10 – Improperly Washed Doboks:

There’s nothing worse than huffing and puffing in class near someone who smells like a damp, old sneaker. Since every class should make you sweat with exertion, you should wash your dobok after every class, or rotate through a clean one every time you work out. Respect your uniform, and those around you.

9 – The “Running Bow” In and Out of Workout Areas: (Closely related to this is “From the Neck-down Bow.”)

Bowing properly is an acknowledgment of respect for Taekwondo, as well as to the instructors and fellow students. A proper bow is performed from the waist up, not from the neck, and it is unrushed. Besides, what’s the hurry? The mat’s not going anywhere, ten push-ups if you’re late is the worst that can happen, and if you’re in that much of a rush you’re probably late and doing pushups anyways!

8 – “Kiyaps” Spoken As Such:

Imagine if every time you punched or kicked, you screamed, “Yell!” During drills, you would proceed up and down the mat, screaming, “Yell! Yell! Yell!” This is what we hear when you literally say, “Kiyap,” which, in Korean, means “Yell.” We suggest you actually yell, rather than say “Yell!”

7 – “Taekwondo” Pronounced “Tie Kwan Doe”:

You might as well call it “Twye Condo” if you’re going to butcher it like that. That’s what my sons Derek and Dylan call it when they’re trying to be funny. “Tae” is pronounced as in “Ted”. “Kwon” is pronounced as it is written. “Do” is pronounced with a short “o” sound. If you still don’t understand, please ask us. (Related note: See Taekwondon’t #5.)

6 – Improper Punching:

Making you do knuckle push-ups isn’t solely to inflict torture (well, it’s the main reason, but not the only one); it’s so that you learn how to punch correctly. Avoid at all costs punching with bent wrists, or punching with the last two knuckles. This is dangerous to your wrists, as you can sprain or even break a wrist when punching a hard target. Always punch with a straight wrist, with the index and middle finger knuckles reaching their target first.

5 – The Number Six, Mispronounced: Six, in Korean, is “Yeosut.”

When pronounced “Yasut,” it just grates on our ears. It might sound cute coming out of a 5 year-old – the first time – but it gets old quickly. Please ask us if you’re having trouble pronouncing it.

4 – We Are Not Masters Yang, As We Were Once Called:

It is common courtesy to know the names of your instructors! If you’re confused because we happen to look alike, please ask who is who, and we’ll give you some clues to help you tell us apart!

3 – The Joonbi That Takes Forever and a Day:

The ready stance starts with your fists directly under the chin, then ends in front of your belt in one swift motion in a quick one-two count. There is no such thing as a “3-point joonbi”, the one that makes you look like you’re pumping your bicycle pump.

2 – Yawning in Class: Especially in our classes.

This is a sign that you’re not exerting yourself enough, or that you’re bored. If the latter, we can solve this by many, many more push-ups!

1 – Calling Taekwondo ‘Karate” and a Dojang a “Dojo”:

Back in the 1960s and 1970s, many Taekwondo practitioners (even Korean masters) referred to their martial art as “Korean Karate.” That’s because there wasn’t enough awareness of Taekwondo per se, so in order to simplify it for non-Koreans, people referred to the one martial art everyone knew. Today, Taekwondo is the world’s most widely practiced martial art, and although we have utmost respect for Karate and other types of martial arts, no self-respecting Taekwondo practitioner, and especially those of Korean descent, should refer to it as “Karate”, or as their training hall as a “dojo”. That would lead to a LOT of pushups – more pushups than you could ever count in Korean OR English!

This article by Master Whang (Sr. and/or Jr.) was originally written for and posted on www.CarbonEcho.com, a martial arts website dedicated to educating the public about all martial arts. While the site enjoyed tremendous popularity, it ceased operations several years ago.

Pequeño Saltamontes

Do you remember the 1970’s series, “Kung Fu”? It’s gotten a bad rap for many things, and in a lot of ways deservedly so. For fact that it stole Bruce Lee’s idea. For the fact that it was a watered down version of what Bruce Lee envisioned, both in terms of the authenticity of the martial arts, and in terms of refusing to use a “real” Asian leading man in television – too radical a thought back then in Hollywood. For its stereotyping of the Asian man and the martial arts master as inscrutable, ever-mysterious, and completely uninterested in women (I guess that’s why they conveniently made him a monk, so that he wouldn’t pose any sort of “yellow peril”. I don’t remember him ever getting even close to having a girlfriend, let alone trying!!!) For the fact that they used someone with NO real martial arts experience … I mean, I know that David Carradine’s name and identity forever became synonymous with the martial arts after the series, and that to this day he continues tocapitalize on his role in the series by endorsing various instructional home videos and through his reincarnation as his OWN GRANDSON in the new, even worse “Kung Fu” series. But seriously folks, who can’t look good in slow motion shots from behind and down low, waving your arms around in slow circular movements and kicking knee-high at best? My guess is that they probably used stunt men even for those shots.

I have to admit, though, that I absolutely LOVED the series when I was young. I used to watch the program religiously. I can still remember the hauntingly beautiful, Chinese (well, at least it sounded Chinese to me), opening melody in flute, every nuance to which my brother and I would whistle along (and which, by the way, I can’t rid of while writing this piece).

