In Memory of Quintin Chambers

At Ellis Amdur's Kogen Budo blog, there was a remembrance of Quintin Chambers, one of the first westerners to study classical Japanese martial arts in depth. Below is an excerpt. The full post may be read here. 

When a big bell tolls, the sound seems to sink into your soul, affecting you deeply.  In the Japanese koryū community the news that Quintin Chambers Sensei had passed most surely had that very same effect.

He trained in judō and aikidō, but when he found the koryū, he became enthralled by it. Quintin was one of the foreign koryū pioneers in Japan that trained under both Shimizu Takaji Sensei in Shintō Musō-ryū (SMR) and Otake Risuke Sensei in Katori Shintō-ryū (KSR).  Shimizu Sensei authorized him to instruct in SMR which he did in Hawai’i.  He taught the art to a group that always remained small; the required fee was sincere effort and thought about the art.

Describing Quintin’s demeanor is actually quite easy.  He was the quintessential British gentleman until he wielded a weapon.  You then faced a serious warrior with impenetrable zanshin. Quintin’s body was sinewy; the intent he exuded could be imposingly dangerous. However, he was absolutely not a typical budō jock.  This became immediately obvious as he spoke with the British Received Pronunciation acquired in England’s Public School System and at Cambridge University.  He could, for example, wax eloquent on languages, classical music, and politics.  Both his technique and language were precise.  Quintin taught the omote techniques but consistently sought the ura, insisting that the omote can get you killed.  Since KSR is a strong sword-based tradition, he also had great insight for the uchidachi side of SMR.  He thought the path of training is not a matter of how many years you must strive; rather, it was how many decades.

We remember him fondly and respectfully.  Anyone who trained with him knew it was an honor to have done so.  The good knight’s name and reputation will resonate long into the future.

 

From Joe Cieslik

I was fortunate in my travel plans and was able to visit and talk with Chambers Sensei several times before he passed. Right up to the end, he was concerned about his students and their training. He treated everyone with courtesy and respect. Because of his consideration, his students always tried to reach the high bar that he set. He accomplished a great deal in his life with talent, integrity, intelligence, dedication, athleticism and an innate generosity. I feel the world has lost someone completely irreplaceable and is a lesser place.

From John Howland

To anyone who knew him, any description of Quintin Chambers, the public man, would present an easily recognizable constellation of features. He was gentlemanly, charming, and considerate of others. His deep, resonant voice carried easily–he might have made a fine opera singer, but he always kept his volume down a few notches below oratorical. He was erudite and witty. His humor never coarse, but sometimes (oh, so gently) biting.

Quintin is well-remembered for his compassion. He loved animals and had an optimistic view of humankind. He once said, “Wherever you go, anywhere in the world, you find good people. That is the norm.” His handsome, angular features (sometimes pensive, sometimes creased into a boyish grin) were unforgettable. My wife always referred to him as “Dear Quintin.”

In contrast to his privileged background, Quintin chose to be a man of the common people. He denounced the vestiges of the class system in England and complained that his accent would make him unwelcome in a cockney bar. He was content to spend more than half-a-century living in the gentle climate and multi-ethnic diversity of the Hawai’ian Islands.

Chambers the critic was a somewhat different animal. His intense desire was to seek the combative utility beneath the pedagogical norms and performative aesthetics of the ryūha. It is well known that he and his training partner, Donn Draeger, conspired to establish what was then the International Hoplological Research Center in Hawai’i. What is less known is that one of his main reasons for volunteering to leave Japan before Draeger was the concern that his young son not be brought up in the Japanese public school system. He explained, “Their critical thinking is zero.”

Quintin the warrior was a man of highest integrity who expressed a willingness to fight for a cause at a moment’s notice. This was the man who ordered his students to hold back while he went, alone, to deal with a motorcycle gang who had threatened violence against one of them. Teacher, critic, warrior, friend; for all of these we are ever indebted.

Is Budo Relevant Today?

Over at The Budo Bum, the author gives his opinion on the question of whether Budo study is still relevant in our modern society. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

How can budo be relevant in the 21st century, especially koryu budo, those arts established before 1868? It’s not as if anyone is training for combat with swords and spears. Close combat now is rifles and grenades, with drones quickly making even those look a bit out of date. What’s the point of training with archaic weapons, besides acting out fantasies of being samurai?

Each generation of students is responsible for understanding how their art is relevant to the world they live in. My teachers did it in their time. I did it. Now it is my students’ time. No one can do it for them.

Koryu budo training hasn’t changed substantially in hundreds of years. Through the practice of carefully developed kata, students learn and master structure, movement, timing, spacing, techniques, and refine their mental abilities so they can move and act calmly and smoothly even under extreme pressure. People throw criticism at the training method because it doesn’t emphasize competition. I’ve written critiques of competition in budo before. I won’t repeat them here. Informal sparring was always part of koryu training, even if it was almost never considered important enough to codify.

Sparring doesn’t make budo relevant. Knowing how to punch, kick, throw, choke, hit with sticks, and cut with a sword aren’t particularly relevant skills in 21st century industrialized societies. I don’t know about anyone else, but I can’t think of many lifestyles where you might expect to need those skills. We’re not all going to be police officers, bouncers, or soldiers. What makes koryu budo relevant is all the stuff that made it attractive to samurai during the 250 years of the peace enforced by the Tokugawa Shoguns. It’s not techniques that win in conflict, it’s all the other stuff. The Taisha Ryu masterwork, Kaichu, found in Unravelling The Cords - The Instructions of a Master in the Tradition of Taisha-Ryu says a little about techniques, and a lot about the mind. Takuan Soho’s The Unfettered Mind has nothing to say about technique at all, and yet it has been prized by the swordsmen of Yagyu Shinkage Ryu for four centuries.

