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ARTICLES AND COMMENTARY

" Warrior Stories"
From The Masters

  Because of my last article I realized that many of my master friends have some pretty interesting and memorable experiences of their own. I asked them to share one each with you, in hopes that you would further realize what makes them wear their belts so proudly. You see, all the masters remember each other, and know who earned their bones in and out of the ring, and who has (or think they have) benefited by others poor memory that, they never did and still don't do squat. I asked several Master friends to contribute. Getting Masters to sit down and write about themselves is as difficult as herding cats. Below are some real warriors and their story. Their story appears in the order I received it. I hope others whom I asked to contribute will send theirs in as well.


   So thanks to these great leaders of Isshin-ryu, for all their past victories that went in to shaping our present, and future successes.
 

Submitted By: Master Doyle Seiber

    Recently, during a conversation with an old training partner, I told him that Mr. Shaffer requested that I share a story from the days during my training. Tony was there during many training sessions at Mr. Long’s home, being my partner for many two-man drills. He reminded me of multiple stories of Mr. Long and the workouts we shared. Tony then told the story of the sparring night we shared in Crossville, TN. Since it was a great time and some of the people there that night are no longer with us, I decided to share this story. Hopefully, some people might remember them.

    Speaking with my friend, he reminded me of the days when I was going around to dojos with Mr. Long. I remembered when I went down with Mr. Long to meet a gentleman by the name of Ken Nelson, chief instructor of a Shotokan Dojo. Mr. Long and Mr. Nelson were getting together and Mr. Nelson was changing styles to go to Isshin-ryu under the direction of Mr. Long. Mr. Long asked me to come with him and show the kata of Isshin-ryu to Mr. Nelson. I enjoyed the many times I trained with Mr. Nelson. The time I wish to tell about is the time a group of us went down to Crossville to work out with Mr. Nelson’s new Isshin-ryu group.

    We sparred the entire night. Some of the guys that I trained with there that night were Shane Nunley and Larry “Porky” Harris along with the two Tony’s, Tony Randall Armes and Tony Ray Armes (Cousins) and Cleteth Byrge. Both Tony’s and Cleteth were all three over 6 ft and 200 lbs of pure toughness.

    Cleteth began the night and as anyone that knew him would tell you, he only had one type of punch or kick. HARD!!! He ended up fighting about three fights and all ended with his opponents either having broken ribs, toes or fingers. Toward the end of the night, Porky fought one of Mr. Nelson’s best students and was winning two points to zero. Porky being up 2-0, attacked the guy and chased him out of the ring. As the guy stepped out of the ring, he threw a blind jab. Porky stepped on his own pant leg and fell onto the jab. Porky got his jaw broke. Luckily, the two Tony’s, Shane and I were able to survive without any injury. To most people that might sound like a very bad night, for us it was a normal fun night of sparring.

    Mr. Nelson announced that we would end the night with a drill he liked, called fighting in the dark. He explained the way it worked. Everyone was to just stand some where on the floor and Porky, with a broken jaw, would turn the lights out for a set amount of time. Then when the lights were out, you had to fight. Once the lights came on, you had to stop. I am not sure how long the time was now after all these years but it seemed forever. The action was like King of the Ring or Bull in the Ring, just with the lights out and no one was in the center. Everyone fought who ever they could find.

    After a couple of times, I got tired of getting knocked around from wild punches and kicks. I remembered Kusanku kata and the rest of the night, I lined up on the side of the floor near a corner and when the lights went out I went over and crouched down in the corner. From a crouched position, I could see the silhouettes of all the fighters. When the time came to turn the lights back on, a count down would begin. That is when I would get up and hit someone right as the lights came on. Call it “Sneaky” or “Cheating” I called it survival. Remember, I was only around 5 ft tall and 98 lbs in a room of thirty 6 ft tall 200 lb men looking for someone to hit.

    Well, Tony Ray Armes came over to Tony Randall, Shane and me and said “someone keeps hitting me from behind and I cannot find him.” I said I would watch for him the next time the lights go out and we will get him. Well, the lights went out, I went to my corner and sure enough this guy was coming from around the pole that was in the middle of the dojo’s floor. He would sneak around it and hit Tony Ray from behind. The lights came on and we talked. I said that the guy came from around the pole. Tony Randall said “that guy right there” and pointed him out. Shane agreed that was the guy and so we all decided to fight a circle around Tony Ray while he was waiting, we would be taking on all the different people to keep Tony free to wait on the guy. Still taking care of #1, I sit in the corner. I told Tony Ray that I would say “Tony” when the guy started around the pole. Well, the lights went off. Here he came and I said, “Tony”. Tony spun around with a spinning back kick to the guy’s head. The guy’s head snapped back and right into the pole from which he came around. The guy fell stiff like a tree cut in the forest. I am not sure if it was Tony Ray’s kick landing or the guy’s head hitting the pole or both, but it made a loud sound and everyone starting yelling, “lights…..lights.” Ken got out the ammonia capsules and the 1st one simply made the guy move his feet. The 2nd one made him move his legs and arms and the 3rd one finally made him open his eyes. Who ever said that karate was not a team sport never fought with us in the dark!