Anyways, back in the early ’70’s when the series came out my brother and I lived in Argentina. So the person you may remember as “Little Grasshopper” was for me “Pequeño Saltamontes”. Kwai Chang Cain spoke halting Spanish, not English, in what I assume was a Chinese accent. Imagine: impressionable 9 year old Korean blue belt Taekwondo boys living in Argentina, dreaming of being just like half-Chinese Shaolin monk played by the White American, fighting for justice against the bad guys (usually White) played to perfection by our older brother (also Korean). My twin brother and I spent countless hours trying to snatch the pebble out of the hand of blind “Maestro” (whom my brother and I took turns playing by rolling our eyes up so only the whites of our eyes showed), so that we could be worthy of leaving the monastery to fulfill our destiny – finding our American birth father in California. Well, we did end up in America, but talk about setting yourself up for an identity crisis!

I haven’t watched the series in a long time, and I cringe when I think how awful I would probably think it was if I saw it now. But you know what? Having been a big fan of the show didn’t inflict any permanent identity crisis damage to my brother or myself. To the contrary, as much as I hate admitting to it on some vague intellectual level, Kwai Chang Cain was actually an early inspiration in my life-long training in the martial arts. I guess there is a greater lesson to be learned from all this, even though I had to think long and hard for anything I could say with a straight face: you can draw positive inspiration from the strangest sources, no matter misguided they may be.

This article by Master Whang (Sr. and/or Jr.) was originally written for and posted on www.CarbonEcho.com, a martial arts website dedicated to educating the public about all martial arts. While the site enjoyed tremendous popularity, it ceased operations several years ago.

Exkewjeu mee ssuh

A volunteer came running to me, all panicked. “Sir, there’s a protest in Ring 15!” I ran down looking for Ring 15, muttering to myself “What is it this time?”

The USTU National Tournament Committee works hard. Very hard. We’re the people in red jackets who run all the USTU’s national events, like Senior Nationals, Junior Olympics and the US Open. We work like dogs, ask ourselves why we do it, and keep coming back for more. I guess love for whatever your particular passion may be leads to irrational behavior. The toughest tournament is always Junior Olympics, partly because of the sheer number of competitors (between 4,000 – 5,000) – but more so because of everyone else, by which I mean coaches, parents and spectators (add another 10,000 people). When we’re on the floor, part of our job is to calm coaches and parents down when they think Junior was “robbed.”

I go to the problem ring, and ask the protesting coach what the problem is. He bows down low. “Exkewjeu mee ssuh. My prayuh, he roozu metchi paibu-paibu.” (Translation: Excuse me sir. My player lost his match, which was scored 5-5.) “My prayuh, he kick beri hahdu. He kiku to hedu. He pushi pushi. Pang-pang! He controru metchi ssuree round. I no undusten.” (Translation: My player kicked really hard. He kicked to the head, was the aggressor (”pushed and pushed”), and controlled the match all three rounds. I don’t understand.”)

I’m totally dumbfounded. Because the coach before me spewing forth in this perfect Konglish is a blond-haired, blue-eyed guy who looks like he’s just stepped off the last plane from Wisconsin. In the nanoseconds that it takes me to respond, a surprising number of things go through my head. “Maybe this guy just immigrated from Denmark or some other Scandinavian country, and hasn’t quite mastered the language – that would explain his blond hair and blue eyes. Or maybe this guy is trying to make fun of Koreans. Or maybe this is one of those guys who thinks that by speaking in heavily Korean-accented English (commonly known as “Konglish”), he’s going to gain some instant credibility as a Taekwondo coach.” After I regain my composure, I ask the only question that pops in my head: “DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?!!!” half expecting to see him showing me his Danish passport.

But his big blue eyes get even bigger. Terror, there is no mistaking it. I can see him freaking out. I can see him thinking through his exit strategy options, and realizing all doors are closed. Finally, I get a deep bow from him. “I’m so sorry, Sir!” I can’t place the accent, because HE HAS NONE!

Needless to say, he quickly dropped his protest after that embarrassment. I recounted this story to my fellow Committee members. When they heard it, their reactions ranged from disbelief to outrage to belly-aching laughter. There were a lot of “shoulda coulda woulda’s” too, like Master Mark Williams suggesting that I should have started speaking with a Puerto Rican accent asking him what he meant.

The incident reminded of this television show I saw a few years ago on the Boy Scouts World Jamboree. Scouts from the world over come and meet, camp, exchange pins, and promote world peace. A 12 year old American boy was filmed asking his 12 year old Japanese counterpart “What do you like about America?” This drew a blank stare and a weak smile from the Japanese boy. He asked the question one more time, with no change in result. The frustrated young American boy thought for a few seconds, and figured it out. He repeated the question in English. But at half speed. And at twice the volume. “WHAT … DO … YOU … LIKE … ABOUT … AMERICA????” A well intended, but ineffective effort at best.

Listen, I’m not going to blow this incident out of proportion, and make some crusade out of it. I know that those who insist on speaking Konglish do so because, in their attempt to pass on the art of Taekwondo to future generations, they feel they have to emulate their mentors in every last way, including their instructors’ bad English. I know that it’s even a subconscious effort to honor one’s mentors. There have been many great men with grand ambitions who left everything behind in Korea (which in many cases included nothing at all) to start a new life here, with nothing in their pockets, and no knowledge of English. The English they learned is the Konglish with which they taught. But I’m sure that over the years all of them went through many moments of frustration wishing they could speak English like Americans do. To speak English, not Konglish.

So if you truly want to pay tribute to your instructors and Sabomnim and others who brought the Asian martial arts to this country, do so by being the best instructor that you can, better even than your own instructor. Do so by being as eloquent as you can, so you can communicate effectively. You are, after all, educators. Trust me, far from offending, you will instead be honoring your instructors by speaking English and not Konglish.