So how do you make koryu budo ryu that are hundreds of years old relevant in the 21st century? The difficult part is learning koryu budo. Making it relevant is the easy part. No, we don’t fight in the streets with swords and spears and staves and naginata. We still fight though. Conflict is inherent in life, and the conflict we are most likely to encounter is the same kind of conflict that samurai throughout the Edo Period in Japan were most likely to encounter: social conflict. The Edo Period was more than 250 years of peace in Japan. Close combat skills were not in high demand. The mental skills and strengths that good budo training develops were though; and are just as useful when people aren’t physically attacking you as they are when your opponent is trying to physically demolish you.

Budo training is not just technical. My budo training turned out to be useful in all sorts of places I didn’t expect. It helped make me a better negotiator in business. In the dojo people regularly try to throw me to the ground, choke me unconscious, or beat me with sticks. Sometimes they succeed. People I deal with in business relationships get upset, yell, pound the table, and get right up in my face, all in an effort to intimidate and bully me. After getting used to real physical consequences in the dojo, people who get upset and emotional in meetings come off like a 2-year-old having a tantrum. It is sound and fury, signifying nothing. I wait for them to get tired, and then we do it my way.

 

 

Karate Day Demonstrations

Below are some Karate Day demonstrations held on Okinawa.

 

Traditional and Modern Karate

An excerpt from another insightful post at Budo Journeyman is below. It discusses just what is "traditional karate," "modern karate," and points in between. An interesting read. The full post may be read here.

‘Traditional’, call it a label of convenience; call it a handy pigeonhole to categorise what is done. You can even use it as a hallmark of quality, if you want. But how helpful is it, and who cares anyway?

Clearly some people care, or they wouldn’t keep using it. Some wear it as a badge of honour. To the detractors and critics it becomes yet another thing to take a swing at, a convenient target, their favourite strawman.

What does ‘traditional’ mean?

A key part of my college training was to look at the early history of advertising; selling through the message and labels were important. We were told that if you wanted to sell something to the Americans you attached the words ‘New Improved’ to it; but if you wanted to sell to the British you were better off using the word, ‘Traditional’. (‘Traditional Marmalade’ gets my vote every time).

I was listening to a political podcast recently in which ex-politician Nick Clegg was asked what it was like working in Silicon Valley (he has a top job with Meta). Clegg said that the interesting thing about the Valley was that everything is focussed on the future; because the industry has no past. He contrasted that with the UK where he was of the opinion that some of the Brits from the hard right were so sucked into a mythical image of Great Britain’s past (one that never existed in the form they assumed) that they seem unable to develop any forward-thinking future ambitions; other than turning it into some kind of warped image of a fictional England.

The past is not only ‘a foreign country’ (as L. P Hartley said) but it’s also inclined to be a toxic swamp.

So why, in martial arts, do we give ‘tradition’ so much kudos?

In the martial arts we make an assumption that it’s because the product was tried and tested, like some historical Darwinian quality control exercise. There is one obvious flaw with that idea; the assumption that the process is continued forward in an unbroken line.

The great crucible that was the hundreds of years of Japanese civil wars is a prime example. For the development of martial skills this wasn’t the steady civilised and disciplined refinements found later in the Edo Period, no this was a total meat grinder. (The battle of Sekigahara in 1600 had an estimated body count of 30,000). It was closer to chaos than it was to organised tradition.

What we know of the surviving Koryu (Old School Budo/Bujutsu), the majority of them were developed and coalesced in the later periods of peace, when they had the luxury of evolving their lineage and traditions, uninterrupted by warfare. This doesn’t lessen their fighting ability (unless the lineage is allowed to drift into decay, as has happened), if anything it gave them scope to really refine the skills and imbue them with a greater humanity – which is always paradoxical in martial arts.

The specific case of karate.

Karate as it is consumed in the West (and in Japan) is a modern thing. Can we attach the word ‘tradition’ to something that is so recent?

In Japan it’s classified as ‘Gendai Budo’, 現代武道 ‘Modern Martial Way’. A line is drawn at 1868; in the years before that it’s ‘Koryu’.

Karate jumped from the rural domain of Okinawan to mainland Japan in the 1920’s and underwent many changes; including elements of militarisation, modernisation and westernisation (consider the influence of the Olympic ideas of Baron De Coubertin which spread across Japan). So, although you might talk about the ‘Olympic tradition’, it would be odd to start referring to ‘Traditional Olympics’ because it would sound so retrograde.

Cobra Kai.

To highlight the clash between traditional and new; modern western culture has set up a cartoonish karate model as a framework to attach a storyline to, which began in 1984 with the springboard of the ‘Karate Kid’ movie franchise and has been warmed over like turkey dinner for the streaming platform generation.

For those of you who know it (and those who don’t):

In a nutshell; Cobra Kai = modern progressive karate, American style, strip mall Dojo, all noise and thunder and no morals.

Miyagi Ryu = Old-fashioned (traditional) karate, clear link to a Japanese/Okinawan figurehead, high moral standard, set up as an antidote to the above. Looks a lot like Goju Ryu (deliberately).

Cobra Kai leader, John Kreese, All-American military guy, Mr ‘No Mercy!’, ‘No fear!’ The cinema-going audience know this is ‘black hat, white hat’ stuff, they are supposed to be repelled by this version of ‘modern karate’.

Miyagi Ryu master, Mr Miyagi; unassuming handyman dude, reluctantly acts as karate mentor to teenager Daniel LaRusso. Indeed, for most of the story Daniel is his only student. The writers have fun with Mr Miyagi’s unorthodoxy, e.g. “In Okinawa, belt mean no need rope to hold up pants”. Miyagi is so traditional, he’s beyond traditional.

Cobra Kai is shown as what the west has done to the noble Japanese tradition, not only have they sportified it, they have taken the humanity out of it.

 

 

Happy Fourth of July!

My favorite 4th of July Video:

 

 

Enter the Dojo

At BudoJ ourneyMan, there was an interesting post about the difference between a gym and a dojo. An excerpt is below. The full article may be read here.

I don’t write this post lightly; this has been churning around in my head for some time now, a kind of gadfly burrowing into my brain, so please bear with me as I lay out my argument.

How it works with youngsters.

The best place to start is to consider how we attempt to introduce our kids to activities that may enrich their lives and open whole new worlds to them.