    Well, we all called it a night at that point. It was about 9:30pm and it was a weeknight. All total we had 5 broken fingers, 2 broken toes, a couple of broken ribs, 1 broken jaw, one concussion and multiple bruises. I know that all this sounds like a bunch of crazy people and I guess I should agree. At the time however, it was our way of enjoying Isshin-ryu karate.

    I have met many great martial artists during my time in the Martial arts. With out people like Cleteth Byrge, Tony Ray Armes, and Ken Nelson, many of the people who have made names for themselves would not have had the chance. I also want to thank Mr. Long for introducing Isshin-ryu to our area and allowing me to meet people like Mr. Nelson. I feel that the opportunity Mr. Long provided me has made my life a better journey. Thank you Mr. Shaffer for allowing me to not only go back in time, but to speak of these great Isshin-ryu Karateka.

God Bless,

Renshi Doyle Seiber 6th Dan

 

Submitted By: Master Tom Lewis

Back around the late 70's,early 80's, I attended George Iberl's tournament in York, Pa. At the end of the day, the finals were to be held on a stage and open to the public. Half way through the sparring there was to be a demonstration by a guy in a wheelchair. I don't recall his name but he had lost his legs while serving in Viet Nam. After demonstrating some self-defense from his chair with a young man named Alex Smith, he proceeded to the front of the stage and announced that he could devastate the first three rows and never leave his chair. Nobody was aware that he had 2 sawed off 12 guage shotguns mounted in the arm rests. When he pulled all the triggers at one time, his chair went back about 3 feet, people were hitting the floor and I just about jumped into the arms of Bill Wallace.

Yours in Isshinryu,
Tom Lewis

Submitted By: Master Maurice Msarsa

    We were at a tournament in Nashville during the early years. On my third match I drew a big guy…6’ 4” 260 lbs… he played college football in Mississippi. One minute into the match he faked a kick, I went for the block, and he scorched me with a shuto to the head. I saw stars light up, and when I looked in his direction, I could see two of him! Bob Trias was the center referee. Mr. Long was on one of the corners. All five judges scored the point. After that he stood at the edge of the ring. Every time I attacked he would step out of the ring. The fight was stopped and he was warned. With time running out, and my frustration at its peak, the next time he stepped out I kept charging him. He ran into the stands, and I kept running after him. I caught up with him around the sixth row and struck him with a smashing hammer strike to the head. We were escorted back to the ring. Mr. Trias lectured us on sportsmanship and he awarded the match to my opponent. I walked toward Mr. Long. He looked at me with icy eyes and said, “I would have done the same thing.”

 Submitted By: Master Joe Laney

     I don’t remember which tournament it was and would have to do some back-tracking to get a close approximation on the date. It was one of the last open tournaments we attended and was the first time in a while I was not the only competitor in adult black belt division from our school. 

     Jim was a big dark-haired fellow, bulked up from lifting weights and a heck of a dojo fighter. He just been promoted to shodan and this would be his debut in the world of tournament karate. Jim usually worked weekends but his schedule finally permitted him to compete in a tournament. Man, he was pumped!

     Jim and I sat next to each other on the far side of the ring, facing the judges, and waited our turns in the kata competition. The closer to our turn it got, the whiter Jim’s face became.

     Now, Jim was hardly a timid fellow. I’d seen Jim talk to large numbers of people on a regular basis. He’d always had a strong and commanding presence, both in the dojo and out. Everything I knew about him told me he was going to be a heck of a competitor.

     The scorekeeper started calling out names and one by one the competitors ahead of us took their turns. Then I noticed something odd—Jim was an unhealthy shade of white. With every name the scorekeeper called, Jim’s face turned paler. Huge balls of sweat broke out all over his face. Jim was no longer pumped up—more like zoned out.

     Finally, the scorekeeper called Jim’s name. He didn’t move. I elbowed him in the ribs. It took several repetitions to snap him out of his trance. Finally, he jumped up and entered the ring in a zombie-like state and announced he would perform kusanku.