This article by Master Whang (Sr. and/or Jr.) was originally written for and posted on www.CarbonEcho.com, a martial arts website dedicated to educating the public about all martial arts. While the site enjoyed tremendous popularity, it ceased operations several years ago.

Thank you, Dad

Dad was a diplomat for Korea, so my twin brother and I grew up all over the place. We were born in Tokyo, and grew up in Korea, the Philippines, Argentina, Japan and the U.S. So I remember my childhood as a series of separate lives with different friends, schools, languages, foods, tastes and smells.

I also have some very vivid memories of certain incidents in my life which I remember just because they came to define who I am.

My brother and I were four when we moved to the Philippines. When we were six, we enrolled in pre-school. It was a Filipino school, and we were the only Koreans in our class. In fact, we were the only Koreans, Japanese or Chinese kids in school at the time. We were also scrawny little kids – so small when we were born that my mother did not even know she was having twins until I was born, and the doctor regretfully informed by mother that there was one more left. My mom’s reaction was to faint (from joy she claims, although knowing what I know now as a parent, it was probably from sheer terror at the prospect of trying to raise 4 kids at the same time).

Kids being capable of brutally honest cruelty at that age, at the end of school one day, as we were waiting to be picked up, a group of about 20 of our schoolmates surrounded us in a tight circle and started closing in on my twin and me. They started chanting in unison, louder and louder, “JAP!!! JAP!!! JAP!!!”, all the while using their hands to spread their eyes to make the moronic, but universally accepted symbol for “slant-eye”.

At this point I would like to say that we used our Taekwondo skills to dispatch the ringleaders with a few spectacular kicks to the head, and send the rest of the gang scurrying away with their tails between their legs. Unfortunately for us, our first Taekwondo lesson was still a month away. Instead, my brother and I just squatted down in the middle of the circle, side by side, and started to cry… Alright, let’s be honest, we started to bawl. The chanting around us just went on and on.

After what seemed like an eternity, out of the corner of my eye I saw salvation. Dad!!! My hero, come to save the day. He quickly approached us, and the band of thugs dispersed. He took my brother and me by the hand. Instead of comforting us, however, he was strangely cold. The ride back home was completely silent. When we got home, my father ordered us to go upstairs, change into our pajamas, even though it was 3 in the afternoon, and in one of the rare expressions of anger he has ever displayed, slammed our bedroom shut without saying a word to us. Why, I wondered?

A month later, we signed up for Taekwondo lessons with Master Young Man Park, the first Korean Master sent from Korea to teach in the Philippines. I remember the day after my first class, as I was going to sleep, my Dad came to tuck me in. He asked how Taekwondo class was. I said it was fine, but that my thighs hurt from the stretching. He just smiled and turned out the lights.

Two years later we moved to Argentina. We enrolled in a Scottish boys’ school. As if we hadn’t stood out enough in the Philippines, where at least the kids for the most part shared our black hair, here we were now among Scottish, English, American and Argentine kids. Blond hair and blue eyes was the norm. The names and the cruel funny eyes started immediately, with “JAP!!! JAP!!! JAP!!!” becoming “CHINITO – JAPONES!!! CHINITO – JAPONES!!! CHINITO – JAPONES!!!” chanted in a sing-song, almost catchy way. Just as quickly, my brother and I took out the kicks and punches. We settled scores every day for the first month with anyone who made fun of us because we were Korean. Big or small, it didn’t matter, we took them all on. They all backed down after a kick or a punch. They became our friends. Some even became our best friends.

Dad never sat us down and told us why he was mad at us, and over the years I’ve wondered what went through his head that day, and on the day he signed us up for lessons. I know Dad well enough to know that he didn’t enroll us in Taekwondo to create two belligerent fools who would try to settle every score physically (heck, we both became lawyers). But on the other hand, he never told us he enrolled us in Taekwondo so that we could learn to stand on our own two feet. He never gave us a pat on the back congratulating us for fighting for and winning our right to look Korean in a non-Korean world. And I’ve never thanked him for giving me the gift of Taekwondo.

Thank you, Dad.

Epilogue

“Thank You Dad” was written in 2000. In May 2004, our father Mr. Won Yung Whang passed away. For the last 18 years of his life, our father lived with the debilitating effects of a stroke he suffered in 1986, which initially left him paralyzed on his right side. The stroke was stress-induced, the result of a perfect storm of financial and personal challenges that came together and boiled over that year. Although he eventually recovered his physical functioning, he never recovered his speech.

When my brother and I opened West Side Taekwondo in 1992, we could never have anticipated one side benefit that would become a source of great pride for both of us. The frustrations of living with the effects of his stroke had left my father listless, unsocial, and inactive, and that’s how he was in 1992. Soon after we opened the school, our father began to come to the school to visit. A trickle of visits became, within a few months, his “job”. He started coming to the dojang every day, and soon became a fixture. He would wordlessly greet the children and receive their greetings, help them tie their belts, share a quiet meal with Mr. Lim, and to make himself otherwise useful. Six days a week, coming to the dojang became the most important part of his life, so much so that he hated leaving New York. On one occasion, my sister had to literally “kidnap” him under false pretenses (telling him that she was just driving him home to Queens) to drive him and my mother up to Boston to spend a holiday. I think he was forever suspicious of rides in my sister’s car after that day!

