Challenges – "You wanna fight me?"

Shelter from the Rain

This weekend, the rain poured. As a result I’ve had to deal with a lot of trespassers who feel that the community garage of my building is a haven for them to do their illicit affairs, or a dry place to take a nap.

Unfortunately for me, who has to manage the building, trespassing into the garage area is nothing new; after several years, word has got on the street that it is a semi-safe place to do one's drugs, use as a bathroom, or for prostitutes to service their clients.

Judging by the current activity, one would think I live in a crappy neighborhood. But, while the neighborhood can be colorful at times, that really isn’t the case. There are just a few bad characters on the street, and a bunch of lazy tenants who can’t get off their fat ass to secure the garage doors that create this problem.

However, for some reason this weekend has been extra bad. As I’m writing this, I’ve already had to remove almost 25 individuals from the garage. That total, of course, does not cover the repeat offenders, who always seem to bring new people with them.

Now I know this problem is one I should leave to the police, but law enforcement in San Francisco, can at times be very strange. The patrol guys say call when there is a problem, but their response time to such a trivial thing (in their opinion) can be more than half an hour.

Furthermore, if I should dare restrain these trespassers and keep them from leaving until the police arrive, I could be deemed the bad guy. This is true even though I’m a retired police officer, know the law, and know what force can and cannot be used.

Then there is the problem that even when the police do show up, they won't arrest these people. It doesn’t seem to matter that there are no trespassing signs posted, and I’m ready, willing and eager to sign a citizen’s arrest form. For some reason unknown to me, the police feel they need to warn these people and wait for them to do the crime again. It kind of defeats the purpose of having such laws in my opinion.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to send everyone to jail. But there are a few who continuously trespass, and think my warning is a joke. I think if I could send just one or two to jail the message would get out that I’m serious about keeping trespassers out of the garage. Maybe!?

Fortunately most of these trespassers leave without an argument, and some even clean up their mess before they depart. How nice.

Unfortunately, every now and then I get ones who want to argue and worst yet, fight. They actually want to challenge my authority, though they are clearly in the wrong, and fight me. Yes, believe it or not, they get into my face, and try very hard to get me to strike them.

It really doesn’t matter what time day or night these encounters take place, or the fact that I often have my 85lb German Shepherd dog with me, who semi-convincingly looks like he would come to my aid.

Of course, the breaking point came today when one of these trespassers started to get in my face. Like I said, it’s not unusual for that to happen, but this time I was with my wife. Now I have nothing to prove to her, but if things had deteriorated like they appeared they would I most likely would have gone into overkill mood. Attacking me and hurting me is one thing, but my wife was there and most likely would have had to get physically involved holding back his female companion. The fact that my wife could have been in danger escalated the whole situation. Especially since this guy was really looking for a fight, and didn’t appear to have the common sense to shut up and just walk away.

He was in the wrong, he knew it, but I guess he had to impress the lady he was with—with his masculinity. She was more pissed than impressed. I guess she was the one with the brain.

Putting the whole thing into perspective, though I never lost my temper, the whole ordeal was loud enough that neighbors were watching. I like having witnesses.

Back to my point...

There's no Winning

Now I’ve lived in this neighborhood all my life. I did homicide and gang related investigations in this area for many years. More importantly, my martial art school is located within the building I’m talking about, and has been there since 1993.

In other words people in this area know who I am. I get stopped on the street all the time by people I’ve never met, who comment about the school, or tell me how I helped someone they knew during one of my investigations. I’m no celebrity, but people recognize me enough—too much sometimes for my liking.

This means that a lot of these trespassers also know who I am, and several have jokingly asked me not to do my "karate shit" on them. Many leave when they see me coming, because they are afraid I will hurt them, because of what I teach, even though I’ve never made a threat.

These "street people" also know I will fight if forced to, since I have a reputation for fighting those that left me no choice. The fact is, I almost shot a hooker in my garage area that came at me with a syringe full of heroin many years ago. I was in uniform, and she was extremely stupid. She can thank her boyfriend that she is still alive, since he took the stab instead of me.

