one of the tenets of Isshin-ryu's Code, “Only strike when the opportunity presents itself,” since, if you have just stopped an opponent’s attack, they are usually in an awkward position for a moment. That makes them vulnerable for a second and you may attack successfully. I took very little punishment over the four decades that I continued to fight, as I got older and they got younger, at least with my own Black and Brown Belts, up to the time I was about 65 years of age. At one point in my forties, the joint behind my right big toe became so bad that I saw a Podiatrist and after x-rays, he told me the joint had splintered years before and needed reconstruction. I had him operate as soon as possible. Six weeks after the operation, one of my Black Belts, Ken Leskowski, another skinny terror, had a get together of several dojos for a day of Isshin-ryu. I was to narrate for the audience. However, when the kumite started, all of the students and Sensei's paired off and it was a wild scene, stopping only to change partners. I watched, till I couldn’t stand it any longer, excused myself from the microphone, jumped down to the floor and confronted Kenny, the host, with a bow. We started to fight, I made a shoulder feint and through a front snap kick, into a roundhouse kick. Unfortunately, his head moved to the side just as I threw the kick. It hit him on the bony part of the head, above and behind the temple. He dropped unconscious and I stood there realizing that I just crushed my reconstruction. Back to the Doctor and a plastic replacement joint. We traveled all over the country, packed into old jalopies and stayed in cheap hotels, just to fight at other dojos or tournaments. My team were my best buddies and we enjoyed the travel together and, of course, the matches with strangers, in other styles.
However, in the mid-sixties I began to live a dual karate life, becoming an Emcee at tournaments around the country and actually got paid to have fun with the audience. Since fighting was fun for me, I made the tournaments light, easy to understand and fun for the audience. I became known as, “The Voice of Karate.” The magazines ran with that and Official Karate gave me the second Cover Article of their magazine. Beyond the enjoyment of bringing the matches to the audience, blow by blow and interspersing some humor, it gave me a chance to get to know all the popular fighters of the sixties and seventies and become friends with many of them. There was Chuck Norris, a young, blond fighter from California , who was one of the great gentlemen of karate. When he fought in New York , he and I would get together for dinner, with our wives. I got to know him, as a well-spoken, straight talking individual who, for all his celebrity was humble and thankful for his rise to fame. I would imagine that he has not changed, with his exposure to Hollywood . He had a quick, engaging smile, which was genuine and demonstrated his real pleasure with what ever was just said or happened.
One of the highlights of that time was teaming with Bruce Lee, at the microphone at ringside, in Madison Square Garden . He also seemed unaffected by his popularity, joking easily with me for the three hours we worked the tournament. He had a real American sense of humor. For instance, he was starring in “The Green Hornet” series on TV, at that time. When the tournament wrapped up, he asked a few of us back to his hotel and Master Kim, from Washington , D.C. and Bill Chung, the top Sifu and close friend of mine came along. There was an enormous crowd of young girls waiting for Bruce to exit, so a Garden executive showed us an underground route which brought us right out into a parking lot, where Bill Chung’s car was parked. Somehow, the girls knew about the tunnel and thousands of them were rushing toward the car, as we quickly jumped into Bill’s Volkswagen. They were now around the car and rocking it back and forth. Bill was frantically trying to get the car started, when Bruce said, “I have to tell you Bill, this is no “Black Beauty,” the car that Bruce, as Kato, drove in the series. The car started and we edged out of the crowd slowly and then drove off. When we arrived at his hotel suite, we sat around and talked about, what else, the martial arts, played sticky hands and did tricks like grabbing coins out of each other’s hands. The tournament itself had two highlights, first, a demo that Bruce did, where he took his jacket off and stated that he was very slim and wouldn’t be able to scare anyone and then suddenly went into dynamic tension and his entire upper body seemed to explode into a mass of muscle. He then demonstrated his speed with his hands and feet. He got a standing ovation. Secondly, the Grand Champion of Aaron Banks triumphant success came down to the lightweight Champion Chuck Norris and the Heavy weight Champion Joe Lewis. Lewis had predicted an easy victory; coming off a string of tournament wins, with a left side thrust kick, that was so fast and powerful that even if you knew it was coming, it couldn’t be stopped. At a previous tournament, I had warned Tom LaPuppet, formerly a SSgt, in the Marine Corps, who served in my outfit and whose real name was, Tom Carroll, about the kick and told him what to do if Lewis got into a left Seiuchin. It didn’t matter; Joe hit him with two straight side kicks, within moments.