My brother and I would mostly see him on Saturdays, since his “day” would be over in the early evening, once the children went home, and before my brother and I would show up to teach the adult classes at night. For Derek and Dylan, Saturday with Grandfather became a routine, one that I’m sure he enjoyed and looked forward to as much as they did. Whenever I saw him at the school, observing classes, watching promotion tests, I could see his pure joy of being amongst the students, the family at West Side, and how proud he felt that his sons had created this institution.

I said in my essay that my brother and I are grateful to my Dad for having given us the gift of Taekwondo. In turn, the art that has brought us so much joy and learning and friendship and passion, allowed us to give our father back a gift, one that gave him a wonderful reason to keep on living every day.

We relocated to 99th Street and Amsterdam Avenue at the end of April, 2004 – just before he fell ill. We are grateful that our father was able to see that new dojang just before his passing; he was so pleased at how new everything was, and how enthusiastic everyone was about this new beginning. We have since moved on from 99th and Amsterdam, as we did from our original location. My father no longer greets students as they come in, but for me, our dojang, wherever it is or might be, will forever be etched with the spirit and memory of students coming to take class, bowing to my father, and my father, smiling back and shaking their hands. Our father was born to humble parents in the humblest of countries in a time that might as well have been the middle ages. He lived through the national humiliation of Japanese occupation of his homeland, where Koreans were second-class citizens in their own country. He lived through the euphoria of liberation from Japan, only to see Korea become a pawn in the global cold war. Seeing where North Korea was headed ideologically, he escaped from his home in what is now North Korea in his early 20’s, never to see his family again. He lived and fought through the brutality of brother killing brother in the Korean War. He served as a military officer after graduation from the prestigious Korean Military Academy, while simultaneously working on a civilian degree from Kyung Hee University. After the war, he was admitted to the Korean Foreign Ministry, and served in the first Korean Embassy in Tokyo. His career took him on to Manila (Philippines), Buenos Aires (Argentina), Osaka (Japan) and Fukuoka (Japan). In 1981, he was unceremoniously cast aside by the government he had served for 25 years after the assassination of President Park, Chung-hee. To our father, who faithfully served God and his country, first as a military officer, then as a seasoned diplomat, becoming, along the way, a sophisticated world traveller, and then chose the hardship of life as a first generation American immigrant in order to be with his children, we say, you lived an amazing and brave life. May your courage, and the pureness of your spirit always be a guide to your sons. Thank You Dad.

The following was written by Sabomnim Sr. and posted on a Taekwondo website after the 2000 Nationals. This was a particularly unfortunate Nationals, where poor refereeing decisions first cost Tom Lynn, Jr. the National Championship (he ended up with the Silver) and then (the very next day) almost cost Jennifer Huang her a medal and the right to compete at Team Trials. Both were being coached by Sab. Sr., and when the second wrong decision was rendered, Sab. Sr. simply “lost it” there is no other way to put it – in what will undoubtedly go down in history as not one of his finest moments. Fortunately, this second of the wrong decisions was overturned afer several hours of deliberation (the referee had counted her opponent to “9″ on a devastating head shot by Jennifer), but many people had witnessed Sab. Sr.’s outburst. This was Sab. Sr.’s letter of explanation to the Taekwondo community.

* * * * * * * * *

May 17, 2000

My name is Sung Chul Whang, and I coached Thomas Lynn Jr. and Jennifer Huang, both of New York, in the two controversial matches (the Men’s Lightweight Finals and the Women’s Featherweight Quarterfinals) at the 2000 Nationals on which many people have commented.

I agree with the commentator who said that there are better ways to voice one’s objections than standing in front of the head table and curse at the top of one’s lungs. I am sorry and apologize to anyone who had to witness that outburst, and take full and sole responsibility for any consequence of those acts. It pains me particularly that the reputation of the Tournament Committee may have been brought into question by my actions, and state with no uncertainty that those actions were mine alone, in my capacity as a concerned coach.

I make no apology, however, for standing up for my fighters. I also point out that my outburst was the culmination of two days of frustration, beginning with Tom Lynn having the National Championship, which was rightfully his, stripped from him (with all due respect to Tae Kim, who is a great fighter), followed by Jennifer Huang having her right to compete at Team Trials stripped from her. All of us who have been involved in competition Taekwondo have had our share of bad calls – you win some, and you lose some. But at any competition, particularly one of such import as the National Championships, my fighters and I have every right to (i) expect competent judging, (ii) know whether critical rules have been amended and (iii) count upon the uniform application of the rules known to then be in effect.

Specifically, we have a right to know whether the yellow score card, which until right after Tom’s match had been mandatory in the minds of most coaches and many referees, had been changed to become discretionary. And we have a right to protest technically incorrect decisions and have such incorrect decisions overturned. I will also add that I was actively discouraged by some people from filing a protest, because of my role as Tournament Committee member. As I said to those who so advised me, as seriously as I take my responsibility to the Committee, I also have a responsibility to stand up for my competitors. And if there was any favoritism on display because of my status as a Tournament Committee member, as has been suggested by one commentator, I would only point to the fact that the arbitration panel took over two hours to come to a decision over Jennifer Huang’s match.