I’ve also had to forcefully escort a few idiots out of the building, and there are marks and indentations on the wall to prove it. I’m not proud things deteriorated to that point, but it sent the right message and couldn’t be avoided.

Now don’t get me wrong, I hate fighting. But as the manager of the building I have an obligation to keep things safe and clean for the 130 people who live here, including my family. That means I have to stop and confront these trespassers and get them out of here. I have no choice. No one else will do it.

This of course leads me to the point of my essay, that point being the idiots who issue challenges to fight them. Especially those individuals that are aware of who I am and what I do.

See, I’m in a situation where I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. As a martial arts instructor, if I resort to physical violence I can quickly be seen as the aggressor, the bad guy. If I win the fight and cause an injury I can look like a bully, and possibly be sued even though I was 100% in the right.

If I lose, well I lose, but that fact will get around like a wild fire burning out of control, and would just lead to a lot more physical challenges in the future. I certainly don’t need that.

In other words its basically a lose-lose situation for me.

Now I’m no stranger to being challenged to fight. As a police officer I got that a lot. I mean, how many people want to get arrested and go to jail. However those challenges weren’t personal. All these people only saw was the uniform, the badge.

In addition, as a police officer there was always back-up just a radio call away.

No the situation in the garage is more like the ones I faced owning a "commercial" martial arts school. These challenges were one-on-one encounters with people who thought they had something to prove—people who wanted to kick my ass, just because I’m martial arts teacher.

This especially true in two situations that had the potential to be as life threatening as any fighting that would occur in the garage.

Challenge #1

The first situation occurred many years ago as I was teaching a kinder-karate class (4 –7 year olds). A man walked in off the street, watched me teach for a few moments and then questioned what qualified me to teach.

I answered his question politely, who knows he might have kids and was interested in enrolling them. However, he wasn’t satisfied with my answer, which mainly consisted of the number of years I’d been training, and which associations I belonged to at the time.

No, he wanted to know if I could "fight," and if my fighting skills were good enough that I really had something to teach these kids.

Once again I was very polite, and told him I wasn’t a fighter, and that the kinder-karate class was all about teaching the kids not to fight. Once again he didn’t like the answer.

A few questions later, and after a few more polite answers, he finally asked me what was really on his mind, "WILL YOU FIGHT ME?"

What!? Was this guy actually challenging me to a fight? Here, in front of all these kids and their parents. Is this guy crazy?

Of course I declined to fight the guy, but he kept insisting. I clearly had to think of something else. I mean this guy was already taking his shirt and shoes off, and by now I’m pretty positive our discussion was over.

Certainly everyone watching had the expectation that if we fought I’d win. After all, I’m the "martial arts teacher." However, that’s the problem, or at least part of it.

If I won, so what, I didn’t prove anything. That’s what people expected. I mean a martial arts teacher should be able to beat a "guy off the street."

If I should lose however, well who wants to study with a martial arts teacher that can’t defend himself?

No, I had to think of another way, I had to use the greatest weapon I had, my brain.

So keeping my composure, I went up to the guy and told him I couldn’t fight him. I explained that if I won I would be considered a bully, and if I lost it would be bad for business. I then explained the real reason I couldn’t fight him, that reason being that it would set a bad example for the kids. Year after year I’ve told these kids fighting was bad, and should be avoided. If I should fight now, for no apparent reason, then what example would I be setting?

Now I’m not sure what part of what I said clicked in this guy’s brain, but he stood up, put his clothes back on, and started to walk out the door. As he left, he shouted that I was one of the best martial art teachers he had ever met, and that in his opinion I was qualified to teach these kids.

Of course I had to ask why. His answer was simple; I practice what I preach. Only someone confident in his or her abilities would have given him such an honest and straightforward answer to his challenge.

