Extracts taken from the bestselling From Lee to Li: An A-Z Guide of Martial Arts Heroes, published by HarperCollins 2009. All rights reserved. 

 

 

Kano, Jigoro

 

What better title to have than that of ‘The Father of Judo’? That is how Jigoro Kano – born in the seaside town of Kikage, near Kobe, in 1860 – is today affectionately known.

Kano’s father was both a Shinto priest as well as a government shipping official. His mother died when Kano was nine, and he was sent to a series of exclusive private schools in Tokyo. During his time in education, Kano was repeatedly picked upon by other boys, until in desperation he asked a man called Ryuji Katagiri – whom he knew was familiar with the ‘bandit’ art of ju-jitsu – to show him some of what he knew.

Katagiri did so, only to then inform Kano that ju-jitsu was not really suitable for someone as puny as himself. Kano, however, was smitten; he went on to the renowned Tokyo Imperial University where he quickly found a number of different ju-jitsu instructors – commonly osteopaths, who traditionally practised ju-jitsu.

Kano’s desire for martial arts’ knowledge was something his father had strictly forbidden, believing it would disturb his studies. Kano’s father also believed, like many Japanese, that ju-jitsu was for yobs.

But the fact that Kano was prepared to go against his father’s wishes (something virtually unheard of at the time) suggests both an uncommon strength of mind and – something almost concealed by his diligent studying – a slightly rebellious character.

Ju-jitsu training was hard and frequent; sometimes there was not even the luxury of tatamirandori or ‘free practice’ sessions. mats to land upon, just hard wooden floors. Techniques were shown by the teacher just once; the student had to be sure to be that he was paying close attention, as he would then have to use the same technique in the ensuing

So determined was Kano to learn – and so hard did he train – that he seems almost to have ‘overdosed’ on ju-jitsu over the following two years. He would frequently awake screaming the names of various techniques, his quilt soaked in sweat as he kicked it away from his futon. 

At the age of 21, Kano was highly skilled in a style of ju-jitsu known as Tenjin-Shinyo-ryu (‘Divine True Willow School’). He resisted, however, the invitation to graduate from student to teacher, as he considered that he still had a great deal left to learn.

There then came the fateful day when a 200-pound (virtually twice Kano’s own weight) student named Kenkichi Fukushima challenged him to a fight. Somewhat inevitably, Kano lost, and, furious, he went away to reflect upon how a small man could actually beat a much larger opponent.

Kano was already obsessed with the idea of making the most efficient use of mental and physical energy. He considered that there was altogether too much wasted effort in the numerous different styles of ju-jitsu – and, besides, which style could be considered ‘correct’? Kano had studied ju-jitsu intensively, but he was still often confused about what was and was not correct in terms of technique. And too many teachers were fond of saying that theirs was the only true form.

Also, due to Kano’s love affair with the West (he had, through his own endeavour, learnt to speak English fluently by the age of 22), he thought that the martial arts could, like baseball, be a way of uniting people from all backgrounds and classes.

So Kano began adopting (and adapting) techniques that only accorded with his basic philosophy, which he summarised thus:

 

‘To understand what is meant by gentleness or giving way, let us say a man is standing before me whose strength is ten, and that my own strength is but seven. If he pushes me as hard as he can, I am sure to be pushed back or knocked down, even if I resist with all my might. This is opposing strength with strength.

‘But if instead of opposing him I give way to the extent he has pushed, withdrawing my body and maintaining my balance, my opponent will lose his balance. Weakened by his awkward position, he will be unable to use all his strength. It will have fallen to three. Because I retain my balance, my strength remains at seven.

‘Now I am stronger than my opponent and can defeat him by using only half my strength, keeping the other half available for some other purpose. Even if you are stronger than your opponent, it is better first to give way. By doing so you conserve energy while exhausting your opponent.’

 

Kano went back to grapple with Fukushima, who, as before, confidently charged towards him. This time, however, Kano easily beat the much larger man with his devastating kata guruma or ‘shoulder wheel throw’.

Kano consequently took nine students and established his own dojo or ‘training hall’ in the Eishoji Buddhist temple. The impact of the students’ training, however, quickly caused parts of the temple floor to collapse. Although Kano could frequently be found underneath these sections, armed with a torch and some tools as he sought to repair the damage.