Tom’s match is accurately described in other parts of this site. Yes, Tom had two solid head shots to Tae Kim’s two body shots. Yes, Tom was aggressively pushing the fight throughout three rounds, and although I realize that is a subjective call, I am reinforced in this belief by dozens of spectators who saw the fight and approached me with the same opinion. When I approached the head table to protest the decision, the Referee Chairman removed the yellow card from the table. It was never seen again. The missing yellow card is meaningless, as we all know what the card should have said. Based on very simple mathematics, it should have read Tom Lynn 27 points, Tae Kim 26 points. When I protested that the call was incorrect based upon the yellow card, I was told that the yellow card was discretionary. This was the first time that I had ever heard this. I immediately polled many of the top national coaches thereafter, and each responded the same way: Of course! It’s mandatory!!! I also polled the referees. The first few I spoke to would not speak out. Others later confirmed my belief that Referee Chairman either made up the rule on the spot, or he had only informed a select few of the discretionary nature of the cards. Either way, it is unacceptable that a rule that impacts winning and losing is not publicized in a proper manner PRIOR to its application.

Referee Chairman challenged me to show him where in the referee rule books the yellow card is shown to be mandatory. I countered that as in the law generally, there is statutory law, and there is common law, the law that has developed over the years from usage and custom as part of the practice of the jurisdiction. And the common law is no less enforceable than statutory law. The use of the cards, and the mandatory decision-making based on the results of the card rise, in my humble opinion, the equivalent of the common law of Taekwondo competition.

I also pointed out that when the scoring system was first introduced, as coaches we were informed that the purpose of the cards was to take the discretion away from the hands of the referee in the case of a tie, because too often it was claimed the referee’s discretion was questionable and unsupportable. At least with a mandatory, if imperfect, system, there would always be an objective manner in which to decide a winner in case of a tie. What Referee Chairman was now telling me was that the rule that was introduced to get rid of the referees’ discretion was suddenly, and might I add contradictorily, discretionary again. I know I am not the only one to question the fallacy of such circular thinking.

I have subsequently spoken to many referees, including at least two international referees, who have stated unequivocally that scoring under the yellow card was mandatory. Per Referee Chairman himself. Many coaches and others intimately involved in competition have stated the same thing over and over. I understand that rules can be changed, but when they are, there must be notice to the relevant public to that effect. Hypothetically speaking, if fighters were all of a sudden allowed to score points by punching to the head, it would be ludicrous to keep such a new rule from the knowledge of those whom it most directly impacts – the fighters and their coaches. Even more absurd would be to keep that rule from those who judge them, the referees, which is apparently what happened in this instance. Referees who were courageous enough to speak to us honestly said that until Referee Chairman told them for the first time AFTER we had protested Tom Lynn’s match that the cards were discretionary, they had been told in no uncertain terms that the yellow cards were mandatory. Mandatory, not discretionary. These same referees have said that they hated the card system, because they had been in situations in which they thought use of the yellow card system would force the wrong winner, but that even in those instances they had been told that they HAD TO follow the card system.

To have your fighter lose the National Championship based upon a rule that was changed unilaterally and without notice is bad enough. Then, to be told that your next fighter (Jennifer Huang) loses a quarterfinal match because those same rules which were supposed to have been changed are actually still in effect was more than I could handle. The center referee in this instance stated that when she added the scores on her sheet, it showed Jennifer Huang’s opponent as winning. As inexplicable and blatantly wrong as the referee’s call on superiority was in that match, my protest was based on other grounds.

I protested the result of the match based on several mistakes made by the center referee, including the fact that the other competitor had been given too much injury time, and that the center referee had counted to “nine”, not only “eight” , before checking on the other competitor. During the excessive time that was unfairly given the Jennifer’s opponent, I challenged the decision of the referee at the head table to force the match to continue, even after the center referee told him something to the effect that she could not in good conscience allow that match to continue as the other competitor was bleeding too profusely. The referee at the head table ordered the match to continue over my protestations. I had no choice but to let Jennifer continue to fight; my other option would be to keep her out of the ring, and forfeit the match.

The rest is history. If nothing else, the competitors and coaches will now know whether the yellow card system is discretionary, mandatory or mandatory but discretionary. Imagine what the Olympic Trials will be like this weekend if coaches and their athletes don’t know!

In closing, I note that Tom’s match is still officially under protest. But more importantly, I want to end on a positive note and point out that the outbursts were mine and mine alone. I am humbled and proud of the way Tom and Jennifer conducted themselves throughout the protest, and thereafter. Both accepted their decisions, and never turned bitter at the course of events. They walked away like champions, and in the true spirit of Taekwondo. Tom’s biggest concern that day was that his little brother fell one point shy of joining him in the medal stands and at Team Trials. I know I fell short of displaying exemplary behavior, and I don’t presume to be able to say I will never have such a moment again. I certainly hope that I will be remembered by the Taekwondo community for things other than standing in the ring and swearing. I apologize for the inappropriate language, but otherwise stand firm by my actions. I can only hope that we will all be the wiser for this experience.

Lisa Fearon Interviews Master Whang on Dartmouth TKD

September 3, 2003

1. What motivated you to start a Taekwondo club at Dartmouth? What was your/other co-leaders’ background in Taekwondo at the time?

By the time my brother and I arrived at Dartmouth, we had trained in Taekwondo for a number of years in the Philippines, Argentina, and in Michigan. Since there was no TKD club when we arrived at Dartmouth, we figured the next best thing would be to take up the only martial arts class offered at the time.

There was a longstanding Shotokan Karate club at Dartmouth, headed by Master Kazumi Tabata from Boston. He would travel up once a week to teach a class, or one of his senior students would come up and do so. Master Tabata had established a collegiate competition league (whose acronym was NECKC, the NorthEastern Collegiate Karate Conference) in the preceding decade (I assume), in which various colleges from the Northeast competed in Kata (forms) and Kumite (sparring), both done in a team format, 5 man teams each. In fact, this format was the one that we used when we established the rules for what would eventually become the INCTL. There was a level of excitement and competitiveness to the team competition format that was different from individual competition, and for the first two years at Dartmouth, we participated in these competitions in the New England area. These were point sparring tournaments. No kicks allowed to the head, points for punches to the body or pulled punches to the head.