     Just then, Mr. Long walked over to the ring and stood on the sidelines with his arms crossed and peered at Jim.

     That was all she wrote. About half-way through the kata, Jim made a wrong turn. He was so zoned he didn’t even notice. He made that last 180 degree pivot, turned, took a full step, and bowed out. Only problem was he was looking at me as he bowed.

     Jim froze. He locked eyes with me, paralyzed as his brain tried to figure out why I was sitting ringside where the judges ought to be. Try as it might, his brain just couldn’t figure out where he was. And until it could, it wasn’t about to let him up from that deep bow.

     I cupped a hand to my mouth and whispered. “Pssst, Jim, you just mooned the judges.”

     Jim’s gaze shifted upward slightly and his eyes widened. I didn’t have to look behind me to know that Mr. Long had moved and was standing directly behind me. I waited for a kick to the middle of my back but Mr. Long was evidently focused on glaring at Jim.

     The full force of Mr. Long’s intimidating stare hit Jim like a sledge- hammer. Still wide-eyed, Jim turned and bowed out again, this time facing the judges.

     Needless to say, Jim didn’t score very well. To this day, he doesn’t remember entering the ring.

     The next week in the dojo we were all had great fun at Jim’s expense. We were in the ring when Mr. Long cracked another moon joke. I blurted out a cackle just as Jim loaded up and sank a side- kick into my ribs. I saw it coming but couldn’t dump my air in time. It separated two ribs and I hit the floor. This of course, just made Mr. Long laugh that much harder and cut my laughter to zilch.

     Many will remember him as Reverend Jim Malone, Pastor of Galilee Baptist Church. Some will also remember the wonderful job he did presiding over Mr. Long’s funeral service. A few years later, the Lord called Jim away to a much smaller church in Cookeville, Tennessee and then as a Missionary to Columbia. Jim Malone walks the walk in every respect. I hear he’s back stateside and look forward to seeing him. Jim and I swapped many a lump over the years and I doubt he has much of a problem when it’s time to pass the collection plate. 

 Submitted By: Master Trice Fasig

      I don’t really have any war stories. All of my physical, painful wars were in the dojo with David Gabbard, Billy Clinard, Butch Hill, Dennis Martin, Vince Hicks and many others too numerous to name. Mac also spent a lot of time with one appendage or another jerking a knot on me somewhere, but we never had wars – he was my teacher no matter how much it hurt me. David, in particular, and I were always at war. We knew that one of us was going to get the next Shodan from Master Shaffer, and we figured that if one of us killed the other………well, the choice would be easier. Whenever I went to the track alone to run, I would go as long as I could then imagine David one half of a lap ahead – then I could go some more. I never had the capability to be a great tournament competitor, but I became the best tournament competitor I could become, and it all culminated in my last match at the Hall of Fame. I knew that this tournament would be my last. My leg simply hurt too much during and after sparring to continue. Master Shaffer was the center referee, and the final four were David Gabbard, two other heavyweights who I don’t remember except for the fact that they were good competitors, and me. As we lined up for the final pairings, I stood beside David since we came from the same bracket. I kept looking at Master Shaffer and tilting my head towards the other two hoping he would let David and I have the chance of meeting in the finals. Since Master Shaffer was the center referee and the backs of our gi’s said: “SHAFFER’S TEAM NASHVILLE” I guess he decided someone might notice if David and I got split up. I knew that if I had any chance to beat David, I had to get the first two points – I didn’t. I gave David a quick, cheap point to end the match and give us both a little extra rest before our next matches. David recognized that I was giving him the point and he was merciful with a quick, light backfist. The guy I drew for the consolations was pretty quick for a heavyweight, but I was pumped thanks to a promise I made to Billy Clinard earlier. I promised Billy that I would leave everything I had on the floor. This was going to be the last match I would ever compete in, and I knew the memory would be with me forever. That match was the best match I was capable of fighting. I used every skill and trick I had acquired: angles, the edge of the ring, positioning my opponent so at least two judges saw my technique land instead of his, etc. At the onset, we each got one point then I got the lead and kept it finishing with a Mawashi to his head for point number three and very little time left. I wish my last and best match had been with David for first and second, but in reality third is what I deserved among the fighters that day (it has taken me about twenty years to concede this). So that was it – my best, and I saved it for last.

     When I was a brown belt, Master Shaffer said that there are only two types of fighters who come to a tournament: the ones who the others want to fight because it will be a good challenge, and the “other guys” who people look at and know that they might win on points, but it’s going to hurt. I always tried to be the “other guy”.