With Chuck, he was a bit more cautious. If you watched Chuck, you could see that, in his mind, he was playing a chess game, to get his opponent in the position he wanted, for a certain type of attack. He was always four moves ahead of his opponents. Chuck Norris was a stalker, even when he was moving away or pulling back, you knew he was still stalking his prey. Chuck was a cerebral fighter and I admired that trait. It was how Sensei Nagle taught me to fight. Lewis suddenly went into a series of side thrust kicks, from both sides, followed by backlists, which by that time were no longer the sole property of American Isshin-ryu. And then, against the ropes, where Bruce Lee and I were sitting at the ringside table, Joe savagely attacked and as quickly, Chuck Norris threw a few short punches and Joe dropped to the canvas. He appeared to go into convulsions, in front of us and I called for the doctor to get into the ring. As the doctor climbed in, Joe suddenly woke up, jumped to his feet and totally disoriented, attacked and clubbed his Sensei in the ring. No one ever knew whether he meant to do this because he lost to Chuck, or was still half out of it. That night was really great, except for one personal downer. My good friend, Ed Parker was sitting in the front row of seats, with David Carridine, the star of “Kung-Fu” on TV. That was supposed to be Bruce Lee’s vehicle, but Hollywood geniuses felt that he was too Oriental to play the part of an Oriental, despite the fact that this story was Bruce Lee’s idea. I walked over and shook hands with Ed Parker and chatted about a demo that he had done in Seattle a few months before, with me at the mike. It was then that Carridine leaned over and whispered in Ed’s ear. Ed pulled me forward and said, “David told me to tell you that he does not want to shake hands.” I looked at David, who was sitting there, with a typical linen suit of the 60’s, with an oriental neckline, that needed dry cleaning badly and he himself seemed to be unkempt and in need of a shower. I turned to Ed and said, loudly, “I didn’t wish to touch Carridine in any manner, for fear of catching something.” Then I turned and walked away. Bruce could have taught David lessons in civility and manners. Within two weeks I received a short, but funny letter from Bruce Lee, with an autographed picture signed, To my friend, Ed. He was a true star and a gentleman. He also filled the dojos of America , with new students. He was a one-man bonanza.
It behooves me to say something about Mr. Aaron Banks, who believed he could put on extravaganzas that would overwhelm the audiences and so he did. He was the first person to hire the main area of Madison Square Garden and fill the seats, with over 20,000 people. Between matches, there would be demonstrations of karate drill teams, robotic kata, breaking and other skill sets, such as Moses Powell, a massive man who would run across the ring and do a cart wheel on his index finger. It was wild and a bit bizarre, but the audience loved it. It was like going to the circus, when you were a child. You could never say that Aaron didn’t think BIG.