Our sophomore year, Javier Arizmendi, a former member of the Mexican National Team, enrolled as a freshman at Dartmouth. He and his brother were, even at that time, stars of the Mexican TKD community, both of them having competed and medalled at international competition for Mexico. Fortunately for the future of Taekwondo at Dartmouth, Javier was a world class TKD athlete as well as instructor. Javier and we became friends quite early on, and Javier began to take Karate classes as well, again because there was no TKD club. This was when we began to think of the idea of establishing a Taekwondo, rather than a Karate club at Dartmouth.

Javier started to teach classes on some of the days when Master Tabata was not there, and the flavor of the “Karate Club” slowly changed towards Taekwondo. My brother and I were perfectly comfortable with this shift, both since we were Korean, and because we had previous TKD training.

In terms of the intercollegiate competitions, we had early on sought out other martial arts clubs in the Ivy Leagues to compete against. For example, in early 1983, my brother and I made contact with what was then called the Karate club at Yale, and the Tangsoodo club at Princeton, and asked them if they would like to participate in an individual school competition, using a team competition format. We took a trip to Yale on Friday night, and then Princeton on Saturday, and competed, agreeing to rules as we went along. This was, in effect, the beginning of the INCTL, and Yale to this day (even though they may not remember!) considers that first trip that the Dartmouth Team took to Yale to have been the first of what is now billed as the “nth Annual” Yale Taekwondo Invitational.

I mention these early trips because one of the things that we introduced to the then fledgling league was WTF style competition, starting around 1984. Before then, our competitions would be point sparring competition. This was also part of the trend that we initiated as a club to move away from Karate to TKD. It was basically something that occurred on many difference fronts.

The final shift came at the end of our Junior year, when we hired Master Jong Soo Lee from nearby Concord, New Hampshire to come and take over Master Tabata’s position . I believe it was some time in 1984. In retrospect, we could have simply left the Karate club as it was, and just started a new club, but between a collective few of us, we were in essence the Karate club, and we all collectively wanted to change to a Taekwondo club.

2. Did other martial arts groups exist at Dartmouth at the time? What was the club sport scene like then?

There were no other martial arts clubs at Dartmouth when we were there, from 1981 – 1986 (unless you would consider Tai Chi a martial arts class – I think it was taught more like a yoga class back then). I believe soon after we graduated some other club might have started, but when we were there, we were in effect the only martial arts club. We had others who had previous experience in martial arts join us from time to time and there was really never a problem with others coming in and training with us.

We were also a Phys. Ed. program, which helped to bring in participants who wanted to get their credits. As for other club sports, I don’t think we’re qualified to talk about, or perhaps remember, what things were like back then

3. What sort of philosophy was your club founded upon? Since you did participate tournaments, did the club have more of a competitive sports team nature, or were there people involved who did not compete?

Freshman year, I remember very vividly when my brother and I would work out — we’d take classes with Master Tabata during those days when he taught, but then we would just work out by ourselves, meaning just my brother and myself, for an hour afterwards when we took class, or just by ourselves when there was no class. I think that was a very formative period in our training, as well, because we were pretty competitive against each other, being twins and all, and we pushed each other. But essentially, I remember just loving working out and training and learning, and trying to get better. I think that’s a philosophy that drove the club in its early days.

When Javier started teaching classes, I think the one thing he instilled in everyone around him was an intensity and passion for training, the idea of really putting 100% into every kick, almost to the point of being like crazed individuals, that kind of intensity.

4. Who was your advisor/ instructor? Do you know when Master Lee from Manchester began instructing?

We consider the late Grand Master Pong Ki Kim, from whom we received our first degree black belts to be our Kwanjangnim. We trained at his dojang in Woodside, Queens, from the early 1980’s and sporadically until the late 1980’s, when we were away from Dartmouth on breaks, etc. Javier was no less of a teacher to us and to the other members of the Taekwondo Club/Team, but his instruction was on a less formal basis because we were all friends and of the same age. But Javier was the senior ranking member, and with his international competition experience brought a wealth of training and fighting techniques and spirit to all of us who were training together.

As a club sport, around 1984 David Dawley, Dartmouth Class of 1964, became our advisor. David then was Director of Alumni Affairs, and he not only advised us, but also trained with us. He was advisor/friend/mentor, and remains a good friend to this day.

5. Do you feel as though your attitude/ philosophy regarding tkd has changed since your time at Dartmouth?

Yes and No. No in the sense that I think that everything about our training and about our teaching was shaped from that very early time in our training, in terms of demanding the most of yourself in training, and demanding the most of people around you.

Yes in the sense that we couldn’t help but grow in the course of 20 years of training since we were at Dartmouth. Taekwondo training itself has changed so much, as a business, in terms of training methods, in terms of techniques, even in terms of teaching philosophy. I also think that as we have grown more experienced, we have also become more open not only to different teaching methods and different ways of doing different things, but also in terms of different martial arts. I consider myself to have developed a true appreciation for other styles that I may not have had when I was younger. Perhaps it’s just a difference between a brash young person and a more weathered and seasoned veteran. For example, I consider my training when we were taking Karate from Master Tabata to have stayed with me to this day, in terms of even very basic things like punching when sparring, something that I think more Taekwondoists can learn from, and something that we have passed on to many of our own generations of students.

