Mr. Lindgren:
As happens in any oral history, I was asked several years ago about a folklore concerning a surprise we played on Soke. The story I was asked to validate was, “Soke’s advanced students once quietly entered a tournament and surprised and delighted him with trophies they had won.” I was one of those black belts, so I will tell you the real story.
At Soke’s request, several black and brown belts traveled to Aurora, IL to attend a tournament that Shihan Jim Chapman sponsored. I was one of them. Shihan Chapman was Soke’s close friend and co-founder of Isshin Shorinji-ryu in the Chicago area which now lives on through one of his disciples, Grandmaster Heriaud, along with one of his students, Kyoshi Scott Francis. Back then, only Messrs. Chapman and Heriaud were present. I remember Mr. Chapman well. He was a generous man who spent as much time as his demands organizing the tournament would allow, escorting us around, making sure our needs were taken care of, and that we felt at home.
At the tournament several of us acquitted ourselves well winning several events in both kata and kumite. Mr. Chapman had agreed to call Soke with the results as soon as he knew, but one of Mr. Chapman’s other traits was he loved to play jokes on his friend. So, we all conspired to mislead Soke that our dojo had done horribly. Mr. Chapman was charged with telling him that NONE OF US won a single event, and he followed through with an acting performance that would have beaten out George C. Scott for the Academy Award.
I had a sister living in Schaumberg, IL so staid that weekend, but everyone else returned to New Jersey and I followed a couple of days later. We were still in Summit, NJ so the next class session was on a Tuesday night. We had all agreed to sneak in our trophies using our rolled up gi’s or gym bags, hiding them in our lockers until the end of class. Before Sensei emerged from the office, we heard scuttle-butt that he was down-trodden and disappointed. When he came out to lead the class there was a stern and determined look on his face. That night was an unusually vigorous workout. He called the class together, had us bow out, and without any commentary left the matt to disappear again into the office. That was our chance. We all ran to the lockers, got our trophies, assembled back onto the matts, and the students who hadn’t attended the tournament looked on with wonder knowing something special was about to happen. I remember it was Ms. Carol Welch that went out to the office to fetch Soke telling him there was an emergency out on the matt and that he had to come immediately. She ran back out taking her place behind her trophy along with all of us who positioned ourselves the same, and then out came Soke with a serious expression. He stopped short, saw us all in kneeling position behind the trophies we had won facing front waiting for our master to restart the class. He did. It may be the distance of time, my addled memory, or the exaggeration of a story, but as best as I remember his eyes sprung a leak; just enough to puddle on the rim of his lower eyelid and redden the whites of his eyes. The senior black belt yelled out the command to bow (I think Mr. Breesaw), we bowed, and Soke returned the gesture.
After a lengthy discussion of each trophy and what it was for, the things that happened at the event, and how many other schools attended, a sneer came across his face as he gazed into infinity or at least as far as Aurora. “Why that….(reluctant laugh)…,” and off he bolted to make a phone call to Illinois. “Poor Mr. Chapman,” I thought. Now the rooster comes home to roost.
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