Grand Master Peter Urban was not only an outstanding teacher and fighter in Goju-ryu karate, having studied in Japan with Gogen Yamaguchi, known as the “Cat Man,” for his vaunted ability to stand with his back to a five foot or six foot wall and leap up onto the wall with little effort, but a Master Urban was a showman, as well. He used that ability, in front of the crowds at tournaments, to stimulate interest in karate and in his persona, at the same time. His manner of refereeing was theatrical and fascinating, and became part of the show. They actually came to see Peter referee. I must admit, I was fascinated by his performances. Then, there were his demonstrations, at tournaments. At every tournament or demonstration in the 60’s, there was a portion of the demo that was dedicated to a breaking contest. Blocks of wood, ice, cement or bricks would be piled between two platforms and individual martial artists would attempt to break massive amounts of these substances. Peter Urban went them one better. Rather than have the advantage of well and solidly held and positioned blocks, Master Urban would demonstrate a new and unique principle, he would throw 12”x12”, 1” boards up in the air with one hand and snap them in half with his other hand, in mid-air. This demonstrated that his speed was such, that focus was achieved, despite the fact that the boards were in a free state . The crowds went wild and couldn’t wait to see it again. Over time, Master Urban himself became bored with the demo, as he had always performed it. Therefore, to the astonishment of the crowd, at one tournament he brought out a can of lighter fluid, with the boards. He laid out the boards in a row and sprayed them thoroughly. He then lit them and with them blazing fire, he grabbed them one at a time, threw them into the air and snapped them in half. As the boards hit the deck on the stage, his students ran to cover and smother the fire. Master Urban had hit the nail on the head again and once more had the crowd loving him. Beyond all of these demos, however, he was a prodigious fighter and a model teacher, turning out one masterful fighter after another, who left the dojo to bring back the trophies. Finally, we were at the China Town School House, when Sensei Urban attempted to do his fire breaking demos. I was right in front of the stage, seated next to his number one student, Al Gotay, who was an NYC police officer and was assigned to the Police Academy to teach the recruits self defense. Suddenly, when Master Urban started to break the flaming boards, the excess fluid flowed down his arm and gi top, as well as the stage. His arms were in flames, as well as flame on the front of the gi. I turned to Al and said, “Come on, we have to do something.” Al looked at me, with an amused look on his face and said jokingly, “Wait a second, I could be the head of Goju-ryu.” Then we leaped onto the stage and put out the fire on the Master. Sensei Urban was totally calm and told us to calm down. He felt that he was not in danger. That was Peter Urban and, of course, Al Gotay was only joking, since he revered his Sensei and was always at his side, in the good times and in the bad, as well. That is the measure of a man’s character. What I realized afterward was that this must have happened on other occasions, with Mr. Gotay present, when Master Urban practiced this dangerous stunt. That is why he remained calm, while I wanted to call the fire department.
Of course, for many, the match between Masters Nagle and Urban was the tournament highlight. There would be no points counted and no judges. The match would not be stopped at all, until the time allotted had run out. The match was highly anticipated and took place at the Manhattan Center , in Gary Alexander’s United States Championship Tournament, still the longest running tournament in the U.S.A. The house was packed to the rafters and was buzzing. While I was at the mike, during the entire tournament doing my usual blow by blow call, I turned the mike off, right after announcing the two Masters, since I felt it would not be appropriate to call such a match between two peerless leaders of their styles. The match could stand on it’s own. The match was beautiful to watch, since the styles were totally different in the manner that they approached kumite. Each man was the Master of his style and the styles top fighter, both men were Legends. It was a beautiful match to watch, since the Sensei's maneuvered and you could almost feel them attempting to ascertain the others next move. Both defensive geniuses, it was difficult for either man to score a clear-cut blow, with focus. The match ended to a standing ovation, for the courage they showed, in that, they were both the top Masters of their disciplines in the United States and under that circumstance most other Masters would not endanger their reputation, in such a match. No score was announced; they bowed to each other and then hugged each other, as the close friends that they were over many years. Ever since, I have been asked who I thought won the match. I never answer that question, only saying that it was a privilege to be there.
Gary Alexander, was one of the most prolific tournament entrepreneurs and among the earliest to bring to the stage the top personalities that karate audiences wanted to see, but also created local fighters from the East Coast to star status, attracting a full compliment of writers and photographers from Al Weiss’s Karate Illustrated, who highlighted these tough and crafty fighters. They included Tom LaPuppet, Thomas Bodie, Bob Engle, Hawk Frazier, Toyataro Miyazaki, Malachi Lee and from the Wild West, Chuck Norris, Alan Steen, Skipper Mullins, Ed Parker, Danny Pai and more. The tournaments that Gary presented have always contained a definite connection to the original Marine Corps’ place in the historic birth of the Art of Isshin-ryu, with a Marine Corps Honor Guard opening the ceremonies, during the National Anthem and a Piper playing the Marine Corps Hymn. The tournaments also proceeded with the precision of a Marine Corps drill squad. He had fought in tournaments, making his own name, as the first North American Champion and knew what he wanted to see at his own presentations.
