From Chapter 1: The Beginning

The year was 1966. I had been teaching karate for about a year when I received a telephone call from a Japanese gentleman. He was difficult to understand but kept asking me something like, "Do you do kendo?"

"Not only do I not do it," I explained to him, "but I don't even know what you are talking about. We do karate here."

He kept saying, "No, no. I do kendo." Eventually he said, "Never mind, never mind. No understand. I am coming to dojo. Please wait. Thank you. Good-bye."

About forty-five minutes later, the man who was to become my first kendo instructor, Jurato Yajima Sensei, arrived. He brought with him twenty shinai (bamboo swords) and two sets of bogu (armor). When I told him there was no one at the school with whom he could practice, he said something like, "Is okay, I teach, I teach." It dawned on me that he intended to teach me. I don't think he ever asked me if I wanted to learn kendo; he just informed me that he was going to instruct me. This encounter was the beginning of a path that I have followed ever since.

Yajima Sensei wasn't a tall man; by Japanese standards, twenty-odd years ago, he was of about average height. He didn't speak much English, so most of our lessons were taught by trial and error. I would try hard to follow his instruction, but the combination of the language barrier and my complete unfamiliarity with the art he was teaching made progress difficult. Sensei would explain the hip and foot work, then the correct way to make the cut. The harder I would try, the worse I would do. Sensei would say, "Hit my kote [glove]." But whenever I tried, it wasn't there, and his shinai would come crashing down on my head. Finally, after several months, I got the courage to ask Sensei, "How can I possibly hit your kote if you keep moving it?" He just smiled, took hold of my men (face protector), and twisted it so that I landed on my back. He quickly sat on the grille—which I was still wearing—grabbed the bottom of my do (chest armor), and proceeded to choke me unconscious with its top. I never asked many questions after that. He just led and I followed, which is really the best way.

Although the lessons were difficult, I discovered that I had a real love for kendo. My efforts were rewarded, and by 1968 I had received my shodan, or first-degree black belt. I had been practicing kendo for about five years when, in 1971, Sensei informed me, to my great excitement, that I was to participate in a kendo tournament in California. Unfortunately, my first experience at a shiai (contest) was something I would prefer to forget. Making mistakes is an integral part of the learning process, but it's painful nonetheless. Being the only Caucasian in the tournament, I was already off my guard, but my embarrassment reached its height when I foot-swept my first opponent, grabbed his men, and sat on it. I was about to start the choking procedure when the referees grabbed me under each arm and dragged me off the floor screaming something in Japanese I probably still don't want translated. Shortly thereafter, we were visited by a delegation from California informing Sensei that what he was teaching was pre–World War II kendo that was no longer acceptable in modern shiai. I received this news happily. My days of hip throws, foot sweeps, and head twisting—at least in kendo—came virtually to a close.

In retrospect, 1973 was a watershed year in my martial arts career, one in which several pivotal events happened to me. First, at the Second World Kendo Championships in Los Angeles and San Francisco, I met Setsuji Kobayashi Sensei, from the main department of the Imperial Palace Police. We talked, and shortly thereafter I was on my way to Japan again, this time by his invitation. The trip opened my eyes to a new world. Though Kobayashi Sensei's business card said Imperial Palace, I had no idea that I was actually going to practice kendo at the Imperial Dojo. Doing so is comparable to going to the White House and practicing self-defense with the Secret Service. Even though I had been practicing kendo for seven years when I first met him, it was only through my experiences with Kobayashi Sensei that I really began to perceive the true art of kendo. My relationship with Kobayashi Sensei has lasted more than two decades and has been priceless to me. When I'm in Japan, Sensei always makes time for a lesson; his instruction has never grown dim.

However, the best was yet to come.