Mid 1980s.
After dropping out of Taekwondo we decided to take a closer look at the karate class running on alternate evenings at the town hall. We had a few friends in the class, and it seemed good enough; by that I mean nobody was getting punched in the face – fuck that shit! The logo on the wall and uniforms read Goju-ryu and had a bad ass looking image of a fist.
We had no idea about different karate styles, and ironically, we also had no clue about this particular style’s inspiration for our favourite Okinawan father-figure, Mr Myagi. We thought we were clever knowing the “empty hand” thing.
This was the first time I remember hearing the phrase “if it works, use it”. One of our mates with actual fighting experience was busy punching a thick round pad being held by a training partner. The instructor was giving us the spiel about adaptability and the numerous ways to win a fight. It’s a great theory for sure.
Apart from the punching and elbowing of pads, (we only kicked above the waist in taekwondo) the rest of the session looked similar to the class we used to attend. The forms and katas included knees, elbows and low kicks, which were absent in our taekwondo class, but when they sparred it was just kicks and feigned punches.
I would love to say that we declined to join because we knew it would provide minimal ‘real world’ effectiveness – but we were just lazy.
In the cinema we were all cheering for a young kung fu master called Bruce Leroy. The concept of practicing alone and becoming an ass kicking machine was still a fantasy a lot of us clung to. “The Last Dragon” also fed us the myth that a little kid could beat-up fully-grown adults because he throws cool kicks. At least we didn’t go in for the bullshit about “The Glow”. We all knew it was a metaphor for becoming a master…Ahem.
We knew kung fu was different from karate and taekwondo was different again; I’m not sure how much we knew about their ethnicity, but we certainly had no clue about the abundant variations within some styles.
The home video revolution allowed us to witness the fighting prowess of Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and Chuck Norris, along with countless other masters of super effective secret fighting styles. Not to mention ninjas! The ultimate killing machine…apparently.
It’s hard to pinpoint when we saw a movie here in Oz based on its US release date. There was always a lag, and it could be rather random. A movie listed as being released in 1985 probably didn’t screen down under until 1986. Anyway, around the same time as Leroy Green was doing battle with Sho’nuff, a little-known movie called Remo Williams had a limited release.
In this film the protagonist receives training from the mysterious Korean master Chiun in the art of Sinanju. This shit was nothing short of supernatural! Dodging bullets, running on water and all manner of gravity defying acrobatic feats. Okay, we saw ninjas and kung fu masters pull off similar stuff – Bruce Leroy caught a bullet with his teeth for fuck’s sake. Well, it may not be so incredible when Chiun does it, but I reckon (like Daniel and Mr Miyagi) the real magic is how quickly Remo can pick up such skills.
Just like “The Glow” we understood the use of exaggeration and spectacle for increasing excitement – though there probably might be someone somewhere who can do that shit, you know. What fascinated me most was the pressure point prowess. Just a tiny bit of that proficiency would be awesome!
No internet and very little in the way of research material meant that rumour and urban myth was our main source of information about the credibility of these esoteric fighting arts. Flicking through Black Belt magazine before the newsagent gives you the “this isn’t a library” line might give you a bit more understanding, but it could only direct you to dojos in the US.
Lucky for us there was a store on our local highway called “Zoes Martial Arts” and they didn’t mind us flicking through books and magazines. They also had heaps of pamphlets advertising all sorts of martial arts classes in the Sydney area.
My taekwondo dropout buddy’s older sister was going out with a bloke who worked as a bouncer up the Cross (Kings Cross). He told us about hapkido, the Korean martial art he was training in. My ears pricked up when I heard him explaining joint locks and pressure point attacks – Chiun’s tricks!
In hindsight we never saw this bloke in action, and if we did, he probably would have been throwing wild punches rather than precision Sinanju techniques. Much like our Goju ryu high school friend; any fight we ever saw him in was wild swings and sloppy wrestling. It amazes me how that stylized on-screen choreography made us believe we had somehow just not been present when someone was issuing a beating via flawlessly efficient strikes, grappling and throws.
I mean you’d have to be an idiot to…so I found a pamphlet at Zoes for a hapkido class in Ashfield. This time I had a different friend with an interest in some insights into easy victories on the street. This guy wasn’t shy about exchanging punches anyway, but everyone would love an edge.
As we rode the train and pretended that we would have no trouble making this commute twice a week, I regaled him with my limited info from the pamphlet boosted by “Remo Williams” and my own imagination. We got off the train and completely missed the hall. Turns out it was close to the station (probably said that on the pamphlet too).
We walked aimlessly for ages before giving up. No GPS back then. Heading back to the station we stumbled on the hall; we could hear the grunts and hiya sounds coming from inside. Stepping inside I was impressed by a large hall full of people lined up in formation dressed in white Gis. In my memory it was so much bigger and contained many more members than either of the classes in St. Peters.
The instructor was up on the stage and was saying something about the most important thing you needed to learn. He then proceeded to drop down onto his back, and the class promptly followed suit. They repeated this several times. After a brief exchange of glances, we quietly exited and made our way home.
The consensus was something like “why the fuck do I want to learn how to fall down?” Shows how much we knew. Looking back, I think we had already decided we were going home and the whole dojo drop-in was just going through the motions.
At this stage it’s still early days in our comprehension of what may or may not work in reality. Martial arts, self-defence and fighting are all interchangeable. The brawlers just went on brawling; the boxers usually faired very well. The psychos found a way to win; they didn’t need a sensei imparting words of wisdom like “if it works, use it”.
Us dreamers kept on dreaming, and all of us couldn’t wait to see what fantastic fighting feats those wonderful film makers would show us next.
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