The Sensei's who contributed to these tournaments, on the East Coast, with the fighters they trained and with their time and sweat refereeing and judging, for hours. It was always the same crews at every tournament who volunteered for duty; Fred Hamilton, John Kuhl, George Coffield, Ron Duncan, Sensei Nagle, Sensei Urban, Joel Bucholtz and, in the 70’s, Nick Adler and many others.
Steve Armstrong, one of Tatsuo Shimabuku’s original Marine students, was the main Sensei in Northwest United States, with dojos in Seattle and Tacoma . He was an impressive gentleman, at 6’ 5” and about 250 pounds and not easily beaten. He was tough as rawhide and fearless, having previously been a Champion wild Brahma Bull rider in Rodeos. However, he was typical of the gentle giant, in person, as long as you were not on the deck with him. He was also one of the funniest men I have ever met. I was asked to be the Emcee of his Tournament on two occasions and both events were excellent. The crowd was enthusiastic and enjoyed my light approach to deadly free style fighting, in the ring.
Steve used a combination of matches and demonstrations, such as one put on by Master Ed Parker and his students, in Kempo karate. It was fast and deadly looking self-defense, done in a theatrical manner, by Mr. Parker.
On my return, for the second year, upon Master Armstrong’s introduction of me, the audience actually gave me a standing ovation and I realized that many of them were at the first tournament. I felt great and, as a result, we all had an enjoyable afternoon, with Sensei Parker again bringing the crowd to their feet with his dynamic exhibition. Unfortunately, there was an incident the following morning, in the hotel lobby that nearly got out of hand. Mr. Alan Steen, a tough hombre from Texas, had his lovely wife with him. We were all sitting in a circular group, Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Steen, Chuck Norris, Don Bohan, Skipper Mullins (one of my favorite fighters) Super Foot Wallace and a few other Sensei's, when the Washington Alumni Football Team arrived in the lobby. They were there to play the annual Alumni vs. Varsity Team game. One of these buffoons made an insulting remark about Mrs. Steen. When Don Bohan told him to apologize, he made a crude remark to the Gunny and the fight was on. There were about twenty of them and twelve of us, but it only lasted a short period time, since several of them went down quickly and the others realized what they were fighting against, when they saw the manner of our fighting. The next thing we knew, the police were in the lobby and we all sat down. One of the Bell Hops told the police what had happened and who started it. The first individual was arrested and one other fool who gave the officers a hard time left, with him. The rest of them left the lobby. Unfortunately, Master Armstrong has been hospitalized at the Veterans Administration Hospital , in recent years, following an operation on a brain tumor. My prayers and good wishes go to him, a gentleman and friend.
Master Sihak Henry Cho, a Tae-Kwan-Do Instructor also stepped into the tournament scene, in a big way. He utilized excellent venues, such as, Madison Square Garden and the New York Hilton Hotel, as well as, the Waldorf Astoria. One of the best and most controversial matches took place at the Waldorf. The final match for the Grand Championship was between Joe Tiani, a talented East Coast Kick-Boxer and Mike Stone one of the toughest Finishers to get in the ring. I was on the microphone and the score was two points for Stone and one point for Tiani, when suddenly Mike stumbled, catching his foot in a crease in the canvas. He was obviously in great pain and I motioned the doctor into the ring. He examined Stones ankle and said that he felt it was broken. He said that the match could not go forward. Mike vehemently disputed the ruling. When he was unable to change the decision, he came over to me, at the mike. I turned the mike off and Mr. Stone asked me to talk to the doctor and Master Cho. I called the Dr, and Master Cho over to me. Once gathered, I told Mr. Cho that he had insurance coverage and that Mike had signed the usual form, giving up his right to sue. Then I told the doctor that he was hired to help anyone in pain, but stopping a fighter, unless further fighting could lead to imminent death, was not under his control I said that it was up to the fighter. With that decision turned around, the fight started again. Tiani was a veteran and knew that Mike Stones maneuverability was limited, so he decided to make a swift attack, from the side. When Joe moved, Stone jumped to the side, onto his good foot and struck Mr. Tiani in the solar plexus with his foot that had the broken ankle, driving the kick in as hard as he could. The referee called for point and all the judges raised their flags in unison for the winning point, giving Mike Stone one of the gutsiest Championships I have ever watched. Mr. Tiani, always a gentleman, shook Mike’s hand and told him that he was the best. Mike Stone, Ed Parker, my wife Gene and me went to the Bull and The Bear restaurant, with Mike in a wheel chair and hoisted a few cool ones to this tough competitor.
