Sensei

I was blessed to have two of the finest aikido teachers during my tour of duty in Japan. The head teacher’s name was Yamamoto and the “second in command” was Matsumoto. Both of these men were members of the Japanese Air Defense Force, Japan’s version of the United States Air Force. Interestingly enough, Yamamoto was an officer (Major) while Matsumoto was enlisted (Chief Master Sergeant). The dojo was under the primary supervision of Isoyama Shihan (Master Teacher or Master of Masters). Isoyama Shihan was retired military as well.

These two men had differences of opinion on a lot of things and it showed itself in the dojo. Yamamoto’s aikido was very linear, fast and harsh. At 5’2” and about 140 pounds, he had to use every bit of his small frame to deploy techniques against his typically taller and heavier American and European students.

I enjoyed training with Yamamoto very much because he was aggressive and kind of a "scrapper." His technique was not pretty or refined but would definitely work in a close-quarter combat situation. His command of the English language was more than adequate to overcome my very poor Japanese skills and we would often have long conversations over sake and beer about warriorship and Budo. He was gregarious and kind-hearted; he and his family became very close to ours.

It’s been a long time and I could be wrong, but I’m fairly certain Yamamoto had samurai ancestors. He had a unique family crest and displayed two very old swords in his small home, the larger katana and its companion, the wakizashi. During one of our sake fueled conversations, I embarrassed myself when I mentioned feeling bad about our two countries having fought each other in WW2. To make things worse, I noted feeling equally sorry that the U.S. had no choice but to drop the hydrogen bomb on his native Hiroshima. At that moment, he glared at me, put his cup down and said, “Don’t be sorry. If we would had the bomb we would have dropped it on you. That is war.” Like I said, I had a lot of sake. I stumbled back to the base feeling like a complete dumb ass, but knowing I had just been schooled in warrior culture.

Matsumoto was on a completely different spectrum.

My nickname for him was “the mechanic” because his flawless aikido technique was and remains the best I’ve ever seen. Not flashy or showy like so many “masters” I see today. But circular, definitive and beautiful. Matsumoto knew very little English, but he loved aikido and was more than willing to do extra training a couple days a week with me and another guy on the Japanese side Misawa Air Base. He expressed his sincerity through his technique in a way that I feel the founder of aikido, Morhihei Ueshiba would have approved. One of the few English phrases he knew and said often was, “Practice makes perfect.”

In my mind, Matsumoto was a physical expression of Budo. Reps, upon reps, upon reps to get it right, knowing that you will never get it completely right. And that’s the point. However, Matsumoto was no push-over.

About a year after I started training at the dojo, I was having a conversation after class in the parking lot about the effectiveness of aikido with a couple of other American students. We all had previous fighting/martial arts experience and we had doubts about how these really technical, circular movements would hold up street fight.

Matsumoto was walking out to his car and overheard our conversation. He may not have spoken much English, but he apparently understood it very well. He walked up to me and said, “You hit me. Hit me in face.” “Really?” I said. “Like, really punch you in the face as hard as I can?” “Hai” (yes), he said. The three of us were kind of shocked, not only at Matsumoto’s request but that he understood what were were talking about.

So, I hit him in the face has hard and as fast as I could with a right cross. Well, I attempted to hit him in the face. I knew how to box and land a punch. I knew how to connect with my target, especially when that target didn’t know how to block. Somehow, my feet left the ground and I found myself rolling on the pavement in the parking lot. As my astonished friends looked at me lying on my back, Matsumoto simply got in his car and drove away.

I know that sounds like typical martial arts lore, but it really did happen that way. Matsumoto did nothing magical; he didn’t hit me with some mystical force or throw “chi” balls at me. As I would later find out, he simply used a circular throw called kaiten nage which was appropriate for such an attack.

My favorite memory of Matsumoto was when he showed up at the airport to bid my family farewell as we left Japan for the last time. He wore his full dress military uniform in his quiet and sincere way of honoring us. To this day, I remain very humbled.

Two very different men with two very different approaches. I learned so many valuable things from them about martial arts, about life. About how to treat people. And they both had impeccable martial skills.

Here’s the takeaway.

At no time did either one of them expect me to call them, sensei. As a matter of fact, they really didn’t like it when I did. They preferred (-san) after their name, as in “Matsumoto-san,” which is a polite way to say “Mr.”

Sensei. Such an over-used and completely misunderstood word in western culture.

These two men had a lasting impact on my life and I’m sure the lives of others. They didn’t have to. They weren’t paid to teach aikido. There was no directorate for them as military members to interact with foreigners. No reason for us to become friends.

But in Budo, all of the silly nonsense that divides so many people today are non-issues in a good dojo, run by the person or people deserve to be called, Sensei.

Dave Magliano

Tatsu Dojo

Jissenkan Budo

Dojo Cho