Every so often, I think about an aged martial artist I knew who passed away many years ago. He wasn’t a karateka – he was one of the very first kempo/kenpo instructors. I only knew him as a nice, quiet old man. Sensei Peter, Wayne, and I often talk about just how many more years we’ll be able to continue our journey with Shotokan Karate-Do. I would like to believe that I’ll spend my later days like this fine gentleman did. Our old-time members may remember that I wrote this note back in 2008 and resent it in 2015 – long before most of our active members joined us. So this makes the “third edition”.

In any normal dojo, one always notices the sensei, the senpais, the color belts, and the white belts. It’s natural; they’re moving and kiai-ing the whole time. The folks one never really notices are those few who are sitting on the sidelines, just watching class. You know, the parents or older siblings who drove the kids to practice, or perhaps a student from another class, spouses, or friends, etc. Anyways, they’ll faithfully come and watch for so many classes and hours that they end up blending into and become part of the walls and furniture. For example, my wife has watched karate so much, over the years, that by osmosis, she has actually become knowledgeable about many of the techniques and can generally tell if a karateka is any good, just by watching for a moment. Anyways, I’d like to talk about one of these faithful watchers who was sometimes a member of our dojo’s sparse audience nearly twenty years ago.

Mr. Young was an elderly Chinese gentleman, who would quietly come through our dojo (by weekday, a school cafeteria) doors and take a seat at one of the long dining tables. I probably didn’t even notice him the first few times he came in (he’d be gone by the end of class), but as time went by, I got used to seeing him in his customary place near the middle doors. I always assumed that one of his grandchildren was a student. (As with most secular dojos, the great majority of our general class students was comprised of children, some of whom, also came to the “dojo” five days a week for a serving of their school lunch.)

One day, several months after his first visit, he came up to me after class and introduced himself to me. He said, “Excuse me Sensei, my name is Thomas Young and I hope you don’t mind my coming to watch your karate class.” I laughed and told him, “Of course not. Which of the students belongs to you?” To which, he too laughed and replied, “No no, I don’t know any of the students in class. My old friend, Ed Fujiwara, told me about your dojo. He knew I lived in Pearl City and was always interested in the martial arts.” (Sensei Fujiwara, in case you don’t know, was my primary karate instructor for quite a few years). He then added, “I like to see the way you teach the children.” I was, of course, quite flattered, but secretly hoped he didn’t think I was too soft on the kids, something I’m sometimes guilty of. Anyways, I told him he was always welcome to visit the dojo, which he continued to do, over the next couple of years.

During that time, I rarely spoke with Thomas, since I’d be busy teaching and he usually would leave very promptly. During the few times we did speak, he would repeat, “I like the way you teach the children.” This is why I still remember the phrase. Anyways, one day, Thomas stayed after class ended and came up to me, asking, “Some of my friends are martial artists who are visiting. Would you mind if I invited them to watch your next class with me?” I immediately agreed, though I wasn’t sure who these “friends” could be…maybe other older folks in their seventies who were Tai Chi practitioners? Imagine my surprise, at the next class, when Thomas walked in with half a dozen folks from the mainland, perhaps in their 40’s-50’s. They watched the class with Thomas and during the first break in class, I went over to say “Hi”. I was surprised to find out that these were all senior karate senseis under the Robert Trias organization (along with Hawaii’s Ed Parker, he was one the first pioneers to introduce karate in America back in the 1950’s) who had just come back from visiting and training in Asia. I was doubly surprised when they referred to Thomas as Master Young. Master Young? Master of what? These thoughts ran through my head as they expressed how much they enjoyed watching class. Anyways, as it turned out, these traveling karateka had their gi’s packed in their rental cars and they were kind enough to demonstrate some of their katas for our students at the very end of class. It was a very nice exchange and they were all true and gracious karateka. They were also very respectful of Master Young.

The next time Thomas…er, Master Young visited our class, I made it a point to talk to him about what he was a master of. It turned out that he was the senior student of the founder of American Kenpo (or Kempo), Reverend Mitose. The original family system, as taught by Mitose, was really a form of ju-jutsu, not karate. The punching/kicking/weapon aspects were subsequently added to this eclectic system, in the years after its introduction in Hawaii back in the 1940’s; especially as eschewed by Ed Parker and William Chow. When Reverend Mitose left for the mainland, he appointed Master Young as chief instructor of the dojo. Master Young stuck to the system, as he was taught it, with its emphasis on holds and throws, and he passed it on for many years in this form. Ironically, his friend Ed Fujiwara, my own instructor for years, knew Thomas as his own instructor decades earlier. And since Hawaii is such a small island, we found out later that my son was classmates with Thomas’ granddaughter.

The last time I was ever to speak with Thomas was at a karate tournament that my students were participating in, and I was doing a demonstration at. Before the tournament, I spotted him in the gym stands and went over to talk story. On this occasion, I noticed his speech to be very, very precise, with pauses as long as several seconds between each word. Thomas explained to me that he had suffered a stroke just a week before and hadn’t told anyone. Other than the way he spoke, he seemed okay. As fate would have it, he was the keynote speaker for the tournament! It would have been totally understandable if he had declined to speak in this situation, but not Thomas. Thomas went up and said his few prepared sentences…it took him forever to get through the speech, but he completed it, and he never spoke of his ailment. The man had real courage and embodied the true spirit of the martial arts. He passed away of a heart attack just two weeks later.

I attended his funeral service, which, in addition to many friends and family, was also filled with many Kenpo/Kempo instructors and students in the audience. Many came up and performed movements and sets as a way of paying their respects. The eulogy told of his love of the martial arts and of how many lives he touched. A writer from the mainland also said a few words and mentioned that Master Young would be a major part of his book on the history of Kenpo.

In retrospect, I now know that he was truly a martial arts master, he was a pioneer of Kenpo in Hawaii and in America. I will however, always think of him as Thomas, the quiet, elderly Chinese gentleman. Thomas, the humble visitor, who would sit at the cafeteria table, next to the middle doors, watching the training he loved so much. Thomas, the man who liked the way we taught the children. Thomas, who also mentored me, in his own quiet way.

Don’t forget, it’s not just about punching and kicking…to truly study Karate-Do is to follow the Way, to walk a straight and narrow, but very rewarding Path.

Front row center is the Reverend Mitose who brought Kenpo to the U.S. Thomas Young is on the right bottom. The photo is from 1950.