Opportunities for youngsters are presented like a buffet laid out before them by well-intentioned parents. The thinking tends to be; throw all these ‘opportunities’ at the wall and see which one sticks. A messy spaghetti smorgasbord of gym classes, hockey clubs, tennis, gymnastics, dance classes, football, etc, etc. Surely little Jenny or Johnny will find the one activity that floats their boat and allows their talents to rise?

It’s what all responsible parents do; the first steps towards the potential for human fulfilment.

For adults?

I don’t think that stops at childhood. Autonomous adults who no longer have their parent’s well-intended regime imposed upon them reach working age often find themselves searching around for that special ‘something’ that ticks all the boxes, frequently without any real idea of what those boxes are.

As an adult, if you decide to ‘take a class’ in martial arts, is it just that? Identical to taking an aerobics or yoga class?

You turn up, you pay your money, the instructor, with customer service at the back of his/her mind, greets you with a smile. Then, you might be flushed with initial excitement at the novelty (for it may well be novelty you are seeking?) and then just fade away and move on to something else.

The sad thing is that consumer culture has certain inevitable sets of rules and expectations; it’s all designed for you to dip in and dip out. Why should martial arts be any different?

Maybe there is more going on – things that don’t align with the consumer mindset?

If you decide to become involved with a traditional Japanese martial art, the system that you might have ‘dipped your toe into’ could easily be a different beast altogether. In this scenario it is possible that other priorities come to the fore that don’t fit easily with the buyer’s market of the aerobics or yoga classes.

To my mind, this begs the questions which are at the crux of where I am coming from; are you a consumer or a devotee? Are you a customer or a custodian? There is a difference.

For consumers, the aerobics/yoga classes are transactional arrangements. The instructor standing in front of you offers a service that you might want to avail yourself of, at least for a while, a bit like taste testing different cheeses at a newly-discovered deli. You are the buyer sampling the wares; the shopkeeper is hoping that you are going to become a dedicated customer.

However, underpinning the traditional martial arts there is the consideration of a timeline that not only reaches back into the past but also towards a theoretical future. Is it perhaps too extreme to describe this as the elephant in the room?

This is where Memes come in… to explain.

Martial arts as ‘Memes’, the Richard Dawkins version (not the coopted word that the Internet seems to have stolen).

Just to explain. In 1976 Richard Dawkins in his book, ‘The Selfish Gene’ coined the word ‘meme’ to mean how a concept, idea or system is spread (gene-like) generationally by imitation or tradition. This can include religion, philosophy, or even skills-based knowledge, of which I would include the older schools of the martial arts.

To get into the details and the structures of the martial arts, the ones that are passed down generationally; you could say that these traditions/memes can be gifted with blessings, or blighted by curses. To explain what those are is at the root of my argument here.

The blessings.

The accumulated practical knowledge acquired across the generations creates a storehouse of wisdom and experience that is hard-won. If these positive attributes originate from the ‘down and dirty’ skills of hardened battlefield veterans then their wisdom is immeasurably valuable to future generations.

Add to that, if they are passed through the hands of truly enlightened and experienced torch-bearers, who can systemise and supercharge these experiences in a way that can be handed down to a dedicated and eager body of students, then what you have is a stream/tradition/ryuha that has genuine value.

It would be remiss of me not to acknowledge that some of these older traditions cannot really be used as ‘the art of war’, particularly the ones involving antiquated weaponry; but, there is a greater depth involved, one that adds immeasurable value beyond mere mechanical practicality. Within the discipline lays a whole catalogue of principles, ethics, philosophies and the vehicle for human fulfilment.

 This is the upside – this is what happens when things are going well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Passing of Wing Chun Master Kernspecht

Master Kernspecht was a leading figure in Wing Chun in Europe. He had a large organization and a vast number of students.

Frequent contributor Jonathan Bluestein as a close friend of Master Kernspecht and gave a eulogy at his funeral, which is below.

A guest post by Mr Bluestein on the Wing Chun of Master Kernspecht may be found here.

 

 

The Passing of Kina Toshimitsu of Okinawan Kenpo

Below is an excerpt from Ikigai Way about the passing of one of the notable karate masters of modern Okinawa. The full post may be read here.

On October 29th, 2024 we learned about the passing of Kina Sensei. I’d like to take this opportunity to discuss his impact on the world of Okinawa Kenpo Karate.

Born October 13th, 1941 and growing up in a post-World-War-II Okinawa, Kina Toshimitsu felt the need to get stronger as he became an early teen. His father told him to study karate and recommended a dojo in Nago. Nago was considered remote in the northern part of the island compared to the populous Naha, but there was a famous school operated by a gentleman named Nakamura Shigeru. Nakamura Sensei was renowned for his technique and striking power and it seemed like a perfect place for Kina to develop his abilities.

As time passed Kina Sensei developed a reputation as a talented fighter. He distinguished himself by winning kumite and kata divisions in the 1960 All Okinawa Open Karate Tournament¹ and placing well in a variety of other competitions. His reputation for kumite drew respect from competitors and dojo-mates alike.

Kina Sensei was a contemporary of other notable Okinawa Kenpo practitioners such as Odo Seikichi, Oyata Seiyu, and Nakamura Taketo.

According to Kiyan Toru, Kina Sensei often ran his classes much like that of Nakamura Sensei himself. There was a focus on individual training, ranging from makiwara to hojo undo to kata. Kumite was held utilizing the protective bogu gear of which Nakamura Sensei was an early adopter. Nakamura Sensei also taught kobudo, which Kina Sensei absorbed while seeking additional correction from Chibana Kenko Sensei². He learned bo, nunchaku, tonfa, and sai, but became very proficient with the sai. He also developed an affinity for the karate kata Kusanku.

Kina Sensei continued to teach throughout the decades, drawing no excess attention to himself and attending many events in a gentlemanly manner. He had an unassuming dojo in Shuri built out of a small community building.

Kina retained a loyal and diligent group of students but also hosted visitors from abroad. I had the good fortune to visit in 2023 to train with sensei.