‘He may be young, but Mr Kano is really an outstanding man. What a fine person he would be if he would only leave this judo alone,’ lamented Choshumpo, the head priest, who then insisted that Kano move the dojo to his own home.

So the dojo had to be relocated, and

Ththis new dojo was in fact the first incarnation of the world famous Kodokan, which remains today the headquarters of the judo world.

Its fundamental philosophy was that a martial artist had to be able to make mistakes – and yet survive – in order to learn. What was the use if a mistake resulted only in crippling injury or even a fatality? Sweat, training, conditioning, and above all else timing, was so much more important than a perfect ‘form’ in a false environment.

Ultimately Kano took everything that was deemed ‘bad’ about ju-jitsu – the macho brutality; the excessive risk of serious injury; the unruly, bullying students – out of judo, creating a more ‘sports-like’ martial art that would develop and nurture a young person’s mental and spiritual sides – not just their fighting prowess. To put it succinctly, judo was deemed to be the physical expression of an ideal society.

Strictly translated, judo is ‘the gentle way’ – and yet, Kano stressed, the use of the word ‘gentleness’ here was technically incorrect. Better to instead think of the ability to temporarily yield and thus feign defeat, in order that you might win.

Ultimately, it was best to develop mushin, or ‘no mind’; to not expend conscious thought on what you are doing; to not trouble yourself with pointless ruminations on ‘victory’ or ‘defeat’. A Zen-like frame of mind was the ideal.

Kodokan byelaws were drawn up in 1884, when it was stated that judo was intended to promote ‘physical culture, mental training, and winning contests’.

A tradition was begun with kagami biraki or ‘rice-cutting ceremony’, when on the second Sunday of every January students ran for miles in freezing conditions, before returning to an equally frigid dojo for a good few hours’ worth of training.

In 1886, Kodokan students went up against a powerful ju-jitsu school called Totsuka ha Yoshin ryu. Few considered that Kano’s lot stood a snowball’s chance in hell – and yet they emerged the victors. This firmly put judo on the martial arts’ map, and started to attract serious and widespread interest in the Kodokan and judo in general.

Kano himself was now fast becoming something of a legend; over 160 pounds of well-defined muscle, the strength in his legs in particular widely marvelled over. In fact, Kano was uncharacteristically vain about his legs, on occasion pulling up his trousers to show an unsuspecting visitor his calf muscles.

He was also a workaholic, teaching at a school for the children of Japan’s elite, called Gakushin, when not at his beloved Kodokan. He would often work late into the night preparing lectures for the following day. When he did relax, it was usually in the rickshaw that took him from one working environment to the other. He was fond of a little sake, although he refrained from tobacco all his life. 

Kano was married in 1891 to the daughter of the former Ambassador to Korea, and four years later was made headmaster of the Gakushin. This was in spite of his relative youth (he was still only 35). Kano instituted various changes to the school, including making students perform menial tasks such as cleaning so that they might learn humility.

As the nineteenth century dawned, the decline in popularity of ju-jitsu was undoubtedly because of Japan’s ever-increasing enthusiasm for judo.  This was a source of some upset to Kano, given that he had started his martial arts’ career with ju-jitsu, and was an expert in several styles before judo. It was ju-jitsu, after all, that had allowed Kano to find the way to judo.

So, setting aside his basic distrust of kata (a series of pre-learned movements), Kano set about doing something that would categorise and preserve at least some of Japan’s finest moves and techniques in budō – ‘fighting arts’ – which in Samurai times would have consisted of ju-jitsu, had weapons not been involved.

To this day, a student hoping to become a first dan black belt will need to know the nage no kata, and many other kata as they progress through further dan rankings. Kano also asked leading ju-jitsu masters to assist him as he established the training syllabus at the Kodokan. Everyone knew, however, that judo was fast replacing ju-jitsu in Japan.

The 1930s saw Japan move ever closer towards war, something that dismayed Kano. He was a pacifist, and thus repelled by the hard-line stance being taken by the Japanese government, who wished to turn his beloved Kodokan into a military academy.

Kano strongly objected to this, and wasn’t shy in making his anti-war sentiments known. So much so that, when he apparently died of pneumonia on board a Japanese steamer making its way home from Egypt in May 1938, there was a whisper that he had in fact been murdered by government agents, tired of his vocal opposition.