     Regardless of whether it is in a ring, in the dojo, at work, or in relationships, whenever the “other guy” participates, he brings everything he has, holds nothing back, and gives it all. The “other guy” doesn’t know any other way except total commitment. I am and will always be the “other guy”. Right or wrong, good or bad, joking or serious, friends or enemies – all I know is full out, and I guess that is my real “war story” – the one I fight every day.

 Submitted By: Master Butch Hill

      I fought for “Team Nashville” during the 1970’s and 1980’s under Master Denny Shaffer and Master Phil McElroy. During that era, if you weren’t skillful enough to win your division, you were expected to at least knock somebody out or get disqualified trying. In the ‘70’s we were fighting in an open tournament in Knoxville. I was fighting in the brown belt heavyweight division finals that night. Earlier in the day there would have been a riot in one of the black belt rings had it not been for Master Long. The competitive spirit was running pretty high. Right before my match, Master Shaffer called me to the side and said “this guy is all legs; just get inside and hammer him”. Sure enough, my opponent came out with a flurry of high, spinning kicks. I was able to duck under, come up inside and hit him with a left hook. Down he went and out cold. Five minutes later, the doctor was able to revive him and I was disqualified. Though I didn’t win, I had earned my spurs with Master Shaffer. At another tournament in Nashville I was paired against a big heavyweight from the Wado ryu system; one of Cecil Patterson’s boys. Before our match, Master McElroy told me to take it to this guy. I said yes sir. It was a rough match during which I knocked him down, busted his lip open and was finally disqualified. After the match, my teammates were laughing, so Master Shaffer asked what was so funny. They told him that my opponent was kinfolk of mine. He asked me if that were true and I told him yes, the guy I fought was my uncle! I saw a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he walked away.

     If anyone doubts whether Grandmaster Harold Longs fighting legacy lives on, just read and listen to the stories of his students, their students and now watch the accomplishments of the 3rd generation such as the recent IIKA World Team Challenge winners!

 Submitted By: Master James Ogle

     In the late 70's, I attended a tournament in the good old town of Nashville. I don't remember who was the host.  I really should have researched this story a little better so the story could be recalled by the guys who were around at that time, but the main character will come out.

     All the tough guys were there.  One guy by the name of Mike Hammonds was there, for anybody that didn't  know Mike, in order to win the tournament it usually meant you had to go through Mike. Mike and I had had some really good fights up to this tournament but this one would be the best.  Through our bouts in the ring, we had grown to know & respect each other, at times help each other in fights against others we had fought.

     We both won our first two rounds, when we (middle weight division) would test each other once again.  Mike was a guy you had to bring your A game or you'd go home early. Glen Webb was the center judge. Glenn was the epitome of what you would want a referee to be.  Glenn bowed us in & the fight was on.  In the first minute we checked each other out trying to find an opening then the battle began.  We both scored a point, then I used a foot sweep, as Mike went down I used a kick ( foot stomp) to his head which resulted in knocking him out. The fight was stopped I got 2 points for the kick, Glenn and the tournament doctor attended Mike.  After about 5 minutes we began again.  Mike being the fighter he was, was not going to let me get out in front too much (we fought total points at this tournament) so he caught me with a reverse punch that turned me completely around, as I came back around to counter his attack I threw a jab, I felt like it was my best of the day, but instead of making contact with Mike, I hit Glenn flush.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  Glenn didn't even blink.  He began to break us at which time Mike caught me with another punch.  All I remember from then was being escorted out of another ring by my instructor Master Pete Mills saying you belong here.  Glen decided to stop the match and let us both clear our heads (and maybe his), bring in another match, and then bring us back.  I certainly needed the time out.  We waited through the next match, wanting  to finish a fight we both were unwilling to let the other win. We did get back in the ring and finish the fight.  I don't even remember how we ended up, but I do remember it being as fierce as the first but without the knock outs.

     This fight stands out most above the rest because it involved a good friend and a great will to test our talents. No matter the outcome it truly set a standard for all my future fights.  In tribute to Mike Hammonds, not only was he a great friend and martial artist, he was a tremendous fighter and instructor in the ring.

 Your friend and Brother in Isshinryu,

James Ogle

 Submitted By: Grandmaster Toby Cooling

     When I was a rookie police officer in the early 1960's, I received a call about a man threatening a woman with a gun.  My partner and I arrived at the location, and while my partner did the interview I went outside to investigate.  I heard a shotgun being chambered within 30 feet.

