My father, an Eastern European immigrant, was involved in the martial arts back before most knew much about it. One evening, while walking through woods to get home, he was attacked by three robbers. Surprisingly to the robbers, he kicked two of their butts and had the third one running away like a world class sprinter. The media got wind of what had happened and he became the talk of the Cleveland community. Soon, he became the go-to guy for people wanting to learn self-defense.
A few years later he opened a martial arts school that five decades later, still stands. The Mayfield Academy of Self-Defense was a place I spent many of my formative years. As a freshman in high school, after my school day ended, I’d walk a few miles to the Academy and clean up before the evening classes. However, cleaning was but a minor part of why I walked all that way several days a week. Mainly, I went to work out—alone. And sometime with friends. I was a slim kid and nowhere near a black belt but I loved working the bags and sparring with some of my friends who either walked with me from school or came up later. Much of the sparring was full contact boxing with friends who weren’t martial artists but more so, boxers. Even at that young age I knew that martial arts weren’t just the traditional Asian forms of combat but any type of training that gets you were you want to go—manly surviving or winning. In retrospect, the whole experience of walking to the school, cleaning and working-out was a good character builder for me.
It took me many years of blood, sweat and literally tears to get good at the martial art my father invented, which he called Minna Jiu-Jitsu. It was difficult to live up to everyone’s expectations of the owner’s son having to be as good as the Master. Anyway, I dealt with horrible and arrogant teachers in my quest to get good at the style. Eventually, I got better than most and second to none in sparring. However, none of it came easy. I worked and practiced hard and had heart to heart talks with my mother who helped me realize how to become successful there and in life as well.
The school was a big part of my life. Sometimes I’d bring girlfriends up during class hours and sometimes, after class hours as well. I learned how to train in unison with doctors, laborers and business men and women. I learned how to deal with bold, arrogant and shy people. Eventually, I taught children’s classes for my father and I became an empowering teacher.
Bowing
Our style of martial arts was based at its core, on Japanese jiu-jitsu. With its Japanese core, also came some Japanese tradition. Bowing was the big one. Everyone had to bow at the door when they entered the school and also again when leaving. And we’d bow before sparring or fighting as well.
I always had a problem with bowing. I understood the bowing before a fighting or sparring session—you know, kind of like a hand shake before a competition—like okay, we’ll follow civil rules as we try to kick each other’s ass. Sort of like following the Marquess of Queensberry rules in boxing. But bowing to a building as when we came in and out of the dojo, I never understood. Nevertheless, I followed the rules and bowed when I was required to, but truthfully, I thought it was ridiculous.
Let me fast forward about four decades to when my father died and I took over the leadership role at the Academy. I had largely been away from the dojo for decades while being a police officer, college instructor and some other career paths I had been involved in, but I was never too far away and the transition went well. We had a great group of teachers and students to help keep the school vibrant and meaningful. I kept all the traditions in place, even bowing. But I never changed my mind about it. How can one bow to a building or a room, for Gods sake!
Many years went by and the school was quite successful. We churned out great students, some of them telling us that they had successfully used what they learned to fend off attackers. The school was an extended family for many members and our teachers passionately helped students. Everything was grand.
One day we hosted a martial arts workshop and there were black belts from all over Ohio in attendance. After the event, one of the attendees introduced himself and asked me if it would be alright if he took some pictures of the school. I said, “Of course, but why in the world would you want to take any pictures in here?” It was an old building and the school pretty much was being held together by glue and luck. He said, “It’s been years since I’ve seen a school like this, it’s like a museum.” I had been around the school for so long I guess I almost forgot the awesome old swords, knives, old pictures and other martial arts memorabilia that adorned the old walls.
Chairs
One of the few changes I made when I took over was to buy new chairs. There were about 30 spectator chairs that were decades old and pretty beat up. When I was getting ready to throw the old ones out and put the new ones in, my phone started ringing off the hook. Present and former students caught wind of my chair change and they were calling and asking if I could be sure to put an old chair aside for them! They wanted to put them in their dens, basements, workout rooms and God knows where else. All 30 chairs were picked up in a few days. I didn’t even get to keep one myself, not that I wanted one, after all, to me, they were just chairs and part of a brick and mortar building.
Boxing and Cleaning Up
One of our accomplished black belt students, Derrick, was considering getting into boxing. He asked if I could recommend a good boxing gym. I had a friend who was a retired local boxer who had fought Mike Tyson back in the day and who knew everything about the local boxing scene. One evening, he took us around and we checked out three gyms. Two of them were ultra-modern, clean and antiseptic. The third gym was old and weathered with ancient boxing equipment and walls that were peppered with decades old pictures and memorabilia. Derrick, looked at me and said, “You can smell success and champions being made here. Blood and sweat, and years of dreams in the making. This is where I would go.” Ultimately, though, Derrick decided against boxing and stayed with traditional martial arts.