 

 

Conserving a Set of Japanese Armor

Below is an excerpt of an article that appeared on the British Museum website about how they went about conserving a set of 17th century armor they had acquired. The full post, with many photographs, may be read here.

Using funds from the JTI Japanese Acquisition Fund, the Department of Asia has recently acquired a fine set of Japanese samurai armour and accessories dating from the 1700s. During the Edo period (1615–1868), Japan was largely at peace, so armour was more for ceremonial occasions than for battle. It was a beautifully decorative ensemble of finely crafted materials, including metal, lacquer, textile, leather and horn. Each of these presented different challenges for the team of conservators at the British Museum.

The samurai armour required extensive conservation and mounting before it could be put on display. This is because it had been privately owned with no known previous conservation records. After initial assessments it was clear that it was covered in dirt dust, had damage to the lacquer, degrading textiles, and needed structural support for mounting. During its 250+ hour treatment we learned a lot about the techniques used to create the armour, with some interesting surprises along the way!

When the object arrived at the Museum it was quarantined for several months to ensure that no pests or infestations were present. Usually objects will be frozen to kill any insects, but due to the amount of lacquer and metal (which can break when quickly expanding or contracting due to changes in temperature), quarantine was the best option. Many of the wood and horn pieces from the armour and its storage box showed signs of damage by pests. While wood damage can be seen as unsightly, interestingly some horn damage can be seen as a sign of affluence that the owner was able to afford real horn as opposed to a substitute.

One of the first things we did was clean the armour. There was a lot of dust in crevices that could scratch the surface when trying to spruce up the metal. We used a soft brush and a special Museum vacuum to carefully clean the dust off.

During a surface clean conservators can uncover partially obscured surfaces, helping us gain a better idea of the object's overall condition. For example, while cleaning the cuirass over 100 insect casings were found hidden beneath the silk cording.

The armour has several textile elements including the collar, shin guards, silk cords, tassels and sleeves – many of which had degraded over time and from light damage. Light damage fades dyes, and weakens the fibres causing them to split and disintegrate into fibre dust. The parts dyed a light orange/pink colour were especially damaged so our senior textile conservators set to work securing the loose fibres by using very fine silk thread and custom-dyed nylon netting where the armour needed additional support.

Our main concern was the lacquer covering nearly all of the armour. When lacquer is new it's glossy with a smooth, shiny surface that is resistant to most environmental conditions. But over time light can damage lacquer and create tiny microcracks in the surface, making the surface appear dull. The armour had many areas with cracks that needed treatment to protect the exposed areas and prevent any more damage.

Because the adhesive we use dries very slowly (it takes over five days), it is important that any area we are trying to stabilise has continuous pressure. For this, we use a modified Japanese method called shimbari – it utilises a wooden frame and flexible bamboo sticks that allow the conservator to apply even pressure across an entire surface, whether flat or curved, over a long period of time. Coupled with clamps, we were able to re-secure lacquer that no longer lay down flat.

 

Head Injuries in Martial Arts

At the Budo Journeyman, there was a very good post about head injuries in sports in general and combat sports in particular. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

There has been an ongoing discussion involving scientists, medical people and those with a vested interest in their favoured sporting activity.

The usual suspects; (sports most likely to…)

Boxing.

It might have started with boxing.

If you have any knowledge of the history of the sport at professional level you might be aware of the tragedies of the boxers Michael Watson who suffered catastrophic brain damage in 1991. Or Welsh bantamweight Johnny Owens who died from a dramatic head injury received in the ring in 1980. The debate has continued ever since.

As early as 1949 a British neurologist, Macdonald Critchley wrote a paper called, "Punch-drunk syndromes: the chronic traumatic encephalopathy of boxers", but at that time it was assumed that it was only boxers, and other sports escaped scrutiny.

Football.

Then there was the discussion around professional footballers who suffered accumulated brain damage just through heading the ball. Certainly, from the 1960’s onwards. But, back in those days, the way footballs were designed and the heavyweight leather involved, it’s not surprising. Recent research with historical elite-level players revealed a shocking statistic; that outfield players (not goalkeepers) are 50% more likely to develop dementia than a control sample.

https://www.theguardian.com/football/2023/mar/16/footballers-50-more-likely-to-develop-dementia-study-finds

Rugby.

Rugby was the next sport to be put under the microscope. The debate centred around young players, and again, headline-grabbing injuries, broken necks and lesser injuries like concussions were splashed across newspapers.

Martial Arts.

For some reason the oriental-based contact sports seemed to escape the scrutiny, despite in the UK a couple of deaths in the early days of ‘full contact’.

Book Review: Martial Arts Politics Explained: History, Culture and Comedy by Jonathan Bluestein

It has been said that if there is more than one person in a room, politics is at play. 

Anyone who has spent any time in the martial arts world knows that martial arts politics is as common an pervasive as the air that we breathe.

Martial Arts Politics Explained: History, Culture and Comedy by Jonathan Bluestein, examines this phenomenon.

What the book is not: it is not a blow by blow description of the continuous shedding of derivative styles of Kyokushin Karate, the divisive split in Aikido when Koichi Tohei left the Aikikai or the homogenization of the 9 Tae Kwon Do kwans into the ITF and WTF; although there are some descriptions, such as the fragmentation of Ed Parker's Kempo. This book, however, makes them all more understandable.

What the book does is look beyond the usual easy explanations for martial arts politics, such as money, status, etc to the deeper issues that are at play.

Even the types of schools and organizations of martial art can influence it's politics. There is a difference between a strict "traditional" Japanese dojo, a MMA gym or Taijiquan in the park. 

The styles may lend themselves to what may become politics. A good point is that Okinawan (and later Japanese) Karate styles all have basically the same forms, techniques and training methods. What differentiates them is where the teacher chooses to place his emphasis and which other styles of martial arts and teachers he may have trained with in the past. Wado-Ryu Karate, for example, has a heavy influence from a traditional style of Japanese Jujitsu.

A section of the book I particularly enjoyed was an lengthy overview of the history and practice of Krav Maga, the Israeli martial arts. Krav Maga was always something I wanted to know a little more about, but was something I couldn't quite pin down. It's all much more clear now.