     I called my partner out, and the two of us walked around the house.  My partner called for back up, which arrived within minutes.  I located the person making the noise as he was walking down the dirt road with the shotgun pointed at us.  At the time all the deputies in our department carried .357 magnums, which we had pointed at him.

     All I could think about at the time were the next day's newspaper headlines that would read: "Four deputies shoot and kill a drunk!", so I holstered my weapon and went around the side using the night as cover.  I successfully got beside him with about 15 feet between us.  I closed the gap, grabbed the shotgun and pushed it straight up.  Then I hit him directly in the groin with my front kick, brought from a full chamber. (Knowing that my devastating front kick would drop him instantly because of the cowboy boots I was wearing, and the great black belt that I was, I paused to enjoy the moment of my greatness. This gave him enough time to push me and the shotgun back down to the ready position.)

     He mentioned something like, "Now you are really going to get hurt."   As I was standing there completely dumfounded, the other three deputies hit him with a kind of tackle and spread him across the hood of a car.  I handcuffed him.  The first click of the handcuffs pinched his wrists, he was so big.

     I searched him and found 11 more shotgun shells, a .22 pistol and 2 boxes of .22 ammo.

     The next morning, I went into the jail and checked on him.  He was laying in the bunk and could not get up as his testicles were swelled up and completely black and blue.  He asked where  that little deputy was that kicked him in the crotch?  I told him that the little deputy quit.

     Moral of the story?  Don't kick a drunk 6'4'', 285 pound Maryland good 'ol boy in the groin without a follow up, and don't believe that it only takes one technique to drop a person, every time.

 Submitted By: Master Clyde Stanley

   In 1972 I was a student of Harvey Kennedy in Bossier City, Louisiana. It was what some call the "golden era" of karate in this country. Others called it the "blood and guts" era because it was before "Safe-T" gear was on the market.

      The biggest tournament around here was the annual "United States Karate Championships" that was held in Dallas . There were always around twenty-five hundred competitors including Bill Wallace, Joe Lewis, Skipper Mullins, Fred Wren, Demetrius " The Golden Greek" Havanas, Roy Kurban, Chuck Norris, Mike Stone, and a lot of the pioneers from that period of time. It was promoted by Allen Steen, but Steve Armstrong pretty much ran the floor. It was a pretty big deal and was even on "Wide World of Sports" covered by Frank Gifford. It was well known for hard contact so we went every year, but that's another story. LOL!

      I entered my very first tournament in June or July, 1972. The "Deep South Open Karate Championships" in Mobile, Alabama was promoted by Hugh Kelly, a Shito-Ryu stylist.

      Several members of our dojo took the nine hour trip to Mobile. Eight of us guys and one female piled into her Rambler station wagon and headed down. I don't remember how Sensei Kennedy got there, but he had better sense than ride with us. We all shared the gasoline and motel expenses. All nine of us stayed in one room. I don't think Sensei Kennedy even told us where he was staying.

      I still have what is left of the 3rd place kumite trophy I won down there. Even though I encourage my students to compete in kata, I have never competed in kata at a tournament. I hope they don't read this.

      After my fights were over, Sue (our lone female student) introduced us to Bill "Superfoot" Wallace. I was surprised to see that he was a lot smaller than I had expected, and was very bow-legged (sorry Bill!). He was a very nice guy. 

      We spent most of the afternoon with him. Since he was the previous year's grand champion, he didn't have any matches until the finals that night. He won  the 1972 grand championship by beating Dan Smith with a groin shot in a very heated match.

      After the tournament, we were ready for the long drive home, but Sue decided to leave with Bill. We had to wait most of the night till she returned since it was her car, or so we thought.

      When we stopped for gas and food we discovered that we were all broke. Somehow we scraped enough change for the gas. That left about fifty cents for food. I put the change in a vending machine at a gas station and pressed the popcorn button. At least we could each get a couple of bites. Well, the machine didn't work. I reported it to the attendant, but he said he didn't have a key or something like that. I went back to the machine. It was one of those with the snacks hanging on corkscrew type rods. I shook it pretty hard and stuff started falling out all over the place. We ended up with popcorn, candy, crackers, and more moon pies than we could eat. I was a hero!

      I slept most of the way home and was the first to be dropped off. I found out later that Sue got pulled over by the police and they arrested her for grand theft auto since the Rambler station wagon didn't belong to her after all.

      A lot has changed since those days. Some things for the better and some for the worse, but I am proud to have had the opportunity to experience that era and to cherish the memories.