Well after this initial meeting, this man would stop at the school at least once a week. Not to challenge me again, but just to visit. Turns out he had studied martial arts for years while overseas, and was just interested in observing what I taught from time to time. He wanted to see where I was coming from, what I thought the martial arts were all about.

In a way, he was rather philosophical about life and the martial arts, and clearly had a lot of information to share. On the other hand, it was clear he wasn’t completely there mentally. And looking at the knife he always carried and that far away look in his eye wasn’t someone you wanted to have on your bad side.

I won't ever call the guy a friend, but he did support the school. And it was better to have someone like that on my side, keeping out other potential threats, than having to worry about what he would do next.

Isn’t there a saying that says, "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?" I’m sure it applies to even potential enemies.

Challenge #2

The second challenge was a little more serious. It occurred one afternoon between classes. A man, about 5'2", 110 lbs, with a crazed look in his eyes, entered the school and asked me if he could "spar" me.

At first I looked at him in disbelief, assuming I had misunderstood what he was asking. I mean people entered the school all the time asking me if I could teach them to fight.

Of course I had heard correctly, and he asked me once again to spar him. It wasn’t like he asked me in a manner I could say no either.

My first response was to ask him if he had a habit of entering martial art schools and asking the instructor to spar. To my surprise, he said yes. Strike one for me.

"Why," I questioned.

"Training," he responded.

"Training!?" as I looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Yes, as I travel around I ask anyone I think may have something to teach me, to fight with me, so I can test my skills." As a demonic look gleamed from his eyes, he continued to tell me of his past fighting experiences, how he has been stabbed numerous times, and how he kicks trees in the park to strengthen and desensitize his legs.

I looked at him dumbfounded, I mean it’s the 20th century; do people really do those kinds of thing anymore? Do they? I had to know more.

Turns out, that this guy was a "self-taught" fighter, who honed his skills on the street. In fact, he said he would often offer some of the less than savory characters he met money to try and beat him up. If they kicked his ass they would get the money, if not they wouldn’t be in any shape to take it.

He then regaled me with some of his experience in barrooms, alleyways, and even in jail. Clearly this was a tough guy, if not someone who was a little psycho.

In a way it sure sounded like something out of a movie to me, but he was dead serious.

He continued by explaining that he didn’t have money for classes, and the only way he could train with a martial arts teacher was by challenging them to spar and seeing how they fought. Win, lose, or draw, he would learn something.

I then tried to convince him that he most likely had more "real" fighting experience than me, and I wasn’t sure what I could offer. He said it didn’t matter. Strike two.

Now, like I’ve said numerous times before I don’t like fighting or sparring. Then again something told me that "sparring" with this guy would actually lead to a no holds barred fight where one or both of us would get hurt, seriously hurt. He had that look, and based on our conversation I doubted he would care if he hurt himself in the process of beating me. In fact, I think he would have reveled with delight if lots of pain were involved, no matter who suffered it.

Like I said he had a strange demonic look to him. A look I know I’ve seen on violent criminals who just committed heinous acts, or those under the influence of serious mind altering drugs. Its a look like one would see when a when a tiger stalks its prey. A look that’s cold, uncaring. A look where it feels as if the person is looking through you, measuring you, formulating a game plan on which method to hurt you would work best.

Based on what I heard, and what my instincts were telling me I politely declined his request, stating that I no longer sparred due to injuries, and couldn’t afford to hurt myself further. He scanned my body, most likely evaluating what I said, and after a few moments insisted that we were just sparring and no one would get hurt. Strike three.

I thanked him for the offer to take it easy on me and once again declined. Of course by now I was edging my way to the phone so I could call 911.

For a few moments there was silence, then he postured as if he was going to attack. His whole body changed, and what once looked like a man of 5 foot 2, now looked like a demon, a demon ready to go for the kill.

There was no more smile on his face, and he clearly wasn’t the person I had been talking to for the last several minutes.