One of the features of the book that I very much enjoyed were guest chapters written by current martial arts masters regarding their own experience with martial arts politics. It's refreshing to read the inside story. 

And then there are the cults and clowns that seem to float around the periphery of the martial arts world. The book takes a good look at them as well.

Martial arts practice is a path which demands that we carefully select our steps, or we will stumble. Martial Arts Politics Explained: History, Culture and Comedy represents a flashlight which helps to illuminate the path, at least as far as some obstacles go, to help us to avoid pitfalls.

I enjoyed Martial Arts Politics Explained: History, Culture and Comedy. I think you will too.

https://a.co/d/1ZmeRmK

Top Judo Ippons of 2023

Ok, a year late.

Enjoy.

 

2024 Birthday Post

I'm 67 today. Won't you help me celebrate?

 

I've been retired for over a year now. 

After last year's misadventure with the motorhome, I was certainly surprised this year.

The Mrs and I were staying with friends in Lexington MI on Lake Huron for the 4th of July weekend.On a misty Sunday morning, we decided to drive to Port Sanilac, where we had a vacation home, which we sold about 10 years ago.

 

Among the reasons we sold it were that we weren't using as much as we thought, we had no view of the lake and it was a matter of out of sight, out of mind; and we had some setbacks. The pipes froze one winter and burst.The water main in the park had also ruptured... directly beneath our unit. It wasn't the optimal experience.

We sold the place and paid off our primary home with the proceeds. It turned out to be good timing for that, because I was laid off from a job a few months later.

Anyway, we went to look at the old place. While driving around, I noticed that there was an open house that was just shutting down. My wife and I asked if we could see the place and so we did.

It was pretty nice. It's less than 500 ft from Lake Huron and there is a nice view of the lake from the deck.

We thought we might just have happy eyes, so we asked the people we were staying with to meet us and take a look. The husband is handy, so he might see some flaws that I missed.

They thought it was quite a place too.

We said our goodbyes to the owners and went to meet up with some more friends at a local bar in Port Sanilac. 

After a couple of beers, my wife said, "why don't you go back and make them an offer."

I did. They took it. We bought the place. Once again, life changes.

 

The vacation home is keeping me pretty busy. We took possession in August and have been spending our time about 50/50 between there and our primary home. 

My habits and routines are out the window, which is a little stressful. I know that I'll fall into a rhythm, once the place is set up the way my wife wants it, but right now, I'm really hopping. It's all good. I'm accomplishing a lot.

In other news, I have a retirement job. Sort of.

A handful of times a year beginning about a year ago, I've been working at trade shows as a "booth babe" for a small software company. The money has been great, the venues are all top shelf. I'm accumulating loyalty points for hotels and airfare. It's all good.

Unfortunately, the company recently hired a full time salesman who will be working future shows next year. My only opportunities will be when they want a presence at two shows that happen to be taking place at the same time, in different location. It's been a good run.

Being retired, my taijiquan practice has been flourishing. I've been reading a lot (even with the time demands of maintaining two places). I'm walking a lot. Losing a little weight. My health is good.

My wife and daughters are all doing well. 

Life is good.

Let's finish with this: 

 

 

French Martial Arts

At Ellis Amdur's excellent Kogen Budo blog, there was a guest post on contemporary French martial arts - Savate, cane, fencing, etc. The full post may be read here. Below is an excerpt. Enjoy!

On 26, Rue d’Enghien, in Paris, a plaque indicates that here is practiced: Boxe Française, modern savate, stick, cane, umbrella, fencing and weight training. In my earlier years, I crossed the porch and arrived in a courtyard, then took the well-polished wooden staircase to go up to the second floor. The master was sitting behind his desk,  waiting to introduce my son and me to the place. On the left was a room for massage, and on the right, the training room with its impeccable parquet floor. At the back, to the right, was the room dedicated to weight training, equipped with dumbbells and apparatus made by Jean Lafond himself. In the annex were the changing rooms with a shower and a sauna, also self-made. A curiosity decorated the locker rooms: old black suitcases with the names of the regulars who stored their boxing gear there.

This setting might seem old-fashioned, but I would call it traditional because, here, Boxe Française, was a matter of heritage – of lineage. Jean followed the teaching of his father Roger (and himself of his father Eugene); together, they created and refined their combat sport, the “Roger and Jean Lafond Method.”  He was an accomplished sportsman, holding a diploma in physical education,  He was also a lifeguard and, along with his father,  managed a private beach in Normandy  for many years. Nonetheless, Jean Lafond rejected the term  “martial arts,”and furthermore, the title “master” exasperated him.

The physical training he taught was far from bodybuilding because it was focused on health, flexibility and fitness; the search for an imposing musculature was not the goal. Several students from the physical training establishment of Professor Desbonnet, located nearby, rue du Faubourg Poissonnière, started here when their gym was converted to offices. Their gym had been founded in 1885 by the pioneer of physical training in France. It had the same Parisian atmosphere of the “Belle époque.”

Jean deepened his knowledge by becoming a masseur. For two years, he was the assistant of Doctor De Sambucy, the originator of French osteopathy. This experience influenced his practice and his teaching as he insisted on the respect for the body and its natural possibilities.

Boxe Française according to Jean Lafond

Courses in the Roger and Jean Lafond Method consist of learning many sequences, which vary the levels of contact required to lead the partner into making errors. Priority is given to kicks, usually with the front leg, delivered without retracting it before striking, in order to be as lively and unpredictable as possible. After a demonstration, the famous magician Gérard Majax told Jean: “We do the same thing. We get attention to fool people.” After that, Majax became a regular student.

Another characteristic, neglected in modern practice, is swinging back the arm when kicking for balance and aesthetics. The blows are delivered in bursts, with fast strikes that “sting,” followed with a quick return to guard. Generally, after a session of savate, we would follow up with an English boxing session (hands only).