Submitted By: Master Willie G. Wilson

 DOJO FIGHTING AND TOURNAMENT COMPETITION

      When I think back to the early years of my training and preparation for tournament competitions, my first thoughts return to how I came to be a dojo fighter. When I first started my career with the postal service, working six days a week as a postal carrier was very demanding on my time and it was rare for me to get a Saturday when we had tournaments. Most times, the closest I came was fighting and helping my peers students train others to ready them for the competition. For me, keeping abreast of those skills earned in tournament participation meant that whoever won the division in the tournament; I made sure they fought me on Monday. This was for the men’s division in Black or Brown Belt Heavy Weight. In dojo fighting, there are no judges, just fighting and skilled techniques requiring control since pads were not used at that time, therefore these matches meant more physical contact was involved.

     One of my most memorable times was in an Oak Ridge competition and I believe it was called Atomic City Invitational Tournament. Back then, they had some very good fighters because these tournaments were open since some of the safety equipment was still not used or required. Being a brown belt at the time, I never will forget this particular tournament and watching Master Long over at the announcement table grinning and shaking his head with approval. At this tournament, I had invited along some friends and one of them was Dr. Randolph, a veterinarian, whose sons were training with us at Master Long’s Dojo located then at the Trailway’s Bus Station.

     The reason this tournament stands out in my memory is during the first round I kicked one of the fighters with a snap kick in the groin but in the process, the force of the kick drove my toenail back into my big toe and blood was seeping from under the damaged nail. As soon as Dr. Randolph patched up my toe, I returned to the ring. It was rare, I got to participate in these tournaments and I was determined to finish the competition.

      At that time in Oak Ridge there was a Brown belt, Edwin Dukes, with a well known reputation as a good fighter. I was so determined to fight him that I even stood beside him when they did not pair us up and we decided that we were going to eliminate all of the competition until we were the only ones left to fight for first place in that division. This is what we were doing up until the fourth round when I encountered this large, black man from the Athens Dojo. The score was so close and I was aware some points I was scoring were not seen and I was not being credited on my scores. This only pushed me to fight that much harder.

     To this day, I will never forget the next moment when he moved in and ducked and I hit him with a hard, straight punch behind his ear. The punch was so fast, the judges declared they did not see it but the proof of the contact came when my hand snapped back followed by a stream of pain. The doctor and Master Long came over to the ring and the doctor confirmed my hand was broken and announced the fight competition was over for me. Master Long informed everyone he had seen the punch and that it was so fast, the judges admitted they did not even see it. So, how can a man break his hand without scoring a point. 

     Undaunted, Master Long shook his head at the judges who refused to acknowledge the punch and score to me, then turned and looked at me and said “ Wilson, did I not tell you about hitting those black guys in the head”. We laughed a little at this private humor we shared because he wanted to take the edge off situation since he knew I had made this point. Unwilling to give in, I told Master Long this man had not beaten me yet and no one was going to stop the fight. At that point, determined to continue, I put my hand inside of my gi top and fought my opponent with one hand. The fight did continue for a while longer and I thought I had delivered the last point while fighting with one hand but it was awarded to my opponent. Even with a broken hand, I won third place and a trip to Fort Sanders to have my hand set was worth it to me. I placed and proved I was a worthy opponent. The Black man I fought at the time whose name I do not recall said that when my punch landed, the force of the hit felt as though his head was being torn off and he agreed I had really been the winner.

     Although, he did not have to admit this to me, it was very humble and sportsman of him to admit—but at the same time, his throbbing head was hurting so badly, he could not help but give credit where it belonged. It is at times like this when the pressure is on and the odds are against you and you don’t give up but stay the course in the midst of your pain that even not winning first place has it’s rewards. And, even though I never did get to fight the one opponent I really wanted, the memories of the pain from a broken hand, blood running from a throbbing toenail, and points not called for eyes which did not see all seem small after Master Long, my teacher and mentor, openly gave his approval and stood before his peers in respectful challenge for me as an outstanding fighter and competitor.

Submitted By: Hanshi Phil Little

 The Battle at the Coliseum

      It was 1975, at the Civic Coliseum, Knoxville, Tennessee – The Hall of Fame Tournament. This was the first tournament where safety equipment was used by any of the students of the Harold Long School of Karate. As a matter of fact, if you came into the dojo with a pad on, Master Long would ask, as soon as he caught sight of you, “Are you hurt?” If you said “No”, the pad was coming off, and right then! More than once, I’ve seen this happen to those who didn’t especially like to spar or to match. Those same people were usually on the “quitter list” soon after. They were not going to make it long by trying to fool Master Long.