For the first time in my life, all those stories of Samurai sensing danger made sense. I sensed the threat, I could feel his intention, and my body automatically prepared for the attack. Things were happening like my instructor said they would if I ever felt my life was really being threatened. Further more, like the movies everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Unconsciously, my body prepared for his attacked, yet I felt calm. In a way it felt like I was watching the situation from the perspective of a third person. I realize my description sounds sort of cinematic in many ways, but I can’t think of any way better to explain it.

Fortunately, for both of us, the attack never came. In an instant it was all over, and we started talking again like nothing had happened. However, we both knew in the back of our minds a battle had been fought. I’m just not sure if either of could have figured out who the winner was.

After a few more moments I asked him to leave, saying I would never fight, because when and if I fight it is only to defend my family or myself and it is to the death. Dramatic yes, but it makes an unarguable point.

While he wasn’t happy with my comment, and started to provoke me again he realized I was serious. Our conversation, all the pleasantry, was over, and I’m sure my attitude and posture conveyed the fact this topic was no longer open for discussion.

As he left he thanked me, but he then asked if I had any students who would be willing to "spar" him? I said that would be up to my students, but I didn’t think so. We weren’t that type of school.

He left saying he would be back later. Sure, I thought.

A few hours later, during the adult class he returned. Bloody and busied he approached the class and asked if anyone would like to spar him. I stopped him, and asked him "what the hell happened to you?"

"I’ve been training," he said.

"Training?" I asked, as I looked at the cuts and bruises on his face and hands, his ripped shirt, and broken shoe.

"Yes, I was just training in the alley behind your school a few minutes ago," he responded. "There were two of them, one is still lying there," he said with a sickening grin which showed his pride.

Looking at him, all I could do is wonder what the other two guys looked like. I had to check the alleyway.

Sure enough there in the alley was a guy who looked like he had been hit by a bus. There was also his friend who looked like he had been caught in a blender. They were pretty messed up, and I’m sure at least one of them required medical attention.

To make the situation even worst were the ten other people that were trying to figure out just what happened to their pal. The level of anger, and talk about revenge was amazing. Fortunately, no one saw the guy, and no further violence occurred.

As we returned to the classroom, the guy once again asked if there was anyone there who wanted to spar with him. I tried to intercede by asking the guy if he hadn’t had enough for the day, but before I could finish one of my students I’ll call Bill started to accept. I say started because I stopped Bill before he could finish his sentence.

Now Bill was a wannabe kick-boxer, who has some real skills—real skills in a controlled environment such as kick-boxing ring. He wasn’t what I would call a well-rounded fighter, nor was he someone who could actually absorb and overcome a lot of punishment. More importantly, he definitely didn’t have a killer instinct.

The truth is, this street guy would have slaughtered Bill without breaking a sweat.

It would have been no contest, since the street guy had nothing to lose. Meanwhile, Bill had a family, work obligations, and let's just say a life that could be adversely affected if he should get hurt, especially in such a needless manner.

Furthermore, I knew Bill’s defeat would eventually lead to an escalation of this guys desire to fight me, something I really didn’t want to have to deal with. Based on what I knew, what I had seen in the alley, our "friendly sparring," would clearly end up as serious fight. In fact, this guy gave me the impression he would rather die than lose.

A new strategy was in order, and I had to think quickly. I offered to help clean the guy up, prior to any more challenges, and as I took care of his wounds started to talk to him about the "true meaning," of the martial arts. I told him that he had missed the point about what martial arts training was all about. Martial arts aren’t about only fighting, they are about building one’s skill to the point where fighting is no longer necessary. To avoid confrontation was the highest level one could achieve in training, and what he should really strive for.

I doubt what I said meant much to him, but he agreed to leave for the day. Unfortunately, while he left he also made it clear that he would be back.

I never thought I’d see this guy again, but the next day I asked a few people I knew on the street if they knew anything about this guy. I wanted to know what I was dealing with.

