A Karate Story Page 7

  I knew, as my second trip to Toronto came to an end, that I was once again going home with a lot of new knowledge to share with my students. Not only had I succeeded in learning a Bo-Jutsu kata, but I was also full of renewed enthusiasm for karate, T’ai Chi and international friendships.

  13. BACK HOME

  One evening as we were starting another batch of beginners’ classes, a woman walked into the dojo with a young boy. She had one of my leaflets advertising beginners’ classes in her hand. I went to talk to her, and she told me that the young boy’s name was Alan and he wanted to do karate. She told me that they had received my leaflet a few months earlier, when I had been advertising for a previous group of beginners. When Alan saw the leaflet he ran to his mother and asked if he could join the karate classes. His mother read the leaflet and saw that I had ‘from age seven’ on it, and Alan was not old enough. She explained this to him, and his shoulders dropped, obviously disappointed. Several months later, as his birthday approached, his mother asked Alan what he wanted to do for his birthday. Alan produced the leaflet he had kept for months and announced ‘I want to do karate!’ So here he was, on his seventh birthday, wanting to start karate.

  Although I was impressed with the story, as well as his patience and determination to study karate, I knew that some seven-year-olds struggled for concentration and coordination, so I told Alan and his mother that I would take him on a trial basis and see how he got on: but from the first class, Alan was amazing. He paid attention to everything and worked so hard that it was easy to forget he was so young. I could tell immediately that we had someone special in the class. Nearly twenty years later Alan is still training with me, and is one of the key members of my dojo.

  After less than three years of training at St Kevin’s football club, we were told that they were redeveloping the club, and our room would no longer be available. We had to find a new home, and a search began. What we found was a lovely old building – over a hundred years old – that housed a badminton court. It was part of a large estate that was held by a family trust, on the grounds of Hampstead Private Hospital, which was close to Dublin City University. The building was not in use and was available to rent. I met with the administrator of the trust, and we agreed on a rent for us to have exclusive, full-time use of the building. It needed a bit of cleaning up and some repairs, but it had a lot of character and had a wonderful dojo ‘feel’ right from the beginning.

  I applied to the national organisation for Kanazawa Sensei to come to Dublin on his next trip to Ireland, in order to perform an opening ceremony of our new dojo, and to teach. My proposal was accepted, and we had the honour of hosting Kanazawa Sensei for his first visit to Dublin for over fifteen years. Two senior instructors travelled from Cork to assist with the event, and we collected Kanazawa Sensei at Dublin Airport on the Monday evening. I had booked rooms in a small, family-run hotel for the guests, and I took them all there to get settled in. We didn’t have any class that evening, so Kanazawa Sensei was able to have a rest before we took him for dinner. The hotel had given me their largest room for Kanazawa Sensei, and when we brought him and his bags up there, there were three beds in the room. He wondered which bed he should choose, because he thought that he had to share the room with the two instructors from Cork! He was relieved when I told him that they had separate rooms, and that this was all for him.

  The Chinese restaurant was run by a man named Hong, and I had spoken to him in advance and told him that I was bringing a VIP from Japan to dinner that night. Hong had trained as a chef in Japan as well as in Hong Kong, so he was familiar with both Chinese and Japanese cuisine. When we arrived for dinner that night, he treated us all like VIPs, but for Kanazawa Sensei he was exceptional. He told us that he had gone to the fish market that morning to pick out something special for Kanazawa Sensei, so he would not be ordering from the menu. We all enjoyed a high-quality meal, but Kanazawa Sensei’s dinner looked, and apparently tasted, amazing. I don’t know what type of fish it was, but Kanazawa was very impressed with both the dish and the presentation, saying that it was done in a Japanese style and was very good.

  The following morning we met up for breakfast at the hotel and then Kanazawa Sensei said he would like to go for a walk. We went to the beautiful Botanic Gardens nearby. Kanazawa Sensei loves nature, so he was very happy with this relaxing walk. He stopped every now and then to touch the trunk of some of the larger trees. He would press both hands against the bark and close his eyes for a few seconds, and then he would walk on again. He caught my quizzical look at one point and explained his unusual actions: ‘These trees have been alive for many years – mostly older than me. Therefore they have more life experience than me. I am giving respect to the tree, and also hoping to draw energy from it.’

  The highlight of the day came after a light lunch: Kanazawa Sensei performed a ribbon-cutting ceremony to formally open the dojo. Although we had been training there for a few months already, this was a very significant occasion for me and for the students. Always the gentleman, Kanazawa Sensei posed for photos with everyone, and then offered to do a few pictures with me separately. He inspected and admired the dojo, before conducting a great class. Even though we had only four black belts training that day, he insisted on giving thirty minutes of training just for the black belts at the end of the class. He went through one of the advanced kata in great detail, with explanations of movements and applications throughout. It was a master class, and we felt privileged to be part of it. It was like private tuition.