      Back to the tournament. We had trained hard. Even though our bodies were bruised, we had high spirited attitudes. We felt like we were ready, and we were. The day of the Championships, I got up very early and went over to a friend’s house. His name is Mike Robinson. Mike was a classmate of mine at South High School, and, at the time, a trainer for the University of Tennessee football team. Mike taped my hands. If nothing else, I was going to be prepared. Mike got me all taped up, wished me luck, and off I went. As I arrived at the event, people were everywhere. What a turnout! These tournaments weren’t held every weekend. You were lucky to get one, maybe two of these tournaments a year, unless you traveled all around the country. A lot of people came to Knoxville to these tournaments because of the way they were run. Master Long was very good at hosting, running, controlling, and getting the right people involved for a first class event. The 1975 Championships were no different.

      As I was getting ready, I spent my time trying to block the crowd, and tried to avoid anyone who might try to distract me with nervous energy or small talk. I kept thinking that I wasn’t there to win a popularity contest. This was drilled into our heads by Master Long. We may have come off as cocky to some folks who didn’t know us outside of a tournament setting. We could socialize after the tournament, if we chose to. Most didn’t! LOL!

      The first to be at these celebrations, and the last to leave was Master Long. Laughing, joking, talking about the day, sharing war stories with friends. You just had to be there. One thing is for sure – the air was clear and everyone had a good time. Now, people hurry home after a tournament and miss the opportunities to get to know other competitors. 

      The preliminaries were first. The tournament was underway. As I was warming up for my first match, out of one of the tunnels comes George Chilton. George lived outside of Knoxville. He was a friend and a Black Belt of Master Long. He said “Hey buddy. Are you ready?” He came over hopping around trying to mimic a boxer. I said “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be”. About that time, George threw a hard, open palm smack to the side of my face. Really he just smacked me upside the head. He tried to justify it by saying “You’ve just got to win your first fight and it’s all good from there Phil.” I wasn’t amused. George was right in many ways, but I wondered if my first fight of the day would be with George if he hit me like that again. But, you’d have to know George. He was funny as heck, and was very supportive of me. He loves life, and meant no harm. I meant to thank George later. When my first fight began, I was still so revved up, and pissed off about being smacked in the face earlier, that I literally could have beat this first poor fighter to death. This guys head looked like an oozing tomato. If this had not been a full contact tournament, I would have been disqualified. This was one of the first matches of the day, so it may have been too early to DQ anybody. 

      The next couple of matches went well. I was on a roll, but I had a biggie coming up with a guy named Nichols – John Nichols, I think. At that time, in this division, he was a nationally rated fighting champion who came to Knoxville to grab another title. Well, as Lee Corso (current sports announcer) would say “Not so fast my friend” :0). First off, I did not know about his record or wins, or his ratings. Nor did I care. Master Long came by just before to the match, and appeared from nowhere. He could do that when you least expected it. Anyway, he stopped, winked, put his big arm around my shoulder and said “This guy is a cry baby” and gave me “the order”. Sound familiar any one? About that time they called my name and Nichols’ for the next match. I knew if I won this, I was in the championships that night. As I entered the ring, Master Long was across the way. He grinned and gave that distinctive head nod – the one that meant he expected great things from you. Heck, I just wanted to win the match. I didn’t want any more pressure than that. The center referee called for the fight to begin. And begin I did. Running my opponent from the center where we started, right out of the ring, punching him in the face every step of the way. Nichols stayed outside of the ring shaking it off with his hands on his hips, whining about what had just taken place. I was back on the line ready to go again. The center ref told him to come on, get back in the ring. Needless to say, this continued. I remember hitting him so hard in the side of the head it knocked him senseless and out of the ring. At this point, when he came back in the ring, he really didn’t want anymore. I could see it in his eyes. Time was called. The match was over, and the crowd was going crazy. I was a hometown boy. He wasn’t, and the crowd let him know it. You would have thought that I had won the tournament, but this was just the end of the semifinals. The best was yet to come. Too bad, because I was really in “the zone” right then.

      We had a pretty good break. I remember getting in my car after watching one of my buddies, and teammate, Bob Bacot knock a guy out. He was kicking some serious butt. By the way, Bob Bacot is now deceased. God rest his soul. We were sparring partners. He outweighed me, then, by about 40 pounds. He was in the heavyweight division, and played football as a lineman for the University of Tennessee. Boy was he a tough and super guy. He is survived by his wife Kay and three sons. 