6. What sort of facilities were available to you when you led the club at Dartmouth? What sort of equipment was at your disposal? Were you able to get funding from the college?

For the first two years when we trained, I am pretty sure that the only facility we had available was the space known as the “trophy room” in the old gym, where they used to sell tickets for football, basketball, etc. Linoleum floor, bad lighting. But we were happy. (The Sailing Team wasn’t though – we often held classes while they held meetings, and they would sometimes be very upset with our loud classes.) We did eventually get to use the fencing room in the old gym, by which time I think we were working out 3-4 times a week. But it was a nice change to actually have a workout area.

In terms of equipment, Dartmouth funded some of our purchases, others came from voluntary dues. Dartmouth did provide funding by the time Master Lee stared teaching, especially in terms of paying Master Lee for his teaching visits to Dartmouth.

7. The club currently operates on a fairly democratic basis – we have member elected officers with various assigned duties. How did the club operate under your leadership?

During our time at Dartmouth, the club was at most a core group of 15-20 people. I think that it was pretty much the two of us, Javier Arizmendi, Alfredo Torruella, Rob Popper, and some others who ran everything. The two of us probably did most of the administrative work, and Javier did a lot of the teaching. It really was a group of good friends working out together, very little hierarchy, other than Javier being the most senior rank, and the one with the most competitive and teaching experience.

8. How large was the club in terms of membership? Did you have a difficult time retaining new members? Was there anything you could do to maintain interest or excitement among students?

Club membership never was much bigger than 20 or so hardcore people. I believe the Phys. Ed. classes might have been a little bigger, but not much. There was not much that we did to recruit new members. We did perform several demos each year, at Collis, at some of the fraternities at their invitation, etc. I think that the competitions that we went to, for those who competed, made training interesting and exciting.

9. Did you practice WTF style? What was sparring like? What sort of poomsae did you teach?

As I explained in response to the first question, we switched over to WTF style sparring in around 1984. Sparring back then was basically very similar to sparring now, except that back then double/triple kicks were only just getting widespread. What you see now as “fast-kicks” were not really much used. Ax kicks were very popular, but they were always straight legged. Fighting was, in a sense, much more basic. Coaching was pretty much non-existent, or what there was of it consisted of your teammates just yelling at you from the sidelines to “kick”.

At Dartmouth, we instituted a mix of the Taeguk and Palgue forms, since we were training in them with our Kwanjangnim in Queens.

10. What was your most memorable experience during your time with Dartmouth Taekwondo – in competition, class, etc.?

Speaking for myself, I think the most memorable aspect of training at Dartmouth was just the tremendous friendships that we developed with a small circle of friends. Other than that, I guess it would have to be the competitions that we went to, most of which were very small by today’s standards, but the intensity and sense of team spirit was as strong back then as it is in today’s INCTL competitions. I have very fond memories of hard contested battles between Dartmouth and other teams.

11. Did you have any sort of vision for the future of the tkd club at Dartmouth? What would you like to see happen with the club now?

My wish for the club at Dartmouth now would be that it would have a stable base, one that could ensure a long lasting tradition with continuity. That can only happen when there is someone more or less permanently attached to the club.

12. What was the hardest part about starting the tkd club? What sort of difficulties if any did you encounter during your time as leader of the club?

I don’t remember there being anything particularly difficult about starting the club, or changing over to taekwondo, but again, maybe that’s because we always felt like it was so much fun and we just loved working out and training, more than anything else. I guess when we were going through it, it probably was dealing with minor administration issues that was most “difficult”, but I can’t even say that it was “difficult”. And things just grew out as time progressed, we had no grand vision for the club, we just trained, and wished that other schools would get clubs, and get better clubs, so that we could compete against them.

This article by Master Whang (Sr. and/or Jr.) was originally written for and posted on www.CarbonEcho.com, a martial arts website dedicated to educating the public about all martial arts. While the site enjoyed tremendous popularity, it ceased operations several years ago.

The Secret Handshake

I’ve never been part of a secret society. I am not a Mason, nor was I ever tapped on my shoulder from behind and invited to join any senior secret societies in college. Yet, I’ve often thought that people must be wondering what kind of secret society I belong to.

You see, on the street, when I run into my students, what people often see is two perfectly normal people in regular business clothes, one of whom is Korean American (me) and the other who is usually anything but, bow, and exchange the “Secret Handshake” — the Taekwondo handshake. This I do with men and women of all ages, even with children. It’s usually when this happens on the New York City subway trains on my way to my day job as a lawyer in midtown Manhattan that this exchange draws quizzical looks from my fellow commuters.

There’s not much to do other than to leave the public puzzled and wondering, maybe even a little scared that they are in the midst of witnessing some secret cult ritual. As a Taekwondoist and as someone who grew up with Korean culture, this behavior is completely second nature to me. But I often have to stop and take a step back. Even with my students, I have to constantly remind myself that there are reasons behind the way we shake hands that are not obvious to someone who does not come from a background like my own.

For those of you who are non-Taekwondoists, we shake hands with the non-shaking hand supporting the shaking one. In essence, we shake hands with both hands.

People of the “Just do as I do” school of thought might simply explain it as, “This is what we do, so just do it”. I like to explain it a little more in detail.