After repetition of techniques, we move on to responding to free attacks. We then realize that the learned sequences come automatically. It becomes an elegant fight with constant movements and fast techniques to disrupt the partner. Jean’s role model was the American boxer Sugar Ray Robinson, whose elegant style, relaxed and in constant motion, made him a true legend.

It was almost impossible to hit Jean, who could see every blow coming. “Don’t look where you’re going to hit, you’re giving me an indication.” Other remarks such as, “You couldn’t punch through a paper bag with that” were meant to motivate the student to train at higher intensity.

The weapons in the Roger and Jean Lafond Method

The main weapon is a light cherry wood cane. The Lafond method of cane uses the same principles as Boxe Française itself: feinting before striking in order to attract the attention of the partner before delivering an unexpected blow to another part of his body. There is no retracting of the cane before striking either–everything happens around the wrist, switching from the right hand to the left hand.  The hits come at amazing speed. It is not uncommon to come out with one’s chest striped by the impacts. To protect the head in practice, therefore, one puts on a helmet.

The training of the French long stick is done in the same way, keeping it in constant motion by sliding it smoothly between the hands to benefit from all its possibilities.

The defensive handling of the umbrella is also taught with emphasis on hooking with the curved handle. Jean’s father, Roger, taught this method to the British actor Patrick MacNee for the famous TV series ” The Avengers”.

The combat mix for self defense

If Jean, like Roger, insisted on the elegant side of their discipline, they also created “the Panaché de combat ”  t

Budo as Physical Education in Japanese Schools

Apparently in Japan, Physical Education in schools offers a join of some sort of Budo study (or dance, which is what the girls mostly take).

Below is an excerpt from a post that appeared at Kenshi 24/7 regarding recent proposed reforms to Budo study in schools. The full post may be read here.

 

 

The lecture that I decided to attend was entitled “Further enrichment of budo classes in school physical education” by Seki Nobuo, a senior specialist for national curriculum (P.E.) at the Japan Sports Agency.  It was given on the 5th of September 2023 at Osaka University of Education. 

An ex-high school P.E. teacher before he moved into his governmental post, Seki has had a wide experience across difference P.E. related divisions. It is important to note that he travels across the country promoting the governments sports curriculum and, also, that he is NOT a kendo person. 

Here is the English outline provided for the lecture: 

“Budo has been compulsory subject based on the policy that students exposure to the unique traditions and culture of our country and establish enrich sport life in school physical education since 2012. In the fact that about 10 years have passed since budo became compulsory and the current revision of the Courses of Study, we would like to consider issues and measures for further enhancement of martial arts classes in physical education.”

(Note that the decision to add budo into compulsory education was taken in 2008, but it took 4 years of preparation before going into effect.)

Prior to 2012 the only other time that budo has been mandatory in the education system in Japan was for boys starting in 1933/34 (girls were forced into very basic naginata training during the war).  This wasn’t as part of some sort of overall P.E. curriculum per-se, but was used to install nationalism (boys and girls) to create soldiers (boys) for/in wartime periods. This obviously stopped after the war. 

BTW, budo is not actually “compulsory” nowadays but rather, all first and second year junior high school students (approx. 12-14 year olds) have to choose between “budo” or “dance” as part of their P.E. curriculum. What budo is on offer depends on what teachers are at the school (at the moment across the entire country the rates are: 60% judo, 30% kendo, 10% others). Boys overwhelmingly choose budo, and girls dance. 

The inclusion of budo into the national curriculum only happened after years of work spearheaded by the Nippon Budokan foundation (NB) since it was formed in 1964. As such, only budo as represented by the NB can be allowed in schools, i.e. judo, kendo, kyudo, sumo, karate, aikido, shorinji-kempo, naginata, and jukendo. NB has also taken a lead in publishing teaching texts and methodology related to teaching budo in schools (and recently into exploring how to expand budo practice for special needs students).

 

The Brutal World of Bonsai

Below is an excerpt from an article that appeared in the New Yorker, about an American who apprenticed himself to a Bonsai master in Japan for 6 years. 

How hard could such an apprenticeship be? Well, brutal might be the way to describe it. 

The full article may be read here.

In the winter of 2002, a young American named Ryan Neil joined an unusual pilgrimage: he and several others flew to Tokyo, to begin a tour of Japan’s finest collections of bonsai trees. He was nineteen, with an athlete’s body and a sunny, symmetrical face. The next-youngest adult in the group was fifty-seven. Then, as now, rearing tiny trees in ornamental pots was not commonly considered a young man’s hobby.

Neil had grown up in a small Colorado mountain town. For much of his youth, he was focussed on playing sports, especially basketball, which he approached with an almost clinical rigor: during high-school summer breaks, he’d wake up every day at five-thirty and attempt twelve hundred jump shots before going to the gym to lift weights. By his junior year, he was the best player on the team. By his senior year, he had torn one of his quadriceps—“It was hanging on by just a thread,” he recalls—and was looking for a new obsession.

Like many Americans of his generation, Neil had discovered bonsai through the “Karate Kid” films. He was especially fond of the third movie in the series, which features dreamy shots of characters rappelling down a cliff face to collect a miniature juniper. In the films, the wise karate instructor, Mr. Miyagi, practices the art of bonsai, and in Neil’s young mind it came to represent a romantic ideal: the pursuit of perfection through calm discipline. One day, after seeing bonsai for sale at a local fair, he rode his bike to the library, checked out every book on bonsai, and lugged them all home.

About a month later, he got his hands on a trade magazine, Bonsai Today, which featured an article about Masahiko Kimura, the so-called magician of bonsai, who is regarded by many enthusiasts as the field’s most innovative living figure. (Kunio Kobayashi, one of Kimura’s chief rivals at the time, called him “the kind of genius who comes along once every hundred years, or maybe more.”) The article described how Kimura had transformed and refined a small juniper tree that had been collected in the wild. A scruffy, shapeless plant had become a cantilevered sculpture. As Neil saw it, Kimura had given the tree not just a new shape but a soul.