The best day I have had at a tournament was with my team, at Harrisburg , Pennsylvania . Ralph Lindquist ran the tournament. We came by bus and then stopped to rent a car, to get to the tournament site. We stopped into Hertz, walked up to the counter and asked to rent a car. We were told that all of their cars were rented. There were about fifty cars in the lot and it was 8:30 AM . I told the man at the counter that must be a mistake. He stated in a severe tone, that they had rented all their autos. We walked outside and I was flabbergasted, but some of my guys simply smiled and said that I had just felt bigotry for the first time. I was with most of my guys from my South Jamaica dojo, which was 90% African-American. I wanted to kick the windows in at Hertz. They were wrong; by the way, I had come across bigotry while stationed at Camp Lejeune , N.C. I was running a convoy up to Norfolk , Va. , to go aboard an LST for Lebanon , in 1958. It was pouring rain and we pulled in at about 8:30 AM for some breakfast. We pulled into a diner and my Marines and myself went into the diner. The woman at the counter smiled at me and said that she could seat me and my white troops, but the Nwords had to eat outside. I started to make a fuss, stating that this was 1958 and these men were all members of our Armed Forces and they were all my Marines. With that, a Sheriff and two Deputies who were eating breakfast at a table in the corner of the diner, walked over. The Sheriff and his men all popped the leather thongs off their revolver hammers and put their hands on their weapons. He said, “Get them outside before someone gets killed.” I was pretty sure they meant me. My other troops sat down and I took orders from my men and myself and sat outside in the rain on the running boards of our trucks. Oddly enough, it bonded me with my entire platoon. But the fact that it was happening in the late 60’s was a shock and we were not in the Deep South . We then went to Avis and I went in with another student. No problem and we got the car. I pulled it in front of the rental door and out of nowhere my guys piled into the car. We gave the confused guy at the counter a big smile and wave. Once at the tournament, the seeds for matches were announced in Black Belt and my best fighter, Bob Baker, drew Joel Pennywell, a student of Lindquist’s’. Bobbie asked me how to beat him, because he was known as the “Mongoose,” because of his defensive skills and the number of tournaments he had won. I turned to Bobby and said, “Nothing, he is going to kill you, unless you fight smart, aggressive and fast.” Bobby groaned and I said, “Now go out and beat him.” Bobby scored two points on him in about a minute and a half, for the win. Bobby took second place in Black Belt, but I didn’t care, because he had beaten Joel Pennywell, whom I respected as one of the best in the country. I knew that Baker had just stepped up.
Near the end of the 70’s, the tournaments took a bad turn, with judges who often showed obvious prejudice, trophies that became grotesque and demonstrations that were more like a carnival, missing only the Geek, who eats the live chicken. There were exhibits where chains were wrapped around the neck of a strong man, who performed at Coney Island . The man was about 80 years old at the time. Then four people grabbed the chains and tried to strangle him. Another performer allowed people to come in the ring and punch him as hard as they could, in the throat. He would wind up with purple bruises all around his neck. He also had people kick him in the groin, to no effect, except the possibility of future blood clots or worse. Finally, a Korean Sensei had ramps laid across his stomach and another person rode a motorcycle back and forth over him. At the same time, the uniforms were becoming more grotesque at each tournament, with American Flag designs, tiger stripes and others with so many patches you no longer could see the uniform under it. At one of Nick Adler’s tournaments, held in Brooklyn, I turned to Barry Steinberg, one of my top students and at that time a Sensei in his own right, and said that if someone ever comes into a tournament in a black leather gi, I would stop coming to tournaments. At that very moment, the doors swung open and in walked George Coffield, from the Tong Dojo, in a shiny black vinyl gi. Not leather, but close enough, it was three years before I attended another tournament.