 

LeBell, Gene

 

Described by fans as ‘the toughest man alive’, Gene LeBell is also much admired by Chuck Norris, who, in his book The Secret Power Within, describes LeBell as being one of the best martial artists he’s ever encountered.

Certainly LeBell’s achievements are many: a former American judo champion, he also holds ninth dan in ju-jitsu. He is equally as famous for his wrestling skills; his heyday being at a time when (as his website describes it) ‘…wrestling was more about survival than showbusiness…’.

In late 1963, LeBell accepted a challenge from a little-known boxer who wished to prove that his sport was superior to the oriental martial arts. However, upon arriving for the fight, LeBell was informed that he would actually be facing one Milo Savage – a light–heavyweight who was at the time ranked fifth in the world. Savage was greased from head to foot – to make it next to impossible for LeBell to employ his grappling skills – and purportedly wore a knuckleduster under both gloves. In spite of this, Savage found himself being choked out in the fourth round (he would remain unconscious for a full 20 minutes) and LeBell’s popularity increased even further. (The fight is in fact commonly referred to as being ‘the day Gene LeBell saved the martial arts’, although critics have argued that the aging Savage was in fact hopelessly mismatched against the much more powerful LeBell.)

At the same time as becoming an internationally famous martial artist, LaBell also became well-known as both a stuntman and author. Once accused by a detractor of having been ‘lucky’ in all aspects of his approximate 50-year career, LeBell replied that: ‘…In life, I find that the harder you work, the luckier you get.’

 

Li, Jet

 

Born in Beijing in 1963, Jet Li (or Li Lian Jie as he was then known) began training early in wushu, or the Chinese martial arts. Aged eight he enrolled in the Beijing Amateur Sports School, and by 1974 was performing a wushu exhibition for President Richard Nixon on the lawn of the White House. (Apparently, as a ‘joke’ afterwards Nixon asked if Li would be interested in becoming his bodyguard in a few years’ time. To which Li replied that he was far more interested in protecting Chinamen. According to Li’s official website, an embarrassed silence followed this declaration until Henry Kissinger said, ‘Heavens, such a young boy and he already speaks like a diplomat!’)

Li ‘retired’ from wushu aged 17 to immediately begin a career in acting. His first movie was entitled Shaolin Temple (1982), and brought him immediate success. Some 25 more Asian films followed before Li was cast as the villain in Lethal Weapon 4 (1998), which introduced him to Western audiences and an even greater level of fame.

 

Man, Yip

 

Yip Man was born in 1893 to a wealthy merchant family living in Foshan, an old town in southern China at that time famous for its porcelain. He began learning Wing Chun kung fu (‘beautiful springtime’ is the most common translation, though there are others such as ‘forever spring’) aged six, learning from a teacher known as ‘Money Changer Wan’.

Money Changer got his name through running a coin-changing stall, building up his muscles by carrying around large bags of coins and (presumably) practising his martial arts by beating off the odd would-be mugger or two. So strong was he that it was said he could put a copper coin in the palm of his hand and bend it in two.

Before Money Changer would consent to teaching Yip Man, he first demanded that the young child pay for a series of lessons in advance – and in silver.

So startled was Money Changer when Yip Man managed this seemingly impossible feat that he dragged the boy round by his ear to his parents, convinced that the lad had stolen the money. The parents, however, convinced Money Changer that they’d given their son the money, only too pleased to encourage his fledgling interest. 

Yip Man began by learning Wing Chun’s ‘forms’ – solitary exercises that teach the student balance and self-awareness – while also imparting the particular movements necessary for Wing Chun.

This style of kung fu was originally formulated by a woman – in fact by a physically slight abbess named Ng Mui – and so the emphasis was rather more on timing, strategy, and such things as low kicks to the knees, than on brute force and energy-sapping kicks to the head.

Aged 13, Yip Man was making reasonably good progress when Money Changer (who had just a couple of years previously suffered a stroke) was taken seriously ill. Before he died, Money Changer requested that another teacher, Ng Chung-sok, continue training his teenage protégé.

