In 1964 he
enrolled in Carlton Shimomi's dojo and for two years spent four hours a week in
classes and another hour every day in practice, punching the straw-covered
makiwara (fencepost) or the heavy bag to strengthen his hands. "When I had
a rating exam coming up," he recalls, "I'd practice three or four hours
every day, in addition to the dojo classes." He moved up through the
ranks—white belt to green to purple, through four brown-belt stages and finally
first-Dan black, which is the lowest rung on a 10-step ladder. Although he was
interested in the self-defense aspects of karate, McAndrews had an almost
religious feeling about the art.
"I think I
began to get a little disillusioned when my first sensei [teacher, mentor,
maestro—the word cannot be translated literally] phased out his dojo to go into
another business," he recalls. "I hadn't realized then that even a
karate sensei had to make a living. To me it was simply high art...an art that
enabled one to transcend mediocrity." At Shimomi's, McAndrews had polished
both his kata, the formalized routines that correspond roughly to a boxer's
training in blocking, punching, feinting and footwork (about as roughly as long
division corresponds to calculus), and his kumite, the free sparring that puts
the kata to work. At his new dojo, Chuzo Kotaka's, the kumite became
considerably more violent. "Kotaka was one rough character when he came
here from Japan," McAndrews says. "He didn't believe in sparring in
which the punches and kicks stopped short of actually striking an opponent—he
thought contact was necessary to sharpen the focus you would need in actual
some very reputable dojos train their students to stop all blows an inch from
the opponent's body—an esthetic practice that has led critics to claim
karatekas can't fight because they're conditioned to pull their punches.
McAndrews did not experience this problem during either of the two street
situations that followed his training. In one he was attacked by a hulking
drunk while attempting to play good Samaritan to victims of an automobile
accident. McAndrews used a straight shot to the throat, a karate maneuver
called "tiger's mouth" in which the hand is not retracted but grips the
Adam's apple (and could extract it). In the other, he was cornered by five
young thugs at Makapuu beach. A front kick to the groin and a knuckle punch to
the face had enough focus to disable one of them and put three to flight, but
the fifth pulled a gun. "I was 10 feet away," McAndrews recalls,
"and a small, short pistol isn't very accurate at that distance. So I
followed another sound principle—I ran, and his pistol misfired three
McAndrews came to
Kotaka at about the time legitimate instructors, alarmed by karate's continuing
popular image as a killer system with no redeeming social value, began
sponsoring inter-dojo and open tournaments. Their purpose was to establish that
karate was at least as much of a sport as boxing, and in many ways superior to
it as a conditioner and, yes, for self-defense. "When we started in sports
tournaments," McAndrews says, "we competed with people we could
respect—for their technique, for their spirit, for their high standard of
excellence. But then sponsors began inviting less proficient schools and we got
terrible mismatches. In Japan, tournaments are all right, because the general
level of instruction is high, but not in Hawaii or on the Mainland. One
contestant may not make contact at all, and another may half kill you because
he hasn't learned to focus his blows." (In sport karate, blows are supposed
to hit but not wound).
McAndrews kept up
his interest, nonetheless, through graduation from the University of Hawaii (in
political science) and his entry into business, but the "full-contact to
knockout" exhibitions he has seen have transformed what had once been mere
disillusionment into disgust.
contests are still held, but McAndrews sees the sensationalized full-contact to
kayo bouts as a regression to "the gladiator syndrome." He says,
"The promoters are promising circuses, not sport or art."
The man who
claimed to have devised the full-contact format, the late John Keehan, who
called himself "Count Dante," sneered at the concept of "ki."
He was one of several latecomers who proclaimed the "Americanization"
of the martial arts. "I'd say Count Dante did for karate about what the
Boston Strangler did for door-to-door salesmanship," McAndrews says.
"This 'Americanization' of karate is wrecking it. Learning the katas bores
people, so they're skipping it. But you need some ki and you need the ability
to focus, and without either, it not only isn't karate, it's as much of a
danger to you as to others."
combination of full-contact exhibitions and fly-by-night martial-arts schools
will drive legitimate teachers out of business remains to be seen, but they are
making the distinction of the real from the counterfeit all the more difficult.
While a random sampling of about 100 dojos in 14 major American cities by
SPORTS ILLUSTRATED correspondents produced only one that actually would
guarantee a "black belt," some 25 promised self-defense capability in
four to six months. (McAndrews says, "After one year of instruction in
karate, you might be less able to defend yourself than before. At that point,
because of the tournament orientation, many students haven't even learned to
guard the face.") The prices for the courses ranged from $20 to a shocking
$100 a month (Kotaka, McAndrews' sensei, charges $15), and a majority implied
that a woman who attained first-Dan black belt would be the equal of a man of
the same rank.
"Maybe I'm a
chauvinist," McAndrews says, "but there's no way a 110-pound woman can
disable a strong, 200-pound man, with karate or anything else, except by total
surprise—or years and years of training." He recalls working out with a
95-pound woman who was an instructor for the Japan Karate Association and was
"double tough," but McAndrews rates her as exceptional. "For a
while there was another woman karateka from Japan at Chuzo's," he recalls,
"and I could have kicked her into the 21st Century if I'd gone all
out." He feels that senior citizens, the handicapped and that durable
advertising clich�, the 97-pound weakling, suffer the same limitations.
A New York
writer, Carola Dibbell, who investigated karate after she was mugged, shares
some, but not all, of McAndrews' misgivings. Writing in The Village Voice
cited the added confidence martial skills may give a woman, but noted "the
fear of hurting someone else may be more inhibiting than the fear of getting
hurt." McAndrews believes that many male karate students share the same
fear. He says, "Most of us aren't conditioned to kill, and several karate
tactics—unless controlled by focus—will accomplish just that." Of course,
some people are conditioned to kill, or want to be, and may turn to the
"hand arts" to further that purpose.