The worst time I had at any tournament was one booked into the NYC Town Hall . I can’t remember who booked it, but it was a horrible venue, for a karate tournament. I believe it may have been Aaron Banks, attempting to upgrade our facilities. It took place on a Sunday and obviously the advertising appealed to a new element in the city, the Hoi Polloi, or rich, pseudo-intellectuals of New York , thinking that this would be one of those new experiences they enjoyed on a Sunday afternoon. Once seated, when the curtain opened, revealing a Marine Corps Color Guard, for the National Anthem. When they did not stand for the Anthem, I immediately knew this was not my audience. A formidable silence settled over the auditorium. When the matches were fought and ended, there was no buzz, no applause and no matter what I said, there was absolutely not a sound from the seats. With the lights in my face, I could barely make out the audience, but in the front seats, I saw only men in suits and women in cocktail dresses, with furs draped over their shoulders. Finally, I remember, during the Black Belt matches there was a particularly good pairing with some of the fastest movement, from one technique to another. Even I, who had witnessed and fought in probably ten thousand kumites by then, was excited with this one. Suddenly, one of the contestants threw a roundhouse kick aimed at his opponent’s stomach, while the opponent was spinning to face in the opposite direction. The result was that the kick hit the fighter in the backside, with a resounding sound. I said, “That is considered an insult, but not a point.” Nothing, but dead silence. Trying again, I lifted my comment to their level, quoting Shakespeare with, “Sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Dead silence! We were nearly at the end of the tournament and I was almost positive that they had not brought any rotten fruit or vegetables with them and therefore could not injure me or soil my suit, so I asked over the mike, in a loud, incredulous voice, “Turn up the house lights, I want to see if there is anyone out there.” The tournament started and ended in total silence. When I came off the stage, my wife came over to me and I said, “Get me a gun, I don’t know if I want to kill myself or start shooting them.” We never used the Town Hall again.
During that time, because of exposure in magazines, I was contacted by Leeming-Pacquin, a subsidiary of the Pfizer Chemical Company. They asked to see me, about a product photo shoot. I was only a few years after being Honorably Discharged from the Marine Corps, as a result of a knee injury that tore every ligament in my knee, tore the cartilage in pieces and cracked the kneecap in three places. I was in the Naval Hospital for seven months rehabilitating. I was out of my beloved Corps and in the job market. In those days, there were no laws against not hiring people with disabilities and I was still finding it difficult to bend my left leg. I was working, but money was short. I had a wife and child, Lisa, who was born in the Quantico , Va. Naval Hospital. She cost us $6.00 and has been well worth it, ever since.
