Friday, August 5, 2011 by C. Michial Jones
The second day in Michigan began with a phone call that every Goju-Ryu practitioner dreams of. Perkins Sensei called at 8:00 AM: “Tokumura Sensei has agreed to train Goju-Ryu with us.”
After a whirlwind pack-up—including catching my kohai, Jason, mid-morning run—we arrived at the dojo just as Tokumura Sensei was finishing a breakfast from McDonald’s. It was a humble setting for a masterclass, but as he ate, he began to weave stories of the giants of our art: Miyagi, Shimabuku, Miyazato, Akamine, and Matayoshi. Hearing history from someone who has been on the mats since 1957 is like watching a black-and-white photo come to life.
The Presentation of the Teechu
Before we stepped onto the mats, I presented Tokumura Sensei with a letter of appreciation from my police department and a uniform patch. In Okinawan culture, these small tokens of one’s “other life” are deeply respected.
I also presented him with a pair of handmade teechu (pointed hand-held weapons) I had crafted myself. After a brief language barrier hurdle, he realized they were a presento. He examined them closely, testing the grip, and offered a nod of approval: “Nice, nice. Good grip.” In that moment, the bond between student and teacher was solidified through the craft of the weapon itself.
“No, No, No”: The Lineage Check
We bowed in, and I made the formal request: “Onegaishimasu Goju-Ryu Karate-do.” Jason went first, demonstrating Seiunchin. Jason is a dedicated brown belt, but his lineage had flavored the kata with the “flash” of tournament competition. Tokumura Sensei’s reaction was immediate: “No, no, no, no, no.” It was a stark reminder of the Okinawan perspective. To a Hanshi, there is no “tournament version” of a kata; there is only the correct version. Turning to me, he asked if I had taught him that way. When I replied “No, Sensei,” he simply said, “Me see, you do.”
Refinement of the Internal Arts
I performed my Seiunchin, and he offered only a single, subtle correction to a hand position. We then moved through the higher kata:
- Seipai: He caught a flaw I had been fighting since my accident—I wasn’t sliding far enough on the suri-ashi movements. He pushed me to find that extra inch of reach, despite my hip injury.
- Seisan: He corrected the height of my “grab” after the turn. I was reaching for the lapel; he instructed me to drop it to the solar plexus level for better leverage.
- Kururunfa: He watched in silence, offering no corrections.
When I finished, he offered a phrase I will never forget: “Chikara Chiro no Chan Chan Ichiban.” Through the language gap, he explained the meaning: Strong, fast, springy, number one. To hear “Nice, very good” from a man of his stature made every mile of the drive worth it.
The Long Road Home
The afternoon was spent in a four-hour intensive seminar covering the Eiku (Okinawan oar), Nunti Bo, and Tekko. We were joined by Wayne Currie, the IGKA Canada Shibu-cho, further expanding the brotherhood of the day.
However, the life of a modern Budoka is rarely just about the dojo. Because of my duties back home and an upcoming interview, we had to leave immediately after the seminar. We drove through the most violent rainstorm I have seen in years, finally pulling into my driveway at 2:00 AM.
A few hours later, I was back on duty, trading my keiko-gi for a police uniform. My body was exhausted, but my mind was “springy.” I had gone to Michigan to learn about weapons, but I returned with a deeper understanding of the very foundations of my Goju-Ryu.
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