Near the end of high school, Neil laid out a meticulous long-term plan that would culminate in his travelling across the Pacific to apprentice under Kimura, who was considered the toughest bonsai master in Japan. Neil knew that the work would not be easy. Bonsai apprenticeships could last anywhere between five and ten years. At the time, some fifty people had begun working under Kimura, but only five had completed the apprenticeship, all of them Japanese.

Neil went to college at California Polytechnic State University, in San Luis Obispo, where he majored in horticulture and studied Japanese. He helped take care of the university’s bonsai collection and travelled around the West Coast to attend master classes with renowned practitioners. While other students were partying, he stayed home looking at bonsai blogs, or drove his pickup truck to remote mountain locations in search of wild miniature trees. “He was possessed,” his father recalls.

Neil signed up for the tour of Japan during his sophomore year, and took a short leave from school. On the second day of the trip, the group visited Kimura’s garden, in a rural area some thirty miles northwest of Tokyo. It was a cool, gray morning; Neil wore a hoodie. The group was met by one of Kimura’s apprentices and ushered past rows of ancient and pristinely shaped bonsai into the back garden—the workshop—where few visitors were allowed.

Neil later likened the moment to peering into the mind of a mad genius. Hundreds of knee-high trees, in various states of arboreal surgery, were lined up on benches and beer crates. Custom-made power tools were scattered around the workshop, including a machine, used to sculpt trunks, that shot out tiny glass beads. Kimura was famed for his deft use of these devices to carve rippling torrents of shari—bone-white deadwood that is laced with thin veins of living wood.

That day, Kimura, who was then in his sixties, was working on an Ezo spruce with a spiky, half-dead trunk which was estimated to be a thousand years old. A photographer from the Japanese magazine Kindai Bonsai was present to document the process. Neil and the other visitors observed as Kimura, with the help of his lead apprentice, Taiga Urushibata, used guy wires and a piece of rebar to bend the trunk downward, compressing the tree—an act requiring a phenomenal balance of strength and finesse. Kimura misted the branches with water and wrapped them with thick copper wire. He then bent the branches—some slightly upward, some downward—arranging the foliage into an imperfect dome, with small windows of light spaced throughout the greenery. He worked with relentless focus, but what amazed Neil most was the synchronicity of Kimura and Urushibata: whenever Kimura needed a tool, he would wordlessly extend his hand, and Urushibata would have the implement waiting for him.

After Kimura had made his design decisions, he left Urushibata to finish wiring the branches. The tour group moved to the front garden, but Neil lingered, watching the apprentice work. Urushibata, a stern young man with the pretty face and floppy hair of a J-pop idol, turned to Neil and spoke to him, in English.

“So you want to apprentice here?” Urushibata said.

“I do,” Neil said.

“You should reconsider,” Urushibata said, then turned his attention back to the spruce.

 

 

Movies that Botched Martial Arts Fighting

Below is an interesting article that appeared at Looper on movies that screwed the pooch on their presentation of martial arts. Below is an excerpt. The full post may be read here.

From boxing to judo and from jiu-jitsu to eskrima, there are nearly 200 different fighting styles that originated in various countries all around the world. Many of these martial arts styles have been brought to the big screen in action movies over the years, but they aren't always translated into cinema faithfully.

To one degree or another, there is always some realism lost when a martial arts style is depicted on camera. Beyond all of the trickery needed to keep action scenes safe for the actors and stunt performers involved, movie fight choreography rarely ever sticks to a single real-world fighting style on a one-to-one basis. Movements often need to be exaggerated in order to sell on camera, some real fight tactics simply aren't exciting on screen, and some moves that are exciting on screen would be useless in a real fight and have no basis in reality.

100% authenticity in a movie fight scene sounds like something worth striving for at face value, but it would be easy for the end result to wind up being dull and unimpressive. The best action movies strike the perfect balance between realism and exaggeration, while other movies throw realism out the window and botch the fighting styles they claim to depict. Here are 11 martial arts movies that got their fighting styles completely wrong.

Man of Tai Chi - Tai Chi

From the kung fu of "The Matrix" to the judo of "John Wick," Keanu Reeves has consistently proven himself to be one of the most physically committed Hollywood stars. In 2013, Reeves's passion for martial arts extended behind the camera with his directing debut: "Man of Tai Chi." Reeves plays the film's villain opposite martial artist Tiger Chen, whom Reeves met while working on "The Matrix" trilogy as a stunt man. Reeves also met the legendary fight director Yuen Woo-Ping on "The Matrix" and enlisted him to work on the action scenes for "Man of Tai Chi."

Despite being a total financial bomb, Reeves delivered a remarkably authentic kung fu flick. However, there was a notable lack of authenticity when it came to the titular martial arts style. Despite it being in the title, there is hardly any legitimate tai chi used in the film. In reality, tai chi is not an offensive fighting style and instead finds far more use as a light exercise suitable for the elderly. In the film, the so-called "Man of Tai Chi" is constantly on the aggressive and tears his opponents apart. This is one instance of a movie getting the martial arts style completely wrong but winding up with better action because of it. The fights in "Man of Tai Chi" are fun and exhilarating, whereas if they stuck to actual tai chi, they would be slow, dull, and the protagonist would certainly lose every fight.

Japanese Buddhist Woodcarving

Carving the Divine is a documentary film that offers a rare look into a 1400-year-old Buddhist woodcarving tradition and the practitioners struggling to preserve its legacy in a rapidly changing Japan.

 

Capoeira in MMA

Capoeira is a unique martial art. MMA is probably the last place I would expect to see Capoeira.

Enjoy.

Traditional Japanese Martial Arts in the Modern World

Ellis Amdur is a long time practitioner of traditional Japanese martial arts, owns the Kogen Budo blog and is a prolific author. He was interviewed for a Spanish language martial arts magazine. Below is an except from the English translation, which may be read in it's entirety here.

Mr Amdur's books may be found here.

In his “Spirit of Place,” the great Lawrence Durrell wrote that man is the son of the landscape. The cultural niche in which the bujutsu schools arose is far from the current one. The times demand immediacy, a priori, practicality. Do you consider that, being as we are so far away in space-time from that primitive culture, we can arrive at an understanding of the depths of its philosophy, its reason for being, its most intimate essence?