  After the training Kanazawa Sensei conducted grading examinations for the students, and I was very relieved that everyone successfully passed. We didn’t want the occasion ruined by having students fail their examinations that day! When it was all over, we took Kanazawa Sensei for dinner again, and the following morning the instructors from Cork drove him to Cork, where he would be based for the rest of the week.

  After he left, Garry and I looked at each other with a mix of relief and elation. We had worked hard to make sure everything would go smoothly, and it had. Although we got to host Kanazawa Sensei in Dublin many more times afterwards, that first time was very special for us all.

  14. A SPECIAL YEAR

  The remainder of 1997 was equally eventful, beginning with the national championships. It was the first time that I brought my students to compete. At the previous year’s nationals I had been beaten by Martin O’Keeffe in the kata event, in the first year since Sensei Ray had retired. I was now determined to try to win the title that Sensei Ray, many years earlier, had predicted I would win and dominate.

  I got through to the final with no major issues. There were four of us left, and I figured that one of them was a bit weaker than the rest of us, so it was between three of us for the title. Sensei Ray came over to me.

  ‘This is your title,’ he insisted. ‘You have to win this today.’

  I had been doing Nijushiho in kata finals for nearly ten years by this stage, so this was my kata. After three of us had completed our kata, I knew I was in the lead. But the last competitor had a good kata, and he did Unsu, which is always popular with the judges. He actually kiai’d (shouted) three times instead of two, but the judges awarded him high scores anyway.

  When the judges counted the scores we had tied for first place. Even using the count-back system, they still could not separate us. They announced that we would have to both perform a kata again to decide the title. Usually the rule in this situation is that a different kata must be performed than the previous one, so I asked if this rule would apply, knowing that my opponent would be at a disadvantage if he could not do Unsu, his best kata, again. After some consultation, the judges ruled that we could repeat the same kata if we wanted.

  My opponent did Unsu again, and this time with the correct two kiai’s. His scores were high. I knew I would have to pull out all the stops to win and so, for the first time in competition, I performed Unsu. Unsu is an advanced kata, full of technical challenges, and an athletic j
ump near the end. Most people concentrate on making sure they do a good jump, but often neglect other elements of the kata. My mind-set, as I started the kata, was to focus on each move and make sure that the entire kata felt right all the way through. I didn’t focus on the upcoming jump almost until it was done. By not fixating on it, I did not tense up when it came to it, so it flowed naturally and I executed it well. After the final kiai, the judges’ scores went up, and I had beaten my opponent by two points.

  The first thing I did was to seek out Sensei Ray. I reminded him of his prophetic comment in a pub on a Friday night so many years earlier, and told him that this comment had inspired me for more than ten years to try to live up to his expectations. He just grinned and told me that I deserved the title. I held on to that title for the next five years, and then retired undefeated, satisfied that I had fulfilled my obligation.

  Our dojo had an incredible day. Twelve of my students had travelled with me to the competition, and for many of them it was their first ever karate competition. We came home with sixteen trophies between us, and then, to top it all off, we were awarded the prestigious ‘Best Club Overall’ title for the championships. My students were all very excited, and I felt an immense sense of pride in them, but I felt especially good when the instructor from a rival club came over to me and said that he was delighted for me and my students, and that it was good to see a Dublin club back in SKIF and doing so well. His comments struck me as being selfless and sporting, but also very insightful as to what was good for the organisation as a whole and for karate itself.

  I was rewarded for my success at the national championships by finally being selected for the SKIF Ireland national team to compete in the SKIF World Championships later that year. They were held in Milan, and I was chosen to compete in the individual kata and team kata.

  We failed to make it to the final eight in the team kata event, but with a large number of teams entered, this was not surprising. It was good experience for us, and we came about twelfth overall. In the individual kata, there were a huge number of entries. They decided to split the field in two, and to hold elimination rounds until they got to the last eight of each pool, instead of the usual last eight overall. Each pool had five rounds of eliminations to get through in order to determine the last eight competitors in the pool, meaning that there were around five hundred competitors in that event alone! Unfortunately most of my fellow Irish team members were eliminated after one or two rounds. Even Sensei Ray was unlucky – he came up against one of the Japanese instructors in the third round and was narrowly defeated.

  I seemed to have an easier draw, and somehow managed to avoid any of the big names. I was very nervous before the event, and set myself the unambitious goal of not getting beaten in the first round. I had trained too hard to only get to do one kata in the event. After I got through that first round, I relaxed a little. I was pleased to get through the second round as well. After all, only a quarter of the competitors who entered got that far. By now, everyone who was left were of a good standard and I knew it would be difficult, but somehow I got through round three, and then round four. After this, we were told there was one more round to go for a place in the last sixteen. Sensei Ray came and spoke to me to reassure me and make sure I didn’t tense up. By now, everyone who was left was of a very high standard. I felt out of place. There were quite a few Japanese left, but also a lot of other experienced international competitors. Sensei Ray knew many of them. It seemed like I was the only rookie. I had seen all the other competitors perform their kata in earlier rounds, and I knew they were all good – much better than me, it seemed. I was sure that my inexperience at this level would show, and I didn’t think I had any chance of getting through to the last sixteen.

