The first question I asked the founder of the martial arts school when I interviewed as a prospective student was whether he had sufficient money on tap to stay around long enough for me to earn my Black Belt.
Stunned and slightly miffed by the question, he said he did.
And true to his word, though he started and personally managed an additional branch on the East coast, after eight years of study and hard work I was awarded the rank of Shodan, 1st degree Black Belt, in Kenpo Karate.
But that isn't the end of the story.
Two years later, I phoned the dojo to wish Happy Holidays to all, and I heard a recording that told me I had reached a disconnected number.
I was shocked.
Most martial arts academies revere traditions and are proud to announce that they've been teaching for 25, 35 or more years, so when they suddenly disappear, it's like hearing that the high school you graduated from was plowed under to make room for a shopping mall.
Dojos aren't supposed to simply vanish. They endeavor to turn out graduates that attain high rank, some serving as instructors and others go on to open their own academies, with the approval and occasional assistance and support of the sensei that trained them.
In the case of my dojo, a hand scrawled sign appeared in the window saying the school had been "Stolen."
Apparently, renegade instructors and managers took the student body to a secret location in a neighboring town, and opened a new enterprise, there. In doing so, they undid about 35 years of hard work and left the founder with an unpaid lease and other bills that he had to handle while being a continent away.
The disappearance of the original dojo has created a lot more victims, burdening those that were close to testing for their next belt level. Where will they study and practice?
If they believe the mutineers are blameworthy, how can these "Ronin" i.e. suddenly "Master-less Samurai," in good conscience, join the miscreants at the new locale?
We'll explore the options for "orphaned" martial artists in a future article.