Your question takes some things at face value that are not exactly true. Anything embedded within a culture is eminently practical—it is only when something is grafted into a culture as a fascinating alien subject that it is—or seems to be—unrealistic or impractical. The classical bugei were always pragmatic—just not in the way that people might imagine. What the reader should understand is that the bugei (these days referred to as koryū) were never the primary training methods for training military personnel for fighting in war. The Japanese, in the period that the bugei first appeared, fought in set-piece battles: mass-formations complete with fortifications and siege-craft. Their primary weapons were bow-and-arrows, spears and guns. Military tactics schools, which described how to train troops and outlined battlefield tactics, were separate entities from the bugei, although some of the older ryūha included limited elements of military tactics in their curriculum. Also, contrary to latter periods, the Japanese in the Muromachi and Azuchi-Momoyama periods were innovative rather than conservative, incorporating new technology as soon as they had access to it, both that developed within Japan as well as that made available from the West. For example, plate armor and gunnery were incorporated without hesitation, and before the country shut-down, the Japanese eagerly learned Western ship-building methods.

If the bugei were battlefield arts, as so often has been claimed, why, in the 16^th century and afterwards, did they focus on archaic weaponry such as the kamayari,  nagamaki and naginata that were rarely used on the battlefield even in the 14^th century? Why did they include chained weapons in their curriculum that were not even suitable for mass conflict? Finally, and most importantly, why was the sword the primary weapon of the majority of the bugei, when it was, at best, an auxiliary side-arm? Some may cite the number of ryūha with spears within their curriculum, but even when training with such weaponry, the majority of ryūha used the sword as uketachi (senior, teaching role) when practicing pattern drills (kata).

Rather than direct military training—though they would certainly assist in making a person skillful with hand-held weaponry, primed to be trained in whatever methodology best suited the needs of an army—bugei were actually the means of training individuals, comprehensively, in a social role: that of a bushi. It is a mistake, however, to translate this word as a “warrior.” Rather, it means “person of the warrior class,” a phrase that encompasses far more than functional battlefield skills. Rather, it denotes a caste of individuals who have a duty to serve their feudal lords, and rule the rest of the populace, both by force of arms and as an exemplar of certain values.

As a matter of fact, most of the bugei were not created in a period of war—they were developed in the Edo period. Even those who claim roots in earlier era were substantially changed in successive generations, something that is usually glossed over even by historians of classical martial arts, much less by the members of specific ryūha.

As society changed, so did the bugei. Increasingly, the bushi were expected to fulfill a role of armed bureaucrats, functionaries of feudal domains who retained power by controlling their citizens’ lives through a rigid Confucian social structure, maintained through almost total control of the means of violence. When one has such control, there is little impetus for innovation. There was, at that time, a much greater emphasis on the sword, particularly focusing on the potential for unarmored combat: duels and street brawls among bushi. Skill with a sword was also believed to be sufficient to maintain control over other elements of society, most of whom did not have access to swords, much less weapons of war. (During ikki, ‘peasant insurrections, when swords were not sufficient, the bushi retreated to the castle armory, and broke out stored muskets, which they kept in the thousands, to suppress the starving, overtaxed peasants, who were armed with farming implements).

As the Edo period waxed, however, more and more non-bushi were admitted to the bugei, both to accumulate social capital on the part of the students and for blatant economic reasons on the part of the teachers. In this period, kata practice, the mainstay of the bugei was increasingly regarded as lacking. It did not resonate so strongly with the more socially crude members of the peasant and merchant class, and in general, provided young men with no means to measure their power against others (which is the main interest of most young men). Competitive fencing developed and more and more, became the primary method of training—this suited the needs of the peaceful, authoritarian society within which the bugei were ensconced. What this means is that martial studies were both an emanation of the society in which they were embedded and a support of that society. Considering martial arts in the West in this light, the most clownish McDojo, the most utilitarian MMA gym and even the koryū dojo, all located in countries far from their origins, are one and the same, as each, in different ways, supports the same culture within which they currently exist—if they did not, they would be revolutionary, a threat to that culture, and would be eradicated (or irrelevant and ignored).

Let us take this question from another perspective, however. Bugei, these days, are alien, not only to those training in the West, but also those in Japan. We do not have the same bodies: few walk or ride long distances, we do not eat the same foods, suffer from and endure the same illnesses, nor do we labor with our hands. The meaning of life-and-death is quite different to us—we no longer have public executions, much less tortures. In previous era, the primary definition of immortality was one’s reputation and the continuation of one’s family line; a besmirched name destroyed one’s family and legacy. Social interaction, therefore, meant something profoundly different to those in medieval Japan than it does today. Finally, customs such as formalized etiquette and innumerable other rules were not, as they are now, something one adopts—they were as natural as breathing. We, on the other hand, don these behaviors like putting on clothes, removing them once we leave the dojo. In fact, were we to “act like bushi” outside of the dojo, we would appear to any sensible person to be a “live-action role-playing” simpleton, much like Don Quixote.

And yet there is a third perspective—everything in the bugei is relevant today, if one trains through to the essence. It is as if one penetrates a first shell, assuming the training and mind-set of an alien culture. At a certain point, you will penetrate an inner shell, where the principles and values are universal. To give one example, I cannot divorce the study of a traditional bugei with that fact that we are studying, at least in part, how to maim and kill others for the purpose of survival. I have viewed myself as remiss while teaching my European students Tenshin Buko-ryū, because the school focuses solely on long weaponry that would be illegal to carry outside one’s home, at least with the intention of using it as a weapon, and anyway, many of the dangers one will face in European countries are at close range, very likely when one is unarmed. Therefore, I developed a cognate discipline, which I call Iimori-ryū, basing it on the body-mechanics and tactical principles of Tenshin Bukō-ryū. It is a pure pugilistic system. However, rather than a “new” stand-alone martial art, it is intended to be integrated within one’s karate or aikidō, or other hand-to-hand modern martial art, so that there is a seamless connection between Tenshin Bukō-ryū training, and what people already do “hand-to-hand.”