The simplest explanation is that when you shake hands the way we do, and with a bow, we are showing each other that the simple and every day act of meeting, extending a hand, taking the other person’s in yours, is a precious act, one which is worthy of more than merely one hand. It’s analogous to receiving a precious piece of art, a vase or a trophy,or some other treasure. One would certainly never exchange such objects flippantly by tossing them at each other, and anyone who valued such an object is likely to accept it carefully and respectingly with both hands. “You are valuable to me, and so is the act of shaking your hand” is the message inherent in this handshake.

Technically, though (and forgive me for getting too legalistic here), in Korean culture, ,just as the senior in any given relationship is not obligated bow to the junior when meeting (in fact SHOULD not bow if the relationship is a well established one), the senior is not obligated to do the Handshake with a junior. One hand without the bow is enough.

I’ve long stopped trying to explain all those complicated rules, the exceptions to the rules, the exceptions to the exceptions, etc., that I started outlining above. It’s just too complicated. I just do the Handshake across the board. Sometimes, doing so is actually in line with the real rules, as when I shake the hands of those students who are are older than me. Although I am senior in rank to them as a Taekwondoist, I am also their junior in age and life experience, so the Handshake can be appropriate in that context.

But as a matter of fact, I just end up doing the Handshake with everyone, even the youngest Pee Wee child, because it’s much easier to teach them by that simple example, than to lay out the rule, and the exceptions to the rule, etc.,etc. Heck, with all the rules and exceptions, you’d need a lawyer nearby just to figure it all out.

Besides, I like my secret society.

This article by Master Whang (Sr. and/or Jr.) was originally written for and posted on www.CarbonEcho.com, a martial arts website dedicated to educating the public about all martial arts. While the site enjoyed tremendous popularity, it ceased operations several years ago.

I am a Yellow Pages Junkie

Am I the only one who does this?

Whenever I travel to a different city, and I travel a lot, and I am staying in a hotel, one of the first things I do after I unpack my bags, hang my clothes, set up my toiletry kit, and change into something comfortable, is check out the Yellow Pages. I start at “M”, looking for an entry for “Martial Arts”. In the bigger cities, this is indeed where I find my treasure trove: the listing of local martial arts schools. Unfortunately, in smaller towns across America, you have to go to “K”, under “Karate – and Martial Arts” in order to find your listing of Taekwondo, Kung Fu, Jiujitsu, etc. schools. I am always a little disheartened to have to go to “K”. I’m appalled that in the year 2000 major businesses like the Yellow Pages still have no clue that “Karate” is not a generic word for the martial arts. Don’t they realize that it’s like listing your local Burger King and Balthazar’s under the singular heading Food”? (Alright, call me a snobbish, name-dropping New Yorker. By the way, I’ve noticed a marked difference in the way people treat New Yorkers these day, just because we have 2 teams in the World Series. Sheesh!)

Anyways, one of my interests in looking at the Yellow Pages ads is just to see what kinds of martial arts are offered in the area. My interest as a martial artist is piqued. How many Taekwondo schools? ITF? WTF? Do I know the instructors personally? Have I heard of them? How many styles of Karate, and how many of Kung Fu? Kempo? American or Japanese? Tangsoodo? Hwarangdo? Hapkido? Jeet Kune Do? Any Jiujitsu schools? Japanese or Brazilian style? Gracie? Machado? If Gracie, is it “Gracie-style” or is it really a school owned and operated and taught by a Gracie?

I’m also a dojang owner, so I also like to see what kinds of ads are out there, maybe I can learn something and use it for my own school. How big are the ads? Is it something that appeals to me, or is it, to steal from Carbonecho’s own famous movie critics, smack of a major cheese factor? A big clue: if they use faux “Oriental” (excuse the word) style English characters … in my opinion, you might as well write you ad in broken English and say “We Namba Wan Orientar Mashar Ahts School and Grosseri”.

How much do they pay for these Yellow Pages ads? If they pay anything close to what we pay for our ads in Manhattan, they make the rents charged on Madison Avenue seem like peanuts. I mean, $600.00 a month for 6 square inches is the equivalent of … $170,000 per square foot per year!!! Talk about extortion.

Questions that have gone through my mind as I recall my finger walking travels are many. Is it really possible for someone not only to be a Grand Master of Karate, Judo, Taekwondo, Kickboxing, Kung Fu, Brazilian Jiujitsu, and Arnis simultaneously, but to pass on all that knowledge to one’s students? What must it have been like to train with Elvis, at that Taekwondo dojang in Memphis? How cool would that have been, if only to be able to say that you trained with Elvis?! I’m serious! Would I want to learn Taekwondo from someone who advertises his school with a picture of himself balancing on one leg, with the other leg hoisted above and behind his head? Could he possibly have a rational martial reason for doing this? Why is it that in my travels through Great Britain, Ireland, and France, I never see the same breadth of martial arts offerings in their Yellow Pages counterparts?

I don’t mean to belittle anyone with my observations of these Yellow Pages ads. Ultimately what I draw from this is a reflection about myself. I am obsessed with the martial arts. I am, and have been, obsessed with Taekwondo for thirty years, and to prove it, I have this obsession with the “Martial Arts” section of the Yellow Pages.

When I was about to test for my Black Belt many years ago, the late Grand Master Pong Ki Kim, told me, “When you are getting ready to test for your Black Belt, you should be obsessed with the desire to become a Black Belt. You have to live it, dream it, it has to become an overwhelming desire.” His words were true then, but I don’t think he could have predicted how true his own words would have rung so many years after his passing, because this is exactly what I tell my own students.