So if this meeting with Leeming-Pacquin meant some type of payment, I would kill anyone they wanted killed in Macy’s window. It turned out that they had just come up with a new men’s cologne, an after shave and a foam conditioner, taking advantage of the karate craze that we karate-kas, with a boost from Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris, had created. The product was named “Hai Karate.” I was paid the extraordinary salary of $100.00 per hour to put my hands on the bottle of cologne and my photo on the gift box, doing a flying sidekick. They took a full sheet of my both hands in various poses and ended up with the fingertips up, in a shuto type defensive pose. That was not hard work, but a bit boring. The next shoot, on the same day, was a different story. To get a good shot of a flying side kick they gave me some poor go-for to stand still and I was to jump high enough to bring the kick to the side of his head. That meant that my kicking foot would be about six feet in the air. That was eminently doable. However, the photographer was not getting the shot he wanted because he could not get the kick snapping short of the man’s head, due to it’s speed. I didn’t know how to go into the air, six feet up and throw a kick slowly. It took sixty kicks to get his shot. When we got to about fifty-five kicks, I said, “If you don’t get it in your next few shots, we should have you and this poor guy over here wincing, every time I jump in the air. Finally he signaled success and I was able to get some water. I guess I made about $300.00 in one day and I don’t think any Vogue model ever worked any harder than I did. However, $300.00 was an enormous amount of money in those days, in the mid-sixties. The Senior-Vice President of the Company had seen the shoot and chatted with me. The result was that they wanted me to accompany them around the country to their major Cities of Distribution, to introduce the new product to their sales staff. They wanted a full demo at each stop and, as a result, I was required to book a team of karate practitioners at each city, to put on their most dramatic demo possible. They ask how much it would take and since I was now a professional, I stated an amount which would cover a 50% split for the team in each city and 50% for me, as well. They also wanted all of the marketing personnel to wear gi's. I bought them and marked them up. Overall, the trip took a week and I made $3,000.00 clear and had an exciting time. The Senior-Vice president of sales and marketing followed us to each town and found out that at each meeting, after the demo, I had made a speech boosting the sales staff’s excitement about the product and it’s marketability. The result is that he hired me, as a salesman for the company, without even mentioning it to the Director of Sales in NYC. For a year I had a ball and realized that I was made for sales. Unfortunately, the Senior VP, who seemed to think of me as a son, was accepting a better position in California and despite the fact that I might have gone with him; I was a dyed in the wool New Yorker. When he left, the Director of Sales, who was given no say in my hiring, fired me. That was okay; I had another sales job within a week.
As the Hai Karate man, I also received several jobs for other companies. For instance, I worked the New York Toy Show in Manhattan for a week, with my team, including my Sensei, Don Nagle, as a way to thank him for what he had done for me. I got to work for the people who produced a rock-em-sock-em karate robot game. Roger Staubach, the Dallas Cowboys quarterback, at that time, was there for his new football game and I talked him into playing the foil guy for our karate skit and demo. He walked onto the stage with a beautiful student of one of my Sensei's from another dojo. I played the bad guy. When I went after the girl, Roger acted like a wimp and the girl, who was a brown belt, beat the tar out of me. She then reassured Roger and walked off the stage arm in arm with him. He was great and one of the true gentlemen in sports. If you wanted your son to emulate a sports figure, they couldn’t make a better choice than Mr. Staubach. He was so good on the field, that he had every reason to be a snob or a strutting jackass, but instead he was a quiet and respectful person. We also met with Jackie Stewart, the top racecar driver of the time, who had a racecar set named for him. This little Scotsman was betting with people who wanted to race a tiny racecar against him. I assumed that he made enough money that he could get along without betting on toy racecars. Further, Jimmy The Greek a former gambling tout was on hand and since one of my friends was losing a fortune racing Stewart, The Greek told me that Stewart had a juiced up car and you couldn’t beat him. I mentioned it to my friend, who was a former line backer, in front of Jackie and his car disappeared.
All of this was a good deal of fun and helped my family, until things got a good deal better for me. I was lucky, thank God, that I made a very good income for a long time, allowing me to teach karate for the sheer joy in Isshin-ryu and not worry, whether or not I made or lost money doing it. This was in good keeping of the tradition I had learned from Sensei Nagle, who didn’t care if the students paid him on time or at all. The fact was, he was a Police Officer on the Jersey City Police Dept. and was overwhelmed with money. He didn’t care, it was all about Isshin-ryu. It still applies. I am not saying that if you work as hard as Master Passero does in fostering the children in his care for decades, that you shouldn’t be well remunerated for it. This is, after all, America . Despite that, Mr. Passero does not make much out of his dojo. Just remember that this is an art and sometimes artists suffer for the benefit of the art. Money is good, but not the end all of being.