Aged 16, Yip Man moved to Hong Kong to study English at St Stephen’s College. There, his classmates, well aware of his martial arts’ prowess and readiness to have a scrap at a moment’s notice (usually with Western students, to whom legend informs us he never lost), dared him to mix it with an older man of some fighting repute who lived on a fishing boat anchored in Hong Kong Bay.

This Yip Man did, only to be soundly thrashed in just a couple of moves. The older man then unceremoniously deposited the student into the sea. Crawling back out of the water, Yip Man again went to attack the man, only to meet with exactly the same fate.

And again. And again.

‘All right,’ said Yip Man finally, soaking wet and beaten black and blue. ‘I’ll admit that you’re too good for me. What’s your name?’

‘Leung Bik,’ replied the older man, fetching his beaten adversary a towel from out of his boat. ‘And yours?’

As they forged a slightly friendlier relationship, it was decided that Yip Man should study under Leung Bik. And study he did, diligently, for nigh on eight years. 

Finally, Yip Man said farewell to his teacher and returned to Foshan, aged 24. There, he showed the other kung fu students some of what he’d learnt from the fighter in Hong Kong, only to find himself being branded a ‘traitor’ for the way he’d forsaken the usual ways of training.

‘What you’ve learnt is useless!’ the students, and even some of the teachers, mocked him – until Yip Man, his patience exhausted, used his fists and feet to make them retract their comments.

To earn a living Yip Man became a policeman, earning a fair amount of local fame after he tore the gun from the hand of a would-be cop killer. He also taught a number of students – with Wing Chun tradition decreeing that he keep his classes small, only teaching those whom he deemed most worthy – right up until the occupation of China by Japan.

Yip Man made himself none too popular with the invading force by refusing to teach their troops Wing Chun. Due to this he suffered a certain amount of ill treatment, and was saved from starvation only because his friends gave him illicit gifts of food.

‘You’ve pretty much saved my life,’ Yip Man said gratefully to one friend. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, you’ve only to say…’

‘Well,’ said the friend thoughtfully. ‘There is one thing – you know I have a young son who is interested in learning kung fu…’

So Yip Man was again able to give some lessons: only this time he did so in total secrecy, hiding what he was doing from the Japanese forces by teaching the young boy in a disused cotton mill.  

In 1949, repulsed by the rise of communism in China, Yip Man returned to Hong Kong – first staying for a short while in Macao – where in Kowloon he opened a kung fu class specifically for restaurant workers. Money problems (he had for a time something of a gambling addiction) forced Yip Man to change premises several times, and accept those who weren’t in the eatery business, but slowly things improved.

From 1954–57 he had one particularly diligent pupil who trained almost daily. This earnest, bespectacled young man was called Lee Siu Lung, later to become known as Bruce Lee.

But other students of Yip Man’s also went on to become well-known martial artists, and they were all quick to praise their aging teacher for all he’d done for them and for kung fu in general.

Because of this, by the time Yip Man died of throat cancer in 1972 he’d earned himself a certain amount of fame. Through times of trouble and tribulation he’d doggedly continued to teach Wing Chun kung fu – in the process becoming the one man Bruce Lee (who was otherwise entirely self-taught) ever accepted as a teacher.

 

Musashi

Legendary Japanese swordsman, born in 1584 and given the somewhat lengthy name of Shinmen Musashi no Kami Fujiwara no Genshin. (He is, however, almost universally referred to as just ‘Musashi’.) He was raised primarily by his stepmother and older sister, with his father appearing from time to time to teach the boy swordsmanship.

Musashi’s first duel was at the tender age of 13, when he passed a wooden sign that read: ‘Whoever wants to challenge me shall be accepted’, followed by a name.

Musashi scribbled: ‘I will challenge you tomorrow’, adding his name and address. (I guess he took it as read that the sign referred to a duel with swords.)

A duel was arranged the following morning, following the freezing, pre-dawn bath that Musashi was apparently fond of taking. (It’s also been claimed that Musashi never washed at all, so concerned was he that this might enable an assassin to take him by surprise.)

And so, though barely in his teens, Musashi savoured his first victory, apparently beating his opponent – a Samurai – to death with a wooden sword. 