      I really didn’t know where I was going. I just wanted to get away and drive. Somehow, I ended up on one of the highest hills in South Knoxville. I could see the Civic Coliseum, across the Tennessee River. I sat there eating a sandwich and just looked over the beautiful city of Knoxville. Glancing at my watch, I knew it time to head back to the tournament. I knew my first match would be with Jimbo Butler of Nashville. Jimbo was also a friend, and for whatever reason, we had just hit it off well. We had mutual respect for one another. A month or two before, I fought Jimbo and lost to him as time ran out in the championship match of Cas Cox’s “Atomic City Open” in Oak Ridge, TN. Having just fought Jimbo, I knew what I was up against. Let me tell you, this was not going to be easy. I believe that Jimbo Butler was one of the best fighters and all around Martial Artists that I have ever had the privilege to know. He had the complete arsenal – feet, hands, speed, and power. And he was a conditioning freak! Anyone who fought Jimbo had his hands full. If that wasn’t enough, Jimbo was trained by Shihan Denny Shaffer. 

      Well, the finals were about to get underway. The announcer, Stan Brock of television’s Wild Kingdom, started calling for the judges and referees to take their positions. Master Don Bohan was the center judge. I believe the side judges were Masters Cas Cox, Denny Shaffer, Tom Lewis, and I apologize, but I don’t remember the fourth. If I do, I’ll correct this article. Where was George “Butch” Chilton, and where was that smack in the face when I needed it. I just went in on the memory of that smack because I knew I was about to feel the real thing. And I was right. Here it came, from nowhere. A round house kick right to the side of my head. I was lucky I was moving already, and on my way towards Jimbo. The kick was a good one – solid and fast. On instinct, I continued forward and hit Jimbo two times, then the third to the face. I called this “points after contact”! Boy, that roundhouse kick of his was a shot, and a heck of a lot more than Chilton’s smack in the face earlier. But, it got me rolling. You might even say Kick started! He got a point for that kick, but I knew I had at least two, maybe even three. Time would tell. It was on now! Jimbo and I were fired up. Master Bohan, center referee, had his hands full just following us all over that ring. Then it came – the same series that I had beaten Nichols’ with. “The blitz”. Once again, I ran my opponent out of the ring with a blitzing series of punches. Landing almost every one. Do you think Jimbo was standing outside the ring with his hands on his hips, shaking his head? Shoot no! He was back on line. Not wasting a minute. Ready to get this battle going again before time ran out. I thought to myself “he felt those punches”. We were both throwing everything we had – back kicks, side kicks, reverse punches, blitz punches. You name it. I hadn’t noticed, and didn’t hear the time keeper call time. The people in the crowd were going crazy. What a roar. Not for me, but for the fight itself. This was the fight of the night. Now the judges and referees had a job to do. As Master Bohan gave the command to call for a score, the flags went up from the corners and the center referee pointed. I had the majority and had won the fight!! This was the fight and tournament I will always remember. It was the best run, and most fair tournament. It was “The Battle” of all time. 

     There was one problem. I had another fight to go. Again, another talented fighter named Jim McDonald. A seasoned tournament competitor and one of the slickest, cagey, smartest fighters around at that time. It was time to go and command to fight was given. It was a balanced fight, but Jim had watched and been coached before the fight. He knew what to expect from me. Here I came – with the blitz! Jim lowered his body and I went right over the top of him – face first to the floor. I knew this wasn’t going to work. We traded points, and finally the call for “time”. I knew it was close. But, there are always two opponents to fight – the guy across from you, and the clock. Not to take anything away from Mac.

     The flags went up after the call. It was three to two, with a majority to McDonald. McDonald won this fight as fair as it gets. Maybe with more time, I thought…it was so close. But this was not horseshoes. McDonald had won. I lost the match to a great fighter. But I learned something that day. And several months later, when I met McDonald at Master Wheeler’s tournament in Powell Tennessee, it was a different day. Another heck of a fight, but I won the Black Belt Division that day. And for all concerned, Mac was retired that afternoon, and honored by Master Shaffer for his many years of tournament competition. 

     This was a time that none of us wants to come. But as instructors, our duty doesn’t end after training a champion for competition. It only begins. A lot of people were glad to see Mac, Jimbo and even me retire. But once again, those guys were excellent competitors and champions. I am glad to be able to tell a little about them too. Because many competitors who went up against them, they may not say it, but they were glad to see them retire. LOL. 

      I apologize for the length of this, if you made it this far. If you didn’t, well….

 God bless each and every one of you.