While I have been reminiscing upon the tournament scene, of the past, I think the entire milieu has undergone a basic change. The tournaments of the Eastern states are, on a whole small neighborhood or area events. The Don Nagle AOKA, Inc. annual tournament is a good example of a Tri-State tournament, but well attended by a coterie of dojos outside it’s primary arena, who have become accustomed to take part for the sake of the memory of a “Legend In His Own Time.” Mr. Passero and his group of faithful Black Belts contribute to ensure that the tournament is well run and accepted. There are others much like this on the East Coast, such as Gary Alexander’s Championship, Larry Isaacs Camp Lejeune Tournament, which keeps the promise of exciting old time type fighting. Master King’s tournament in New Jersey is always well attended and scrupulously executed. There are many of these tournaments that seem to be guaranteed a future. But the days of the mammoth Madison Square Garden meets have become extinct, for all intents and purposes.
I believe that the fact that the tournaments of past decades were allowed to get totally out of control diminished the stature of tournaments to a carnival atmosphere. I believe that the tournaments on the West Coast are now emulating the decade of the mid-seventies to mid-eighties, with bands, cheer leaders, musical presentation of katas, katas performed that have absolutely no relevance to karate or fighting arts. Weapons katas utilizing weapons that street gangs might use, but have never been connected to the Oriental arts or the agricultural or every day implements used by the Asian farmers and seamen. Louder, Light show glitz will not make up for a lack of ability along the traditional lines, to the point where they should not be linked in ads, to the martial arts. Sooner or later, the audience will become disillusioned with these circus performances. Or perhaps I am wrong and the Hollywood mentality will prevail, embracing the tawdry and arrogance of perversion of arts that are centuries old, simply because the promoters are raking in big dough, as well as the many of the competitors and stars that appear. I hope that someone, Chuck Norris, for instance can step up and turn the Circus Wagon around and back to the meaningful tournaments that he participated in decades ago. It will take someone like him and the media of the martial arts, such as, Black Belt Magazine to return to the past.
The tournament fighting ability has taken a dive over the last two decades, with fighters untaught in defensive tactics. There is no defense to speak of, with fighters bowing in and rushing forward, to pummel each other, until the referee breaks up the clash, when in the flurry of unfocused punches the judges are somehow able to discern an actual strike, which could be designated as a point. The alternative is the fighters who circle each other endlessly, until one dashes in and reaches outside his normal strike posture, to tap the opponent on the shoulder or chest. Disgusted and bored judges call a point, simply to get it over with, so they can go home and eat dinner. The Sensei's who are teaching these fighters are embarrassing themselves, when their students behave in this manner. The days when we fought to injury, in order to win a match, were taught to strike with focus and when finally and thankfully, full contact was regulated out of tournaments, those same fighters were able to pull their focused punches, within a hair’s breadth of the skin or even lightly touch the skin without damage. That was the mastery of fighting that was taught in Okinawa in the old days and brought here by Sensei's like Don Nagle and Steve Armstrong. Kumite was a finely honed skill, not a platform to show off with a spinning jump back kick that would be impossible on a wet or snowy surface. We were taught not to fight outside ourselves, in other words, KISS, keep it simple stupid. If you wouldn’t try it on ice, don’t throw it. When was the last time you saw a fighter expertly evade a good kick and catch it, with an immediate strike, while holding the opponents leg. Those kicks now simply hit the opponent, but usually, since they didn’t have the patience to wait for an opening the kick bangs off a shin or knee. We were also taught in Isshin-ryu, to move to the oblique when we were attacked, opening the opponents’ side and back to attack. But Sensei's decades ago, just as they did to kata, taught their students “tournament fighting” which is a euphemism for “play tag and then run,” for the rest of the match so you don’t get tagged. If these people get in a real fight with a street tough, they will not be able to defend themselves. The only reason these Sensei's taught tournament fighting, was to get trophies by the bushel, so that they would be considered as important Sensei's. Sensei Nagle taught you to fight to win a street fight, for your life. If someone had a knife, he told us to take a cut on the arm, to get a good kick in on the weapon wielder’s groin, ending the fight. That was when karate was” for killing or maiming your assailant,” not to get a trophy. The future of meaningful karate is behind us, in the past. It is time to “get back to the past, for the future of karate.”