Another duel followed three years later, and again it brought Musashi some fame locally. Then he fought in the famous Battle of Sekigahara (1600), which paved the way for Tokugawa Ieyasu to become the first Shogun of Japan. Musashi had joined forces with the losing side, however, and was subsequently obliged to hide amongst thousands of corpses for some three days to avoid being captured and killed himself.

A few years later, aged 21, he went to Kyoto, at that time the capital of Japan. He issued a challenge to a powerful warrior named Yoshioka Genzaemon, who at first laughed in the face of this young upstart, until he realised that Musashi wasn’t joking. It was Musashi who had the last laugh, though, when Genzaemon lost consciousness during the duel and was thus judged to be the loser. Genzaemon’s younger brother attempted to save family honour and face by challenging Musashi, but this time lost not just consciousness but also his life.

Musashi was clearly deadly, and word began to spread…

A third challenge came from Yoshioka Genzaemon’s 12-year-old son, although this was a blind: instead of a duel, Musashi would instead stumble into an ambush and be cut down by around 80 samurai.

Unusually for Musashi, he arrived at the duel early (he was often late, which was construed as being a grave insult to an opponent), when his would-be assassins were still busy concealing themselves. He twigged what was going on, cut down a few of the samurai – as well as the unfortunate child who’d issued the third challenge – then took to his heels.

Over the next few years Musashi roamed around Japan, regularly accepting duels that history informs us he never lost. In fact, he got so cocky that – echoing his first duel aged 13 – he again fought armed only with a crude wooden sword he’d carved himself from an oar. His opponent was so enraged by this slight that he charged at Musashi with his own sword drawn, only to have the wooden sword brought down hard upon his head.

Musashi left him dying on the ground, disdaining the finishing blow that was the norm. (Some sources say that this was because Musashi had to leap into a boat, beating a hasty retreat from his deceased opponent’s angry friends.)

Later in his life Musashi appears to have become mildly depressed, turning into something of a recluse and going to live in a cave. But it was in this cave that he wrote his famous Book of Five Rings, about philosophy and martial arts in general. He died (probably from stomach cancer) just one week after completing it.

 

Ng Mui

 

Numerous legends and stories surround this woman, but the following seems to be the most oft told and consistent. During the Ching (or ‘Qing’) Dynasty, Emperor K’ang-hsi and his Manchurian government felt threatened by the Shaolin monastery called Siu Lam of Mount Sung, in Honan province.

K’ang-hsi deemed that the temple had become too powerful through its kung fu training, and sent troops to destroy it. But it has been suggested that it was in fact a treacherous monk named Bak Mei who ruined the temple, setting it alight from the inside.

Only a handful of people escaped, including the temple’s Abbess Ng Mui, who sought shelter at the White Crane Temple on Mount Tai Leung. 

Ng Mui dedicated herself to finding a system of kung fu powerful enough to defeat the Manchurian forces, discarding the old ways of learning as being far too time consuming and impractical.

Why spend years conditioning bones and developing superior muscle strength, she demanded of herself and others, when a bigger, tougher opponent could be defeated with just a finger jab to the eyes, or a lightening quick kick to the groin? Thus Ng Mui developed deadly sounding techniques such as ‘flexible reed spine’ and ‘iron wire continuous return’.

While at the White Crane Temple, perfecting her system, Ng Mui met and befriended a young woman called Yim Wing Chun. Yim (who was still in her teens) owned a bean curd shop with her father, her mother having died while Yim was still a child.

So beautiful was Yim that a local ne’er-do-well had expressed his strong desire to marry her – or, failing that, to take her by force. Yim appealed to Ng Mui to help her, so off went the pair into the mountains where Ng Mui taught the young woman everything she knew.

In something that sounds straight out of an old martial arts’ flick, Yim emerged from the mountains to defeat the bully in spectacular style.

In honour of her protégé, Ng Mui named the new, back-to-basics style of fighting she’d managed to perfect Wing Chun. And from Miss Wing Chun, we can in fact trace a direct link to Bruce Lee – for Yim Wing Chun taught her husband, who in turn taught an opera performer (of all people), and so it continued for a few more generations until a gentleman with the suggestive title of Money Changer Wan found himself instructing a teenage boy called Yip Man, who would eventually be the only person to teach Lee – arguably the most famous martial artist ever.

