SAN JOSE CLUB MARKS 60 YEARS
By L.A. Chung
By L.A. Chung
Mercury News
Article Launched: 10/31/2007 01:37:09 AM PDT
Article Launched: 10/31/2007 01:37:09 AM PDT
It always starts with the mats. Twice a week, before 6:30 p.m., students and parents trickle into the gymnasium of the San Jose Buddhist Church Betsuin and get to work.
Celebrating its 60th year, the San Jose Buddhist Judo Club - the nation's largest and one of its most venerable - is as committed as ever to the rules and discipline that make up its bedrock: Even the littlest students must help lay the mats before class can start - just like the generation before them, and the generation before them.
The mats provide the only hospitable landing for the loud, thudding throws that will fill the air for the next 90 minutes. Mat duty, among the drills and techniques mastered in the journey that is judo, is a part of the discipline - one that commands an uncommon passion.
That passion has kept the volunteer-run club alive for these many years.
"I don't think anyone ever thought about getting to the 60th year," said Danny Kikuchi, one of five head instructors, or senseis, who comprise the club's unusual operating board.
But thrive it does, each week, year-round, with only a short break in the winter and another in the summer for its 220 students, steeled by tournaments and leavened by holiday parties and annual outings to Seacliff State Beach.
The club, however, almost didn't make it to its 50th anniversary, when Kikuchi's father, Don, the revered head sensei, died at 67, followed, a month later, by his assistant at 62.
Celebrating its 60th year, the San Jose Buddhist Judo Club - the nation's largest and one of its most venerable - is as committed as ever to the rules and discipline that make up its bedrock: Even the littlest students must help lay the mats before class can start - just like the generation before them, and the generation before them.
The mats provide the only hospitable landing for the loud, thudding throws that will fill the air for the next 90 minutes. Mat duty, among the drills and techniques mastered in the journey that is judo, is a part of the discipline - one that commands an uncommon passion.
That passion has kept the volunteer-run club alive for these many years.
"I don't think anyone ever thought about getting to the 60th year," said Danny Kikuchi, one of five head instructors, or senseis, who comprise the club's unusual operating board.
But thrive it does, each week, year-round, with only a short break in the winter and another in the summer for its 220 students, steeled by tournaments and leavened by holiday parties and annual outings to Seacliff State Beach.
The club, however, almost didn't make it to its 50th anniversary, when Kikuchi's father, Don, the revered head sensei, died at 67, followed, a month later, by his assistant at 62.
With their leader gone, the remaining senseis decided to form a board to run the club, highly unusual in a martial arts world where clubs are led by a single grandmaster. But it works, with help from an active parent booster club.
Monday's full house was ample evidence.
Learning to fall
"The first thing they learn to do is fall correctly," Sensei Vaughn Imada said with a half-smile as he looked over the grappling, wriggling figures across the gym Monday. Trim and compact at 61, he is the vice president of the U.S. Judo Federation and another of the club's head senseis. He's heard the stories about the well-worn canvas-covered old horsehair wrestling mats. Believe him, you need to know how to fall.
That goes for the kindergartners as well as for the graying, balding set. The practitioners, who range from 5 to 79 years old, are spread out in the gym and the adjacent overflow space - space that was a luxury when the Japantown club opened in 1947.
Yosh Uchida, the legendary Olympic judo coach who helped build San Jose State's club into a collegiate powerhouse, set up shop in an old galvanized metal building, using old wrestling mats that Councilman Sam Della Maggiore had donated.
Uchida, an Army veteran, sensed the hesitancy of the youngsters rejoining the San Jose community after four years in the World War II internment camps where Japanese and Japanese-Americans had been held.
"I felt something like judo would give them some confidence. They could practice it without getting hurt and also serves as self-defense," the 87-year-old said Tuesday. Uchida had been teaching judo to those at the police school at the then-named San Jose State College.
Longtime leader
Within a few years, he turned it over to a young hot-shot assistant, Don "Moon" Kikuchi, who steered the club for most of its existence. Uchida got two other assistants, Sam Hamai and Tamo Kitaura to start the Palo Alto Judo Club in 1952.
Judo may seem a young man's sport but the abundance of ponytails and handful of paunches show that the club's inclusive spirit forges deep ties that are in part responsible for the club's success. Some of the kids who once learned their judo throws here are now instructors, and their own kids are in the classes. Women are both instructors and participants.
'Gentle way'
It's a little like the soccer of martial arts. Judo means "the gentle way" but you wouldn't know it by the throws. Nonetheless, parents flock there because of its code of discipline, respect and humility, said Ruby Hall, whose brother learned there and sparred with Sensei Imada. Hall's 10-year-old son, Seiji, has studied for the past few years. Teaching kids respect, especially in today's ultra-casual culture, is big, she said.
