The Passing of a Champion

by Art McConnell
In 1968, I had gone through an inheritance and had hit rock bottom.
Returning from an unproductive year in California, I was offered shelter and a
chance to re-examine my life by my senpai from the New York Samurai Dojo.
Mr. Pierce had gone to Japan to train at the Kenkojuku Hombu and had
become friends with one of the black belts named Miyazaki, who in two years would
travel to New York and become a resident karate master and dojo partner with
Bernie Pierce, who had been John Slocum’s number one student and “wingman” at
the New York Samurai Dojo in Flushing, Queens. Pierce had been a boxer in Ireland
and had over twenty fights under his belt. Slocum said that his mind was stronger

than a steel trap. Miyazaki said it was too strong. They opened the Tokutai Dojo in
Jackson Heights. I was told that the name meant Second Wave.
When I went there I had only the clothes on my back, a couple of books and
my gei. My rank was Taigu Shodan from Sensei Slocum at the Samurai, where I had
taught kata and managed for a couple of years. I had tested with Lou Correa, Fred
Hamilton, and Tony Prudente. I met Mr. Miyazaki and Mr. Pierce told me to suit up
and do every kata that I knew, which was probably about twenty forms or so. Sensei
just observed but said nothing. I ran through some kihon and kicks after and then
bowed out while Mr. Miyazaki practiced for an upcoming tournament in the Felt
Forum at the Garden.

The next day, I was in the 4×10 office dressing room heating up some miso
soup in a small pineapple can over a candle. I was living on peanut butter and honey
sandwiches and shaving with cold water, doing my Siddhartha lifestyle. It was in the
afternoon and I heard Sensei bow “OUS!” at the doorway. He walked by the office,
well dressed in a brown suit and came into the little room. He knelt down and
removed the small tin full of miso, and readjusted the prongs beneath the can. The
flame had been too close and was splayed. Now the point of the tiny fire was directly
at the center of the can that held the soup. He looked up at me and said, “This is
stronger.” I had my first lesson that day.

The class at the Tokutai was just turning out purple and brown belts at that
time. Chris Elwood, Bob Armstrong, the Celano brothers, Sam Serio, Luis Juhasz,
Mike Hatgis from the Black Belt Academy (who, fifty years later, is still strong and
active), Walter McManus (who was the first to do the Slocum/Miyazaki training

syndrome, and of course, Bernie Pierce was the template). Then there was me, the
odd man out from the old guard.

While living in the dojo, I had the benefit of watching Sensei practice daily. He
trained like an Olympian, even nailing the 360° high left spinning side kick in the
Sandan level kata “Gankaku” (crane standing on a rock), one of Okano Sensei’s
favorite forms. Miyazaki adapted the revolving wheel kick and the flying crab
scissors (Kane Basami) to his style and as we all know, he had a killer axe kick. He
would set up the 3×6 wood framed mirror, not on the flat wall but in the corner of
the dojo, and do basic drills and kata embusens from ten feet out and into the vortex.
I later studied feng shui and found out that this was the way that power was best
generated. I learned about polishing and how vital practice could be to the outcome
of training. There is an old saying by Branch Rickey, the first baseball commissioner:
“Luck is the residue of design.”

I remember Sensei Okano visiting from Hachioji City and Mr. Kuriyama
coming from California, where he too was gaining recognition as a ranked
competitor like his friend and dojo mate Toyotaro. Sensei Okano held some black
belt classes and told everyone to train hard and to not start trouble. He painted the
face of the ancient monk Daruma on the back of our geis, sometimes adding kanji.
The American students would wonder what deep philosophical message the foreign
writing held. We later found out that it meant “don’t be lazy.”
I was fortunate to test for shodan before the three masters at the Tokutai
Dojo. Days later they went into Manhattan for some R&R at the nightclub called the
Metropole. Something happened with the waiter and there was tension at their

table. Mr. Okano was getting uneasy; Mr. Miyazaki was preparing to fight. The tense
scene was neutralized as Mr. Kuriyama threw down a twenty dollar bill on the table
and the night continued without incident.

In the class in the days to follow, we lined up to spar with the visiting fourth
dan from California. I went first, being the highest rank among the students.
Kuriyama Sensei had wrapped up his right hand with a big ace bandage, making it
like a small cushioned boxing glove. It is difficult to attack a master, but I crouched
and lunged in with a front punch. He drew back a little and popped me with his fist
to the side of my head with just enough force to let me know that his controlled
strike could have been fatal. Next up was Luis Juhasz, who had tapped into
Miyazaki’s personal style even though he was bigger and heavier. He did a series of
kicks to which Kuriyama just casually backed up, and at the end of the deck he
reached out with one hand and threw the brown belt over the spectators’ bench
without injuring him. I remember the technique looking like slow motion.
Months later we got word that Mr. Kuriyama had lost his life in a car accident
on the west coast. Like the symbolic cherry blossom of the samurai, he had left us at
twenty-nine years old. This was a deep loss and a difficult time for Miyazaki. He
even went to California but could not really help them as he was based in New York.
I believe that Sensei Haliburton took over the dojo.

Mr. Miyazaki had fought in many competitions, winning a large number of
them as Grand Champion in both forms and fighting. I watched him fight Luis
Delgado, Hawk Frazier, and Joe Hayes, just to name a few. His “spirit form” was

Gankaku, in which he’d slowly draw up one leg then crack out a high side kick in
perfect form. He also competed on the west coast and appeared on many martial
arts magazine covers and in countless articles. His old Japanese films of karate and
Iaido strongly inspired me as did dangerous live sword demo with teacher,
Okanosan at Pierce’s Tokutai Dojo.

In 1971, I went to the Hombu in Hachioji City for karate training. Mr.
Miyazaki had also visited at that time, but was recovering from a bad knee injury.
There I met Mr. Takahashi, who taught me the practice of alternate attack. In the
years to follow, he would also relocate to New York to forge his own path as a leader
of the Kenkojuku Federation. I tested for Sandan with him in June of 1981 after
creating the Tozai School (East & West) in the early seventies, which is now
primarily the Tozai Iaikai. I was inspired by the balance that Pierce and Miyazaki
had achieved.

The last time we saw Sensei Miyazaki was at a big banquet, where well over
one hundred black belts, Shotokan brothers and sisters gathered to say their
farewells to our Sensei and Champion. You could feel the power and the dynamic of
the group he created as he followed the way of Funakoshi and Okano to the end of
the line.

Although he has passed on, the specter of his footprints remains on the path
to the pine tree in the sand at the point of the peninsula.
Out of bounds…but never out of our hearts and minds.

Art McConnell
TozaiSwordSchool.com