  When my number was called, I stepped onto the floor. I glanced at my opponent out of the corner of my eye. I had watched his kata in previous rounds, and my heart sank. He was good, there was no doubt about that. I didn’t fancy my chances against him. The referee called out the kata for us to perform, and I immediately forgot about him; forgot about the judges; and forgot about the crowd. I focused only on my kata. When we finished, the judges raised their flags, and I had won. I was through to the last sixteen of the world championships.

  Because of the very high numbers of competitors that started the event, the organisers decided that the last sixteen competitors could do their choice kata, and the judges used score cards to decide the top eight to go through to the final. The standard was very high. My kata was Unsu, but by now the pressure really was getting to me so I did it poorly and did not make it to the last eight. Although I was disappointed to be eliminated at that point, I had achieved far more than I had ever dreamed I would, and got to rub shoulders with some of the best kata performers in the entire SKIF organisation. I had certainly beaten my initial goal of getting through the first round!

  Although I did not get to compete in the sparring at the world championships, I had taken part in all the squad training sessions, and my sparring was reasonably sharp. It was a good thing, because a couple of months after we returned from Milan my boss told me that he wanted me to go to Johannesburg in South Africa for a three-month work assignment. I initially didn’t want to go, because I didn’t feel I could leave the club for so long, but I told my boss, who was a black belt in Wado Ryu, that the famous instructor Stan Schmidt was based in Johannesburg, and if I could get permission to train with him while I was there, then I would go for six weeks. As mentioned before, I had read Stan Schmidt’s classic book, Spirit of the Empty Hand, when I was a purple belt, and it had been hugely influential on me, so I became quite excited at the prospect of actually getting to meet and train with him. His ‘Early Birds’ instructor classes in the mornings were famous – or infamous – throughout the karate world, and considered to be some of the best and toughest training around.

  It took me a day or so to get contact details for Stan Schmidt. John Cheetham, editor of Shotokan Karate Magazine, gave me his phone number, with a slightly tongue-in-cheek suggestion that I conduct an interview with Stan when I got there. I thought that it was actually a very good idea, and I started to think about what I would ask in an interview. I was nervous when I rang the number. Garry was with me, and we couldn’t believe we were ringing the legendary Stan Schmidt to ask for permission to train with him. In fact, we were quite giddy as I dialled the number. Unfortunately, I only got his voicemail. I left a brief message explaining who I was, and asking if I could train.

  The following day I got a message from his secretary that I would be welcome to train with them. I immediately confirmed to my boss that I would make the trip.

  15. SOUTH AFRICA 1997

  I arrived in Johannesburg on a Saturday morning after a long overnight flight. I slept a little on the plane, but also managed to read my copy of Spirit of the Empty Hand again. I couldn’t believe I was on my way to meet the author, and get to train with him. I was met at the airport by one of the office staff, and taken to the apartment complex where the company had booked a number of apartments for the staff on the project. Then I collected my rental car, which was a real bonus, as it meant I had independent transport for getting to training.

  I unpacked and did a bit of exploring. The apartment was in a nice area of Johannesburg but it is a dangerous city and the complex had high walls with electric fences on top, with armed security guards at the gates. I decided to have a swim in the small outdoor pool at the complex. Before I went out, I rang Sensei Stan’s number and again got his voicemail but left a message, giving the apartment phone number.

  The pool was very small – only eight strokes per length – but I had it all to myself. It was a glorious day, with the sun beating down on me, and I was marvelling at how lucky I was to be in such a beautiful part of the world. However, I found that I struggled with the swimming. After just a few lengths, I had to rest, totally out of breath. I tried again, but after just ten minutes I was exhausted. I couldn’t understand it, because I conside
red myself to be reasonably fit. I put it down to being tired after the long flight, and that I didn’t swim very often. I decided to call it a day and went back to the apartment to wash up.

  Almost as soon as I came out of the shower, the phone rang. When I answered it, the voice on the other end spoke in a deep, booming, voice. ‘Hello, this is Stan Schmidt.’

  I couldn’t believe I was actually talking to Stan Schmidt. He was very friendly, and immediately invited me to training on Monday evening. We chatted for nearly ten minutes, and I was made to feel welcome even just from that talk. As we were finishing up the conversation, he warned me to be careful when I came to training, because I might find it difficult. My first instinct was to think that he underestimated my ability, and that I could take care of myself, but instead of saying this I politely asked him why. ‘Because of the altitude, of course!’ he said. ‘We are nearly 5,000 feet above sea level here. You will not be used to it.’ Altitude – of course! That explained why I struggled in the pool earlier. I was used to being at sea level, and the air was a lot thinner here. I certainly was going to have to try to pace myself carefully in the intensive karate classes if I could only manage ten breathless minutes in the pool.