 

Oyama, Masutatsu ‘Mas’

 

Although he is often mentioned as being one of Japan’s finest ever karateka (karate practitioners), Oyama was in fact born in South Korea in 1923, where he went under the name of Yong-I Choi.

A farm hand instructed Oyama (to avoid confusion, this name will be used throughout) in the martial arts, until Oyama – by now aged 15 – decided that he wanted to go to Japan to become a fighter pilot. 

Taking his new name in honour of a family who briefly looked after him, he soon managed to ruin his dreams of military glory by hitting an officer who sought to bully him.

Lucky to escape without being imprisoned, Oyama decided to devote himself more seriously to the martial arts – and in particular karate. He trained long and hard, until one evening he decided to have a little time off and attend a dance at a local hall.  

There, he soon found himself obliged to come to the defence of a woman who was being harassed by a drunk.

‘Come on,’ said Oyama gently. ‘I think you’ve had enough to drink.’

‘Mind your own damn business!’ spat the drunk, moving to strike Oyama.

Nimbly dodging the blow (Oyama was as fast as he was big), the karate expert then dealt the drunk’s head a devastating blow with his fist. And although Oyama had in no way meant to kill, the drunk was dead before he hit the ground.

Devastated by the fact that he was now a murderer – and discovering that the dead man had a wife and children – Oyama went to help on the widow’s farm. (Curiously, the widow seems not to have objected to her husband’s killer acting as a labourer.)

There he stayed for several months, until the widow apparently forgave him. Purged of his guilt, Oyama returned to karate with a vengeance. However, bored with conventional martial arts’ training, he decided to test himself on top of a mountain called Mount Minobu in Chibakata prefecture. A friend of his delivered some essential supplies once a week, while Oyama awoke at 5 o’clock each morning to train for 15 hours a day. He used trees to strengthen his arms, fists, legs, feet, and forehead – striking each body part hundreds of times a day – and drove himself beyond the point of exhaustion by repeatedly running up and down the mountainside. Finally, when he felt the need to cool down, Oyama practised his beneath a freezing waterfall.

Eighteen months passed before Oyama permitted himself a short break, coming down from the mountain to win a number of karate tournaments. Then it was back up Mount Minobu, to indulge in another year’s gruelling training. Finally, satisfied with what he’d achieved but now seeking a fresh challenge, Oyama decided to pit his strength against a bull. This, he decided, would surely prove to the world that Japanese karate was truly a force to be reckoned with. 

Oyama ultimately faced over 50 bulls in a bloody showdown between man and beast. In a move which would undoubtedly infuriate animal rights’ activists today, Oyama killed three bulls with a straight blow to the head, and deprived most of the others with his legendary ‘knife-hand’ strike.

One bull, however, succeeded in severely goring the skilled karateka. Oyama was not expected to survive his injuries, although after a lengthy period spent recuperating he was once again fighting fit.

Oyama subsequently decided to start his own karate school, where brutal ‘knock-down’ sparring and runs bare-chested in the snow were standard training. Anyone who failed to show what Oyama considered to be sufficient ‘spirit’ soon found themselves out on their ear.

After a long battle against lung cancer, Oyama (a non-smoker) passed away on 26 April 1994, aged 71.

 

Panicker, Simhalan Madhava

 

Born in 1930, Simhalan Madhava Panicker left home aged just eight to travel around IndiaVarma Kalai. pursuing his combined dream of becoming an expert martial artist and actor. He achieved both goals, appearing in many films and eventually (after years of intensive training) being recognised as a world authority on

Varma Kalai is a division of the ancient South Indian martial art Kalaripayattu (which it is claimed Bodhidharma practised), which teaches its practitioners to attack specific, secret parts of the body, believed to be the junctions of blood vessels and certain nerve nodes. (Indeed, Varma Kalai can be translated as ‘the art of certain points’.) When such points are struck, anything from intense pain to instantaneous death can be caused, depending on the attacker’s wishes. (Varma Kalai practitioners are, however, taught to use the least necessary force to overcome their opponent. Ironically, Varma Kalai began life many hundreds of years ago as a healing – rather than a martial – art.)

Panicker accepted very few students during his lifetime, but all those who trained under him became expert martial artists themselves. Panicker passed away in March 2004, while his daughter, Jasmine Simhalan (born 1970) is herself a famous martial artist and dancer.