Wax on, Wax Off
Speaking of Derrick, one day he asked me if he could have the part-time cleaning position that had opened up at the school. Derrick, was gainfully employed and it was a bit of a surprise that he wanted the low paying job. Derick got the gig and for several years he would come in after hours, sometimes quite late, and clean up. He told me that after he finished cleaning he’d dim the lights, put his feet up and relax a bit before going home. He said he got a serene feeling being alone in the school, one that he couldn’t quite explain.
One day Derrick suffered a serious leg injury and couldn’t train or even clean anymore. His rehab would take a year or so but he asked me if he could have his job back when he was all healed up. I told D, as we called him, that I wasn’t going to hire anyone and I was going to do it myself, and yes, when he was ready, he’d get his job back.
Wearing a Couple of Hats
Well, I became a cleaning person as well as the boss and after I was done cleaning, guess what I started doing as well? Ha! I too put my feet up and relaxed as I looked out our huge 60 foot long by 20 foot high picture window. It was serene and calm watching the world go by as I sat in that school of strength and memories.
Like Derrick, I also cleaned late at night. I’d be all alone and the shopping center parking lot was as deserted as a ghost town as I swept, cleaned the toilets and took the garbage out. I liked being there alone. I somehow felt connected in that building. Like a close friend but deeper. I couldn’t put my finger on it but I felt calm and content down to my core. Weird. I told Derrick how I felt and he said that he felt the same way. I never really thought too much about it.
Shock
One evening, a friend told me that the shopping center owner, Nicki, my landlord, had suddenly died of a heart attack. She had been getting up in age and been trying to sell the center. Soon after her death, I found out that the center had indeed been sold, apparently just before her death and it was now in Probate, which was the courts way to legalize everything about the new sale and ownership.
By coincidence, I soon met the new owner who told me that when Probate clears for the shopping center, he planned to tear it down for something new. He also said that all the tenants, including Mayfield Academy, will be okay for about 12 months. Meaning that it will take that long for everything to be completed for the shopping centers transition. That gave me about a year with the dojo.
Change
Mayfield Academy is the oldest continuous martial arts school in Ohio and that was about to end. Knowing that it was soon to be but a memory, I started contemplating. I realized that I had spent more time in that building then any home that I had ever lived in. A part of my soul was in that school. It never changed, it was always there for me. It was like that old parent or grandparent that was always there for you. How can that just be wiped away? It was a solid part of my life, like an arm or a leg. It seemed real. Wait a minute . . . am I talking about a building? A building can’t be all of that!
I told our instructors and key people where we stood at the Academy and that until we get close to closing, we’ll do just as good as we’ve always done. I said that it had always been about helping the students be the best that they could be and it’ll stay that way until the final flicker of our lights.
COVID 19
Soon after talking to our group, the COVID 19 pandemic hit Ohio and in the interest of safety, our school, along with all gyms and similar schools in Ohio, were mandated to temporarily close. During the closing, the school was empty for several months, the first time in 50 years! It was surreal.
I’d go up to get the mail every other evening as our minuscule mailbox would easily overflow. Once there, I’d get pretty reflective and reminiscent as I knew that it was just a matter of time before the school would be torn down and destroyed. One night, as I was getting ready to walk out and the lights were all off, I couldn’t help but stop and look around. I wanted to look at the entire school, feel it, touch it, smell it and pay my respects to it. I looked at the mat part of the school where all the action had always been and then I looked at all the walls and pictures and I wanted to bow to all four corners of the school. But I felt a bow was not enough respect and I wished I could hug the place. I didn’t do anything. I just stood and stared. But as I walked out, I stopped at the door. I turned and faced the room and gave it the first real bow I had ever given it. I smiled as I did a slow deliberate bow. The old Japanese were correct and I was wrong. You can respect a building. Most definitely.
This article was written approximately six months before the upcoming shopping center closure and Mayfield Academy still stands.
Steve’s latest book: https://tinyurl.com/zcbkkyyk:
Steve's a three-time survivor of violence in his youth, a former police supervisor and a graduate of The Police Executive Leadership College (PELC) and was also an award winning part-time college Criminal Justice instructor.
For several years, Steve did written and radio political and current event commentary and was the former host of the long running 'The Kovacs Perspective' Internet radio and TV talk show.
Steve presently owns a small businesses in Ohio--The Mayfield Academy of Self-Defense.
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