Turns out his name, nickname, was Crazy Charley (go figure), and people knew him as a brawler. Based on what I was told, everything he said about himself, including the fighting people on the street, was true. Furthermore, some of these fights involved weaponry, and he had done time for seriously stabbing someone in the past. He clearly was someone that shouldn’t be trusted. He was clearly someone who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you.

Lucky me, I was now on Crazy Charley’s radar. I knew I couldn’t fight with him, and there wasn’t enough to get the police involved. At least, there wasn't yet, and I wanted to keep it that way.

True to his word, Crazy Charley showed up the next day, and the next, and the next. Each day he politely asked if I or anyone else would spar him, and each day after being rejected he would quietly leave.

Each time we would go and do our almost dance-like routine of posturing and feeling out each other’s intentions. Nothing was said, but we each knew what the other was thinking, and more importantly ready and capable of doing. Each time there would be that moment things felt like they would go to hell, and then nothing.

Slowly but surely, Crazy Charley visits occurred less often, but from time to time he would stop in showing me his new cuts and bruises from recent "training" matches. He displayed them as others display trophies.

After five months of continuous challenges, Crazy Charley disappeared. Some say he was stabbed, some say he went to jail, and others say he left the area. I didn’t really care. He was gone and that was fine. The potential for danger and violence was gone, without incident.

Of course, crazy people seldom disappear forever, and a year later I received a package in the mail. It was from good old Charley.

Basically, he wrote that he had liked our discussions on the philosophy of the martial arts. He had liked our "mental" duels. He appreciated the time I took cleaning up his wounds, and my advice to him to stay out of trouble. More importantly, he valued my opinion and wanted me to review the enclosed manuscript about his life and training. He considered me as his teacher.

Lucky me. Hopefully, this guy isn’t teaching others and claiming to be my student.

The enclosed manuscript was about 200 hand-written pages, which were basically illegible. It didn’t really matter though, since there was no return address and I’ve never seen Charley again.

Good Old Memories!

Why Would I Want To?

Of course these two stories directly relate to how I started this essay. No matter where I’m challenged, how I’m challenged, I have more to lose than gain. I will always be wrong, no matter what the circumstance, no matter how right and justified I am.

The truth is, if I’m attacked I will defend myself. If my family or loved ones are attacked, I’ll most likely go after you with the intention to kill. I’ll face the consequences of my actions later. However, to get me to that point where I’ll fight, will require a lot of work, as well as extremely bad intentions on the part of the aggressor.

But to fight in response to a challenge, when the other person is aware of what I do for a living is another matter. I don’t have the time, more importantly the need to stroke my ego, or to deal with that kind of thinking. It’s not worth it.

If I liked fighting, and needed that form of competition to stroke my ego, I’d enter the UFC. At least then there would be a potential to get paid.

Unlike the situations that occurred in the schools though, it’s very hard to reason with some of these garage trespassers. Some are just hostile violent people who don’t even care about their own health and welfare. In addition, I truly believe they want to get into a fight, and may even see dollar signs thinking about suing me in the future.

Worst yet is the realization that a few of these guys feel they have something to prove. Kicking my ass, would give them "street cred." If nothing else kicking my ass would open the door for even more trespassers, since they would get the sense they controlled the garage.

Besides nailing the garage door shut, (which I’ve considered but know I can’t do), I’m not sure what the solution is. I yell at the people who park there all the time, and have even threatened to take their parking space away.

Can the only answer be violence? Do I have to hurt someone, or get hurt to stop the challenges? Furthermore, if I fight barehanded today, what will stop the threats from escalating? I mean, I’m dealing with people on or taking drugs, who clearly aren’t in control of themselves. People who don’t care, and aren’t afraid to go to jail for what they do.

Clearly, the challenges I’ve had in my martial art schools, though potentially dangerous, are nothing compared to the ones in the garage.

Of course the true challenge for me is to hold my ground, remain true to my beliefs, and use my brain. Resorting to violence, to deal with the problem on their level, would make all the years I’ve preached about not fighting all meaningless.