Students warm up and stretch in Japanese. They learn the names of holds in Japanese.
"Ichi, ni, san, shi," calls out one instructor, leading a stretch for a count to four. "Go, roku, shichi, hachi," the class calls back, holding to the count to eight.
Each judoku, or judo practitioner, bows before leaving the mat, even if it is sometimes quickly in a rush to get off, but the gesture underscores the philosophy of respect. The bow is to Jigoro Kano, the founder of judo, which was developed in 1882 as a sport version of the deadly art of jujitsu.
"You've heard that in judo a smaller guy can throw a bigger guy?" Imada asked. "It takes a lot of work."
Indeed, mastery is a process, and usually slow. The senseis have created intermediate belts so that kids - and parents - often impatient to see some evidence of progress, can see it right on their uniforms.
Danny Kikuchi and the senseis think that what they teach doesn't really mesh with today's culture. But that's an advantage.
"To persevere through hard work makes you stronger, but society nowadays wants short-term gratification," Kikuchi said. "This teaches you to become more competitive." Contact L.A. Chung at lchung@mercurynews.com or (408) 920-5280.
Monday's full house was ample evidence.
Learning to fall
"The first thing they learn to do is fall correctly," Sensei Vaughn Imada said with a half-smile as he looked over the grappling, wriggling figures across the gym Monday. Trim and compact at 61, he is the vice president of the U.S. Judo Federation and another of the club's head senseis. He's heard the stories about the well-worn canvas-covered old horsehair wrestling mats. Believe him, you need to know how to fall.
That goes for the kindergartners as well as for the graying, balding set. The practitioners, who range from 5 to 79 years old, are spread out in the gym and the adjacent overflow space - space that was a luxury when the Japantown club opened in 1947.
Yosh Uchida, the legendary Olympic judo coach who helped build San Jose State's club into a collegiate powerhouse, set up shop in an old galvanized metal building, using old wrestling mats that Councilman Sam Della Maggiore had donated.
Uchida, an Army veteran, sensed the hesitancy of the youngsters rejoining the San Jose community after four years in the World War II internment camps where Japanese and Japanese-Americans had been held.
"I felt something like judo would give them some confidence. They could practice it without getting hurt and also serves as self-defense," the 87-year-old said Tuesday. Uchida had been teaching judo to those at the police school at the then-named San Jose State College.
Longtime leader
Within a few years, he turned it over to a young hot-shot assistant, Don "Moon" Kikuchi, who steered the club for most of its existence. Uchida got two other assistants, Sam Hamai and Tamo Kitaura to start the Palo Alto Judo Club in 1952.
Judo may seem a young man's sport but the abundance of ponytails and handful of paunches show that the club's inclusive spirit forges deep ties that are in part responsible for the club's success. Some of the kids who once learned their judo throws here are now instructors, and their own kids are in the classes. Women are both instructors and participants.
'Gentle way'
It's a little like the soccer of martial arts. Judo means "the gentle way" but you wouldn't know it by the throws. Nonetheless, parents flock there because of its code of discipline, respect and humility, said Ruby Hall, whose brother learned there and sparred with Sensei Imada. Hall's 10-year-old son, Seiji, has studied for the past few years. Teaching kids respect, especially in today's ultra-casual culture, is big, she said.
Students warm up and stretch in Japanese. They learn the names of holds in Japanese.
"Ichi, ni, san, shi," calls out one instructor, leading a stretch for a count to four. "Go, roku, shichi, hachi," the class calls back, holding to the count to eight.
Each judoku, or judo practitioner, bows before leaving the mat, even if it is sometimes quickly in a rush to get off, but the gesture underscores the philosophy of respect. The bow is to Jigoro Kano, the founder of judo, which was developed in 1882 as a sport version of the deadly art of jujitsu.
"You've heard that in judo a smaller guy can throw a bigger guy?" Imada asked. "It takes a lot of work."
Indeed, mastery is a process, and usually slow. The senseis have created intermediate belts so that kids - and parents - often impatient to see some evidence of progress, can see it right on their uniforms.
Danny Kikuchi and the senseis think that what they teach doesn't really mesh with today's culture. But that's an advantage.
"To persevere through hard work makes you stronger, but society nowadays wants short-term gratification," Kikuchi said. "This teaches you to become more competitive." Contact L.A. Chung at lchung@mercurynews.com or (408) 920-5280.
FONTE: San Jose Mercury News - CA, USA
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