Hey kids, it’s time to learn about Larsen’s employment history!
This is my story about two taekwondo masters that I worked for a few years ago (technically I’ve been employed by three, but the last was really just a guy who I rented out space from to teach my own classes). The two former masters worked for the same company, but they were radically different men.
I will not be naming names because one of them is a pretty big deal in the art of taekwondo, and as such if you find one of these masters you’ll find the other guy and if you find the other guy you can find me, and well…I don’t want you people rummaging through my garbage and mailing me used underwear.
The first of these masters was an elderly gentleman, the grand master of the school. He was born in Korea under the Japanese occupation, and as you can imagine his life was pretty goddamn difficult from the moment he was born. His first order of priority was to survive that ordeal.
But survive he did. Japan’s surrender came when he was a mere 15 years old, at this point he had been training for a while, but there was more to come—Korea’s story in much of the 20th century (*cough* or in general) is not a particularly happy one.
It was a scant 5 years later at the age of 20 when war came once again to the Choson peninsula. When Kim Il Sung’s communist hordes poured forth from the north and invaded South Korea over the 38th parallel, completely overwhelming the meager defenses that had been put in place by the nascent Republic of Korea and whatever American occupational forces existed after World War 2.
This man saw what he had to do, and enlisted in the army. And for the next 3 years, this 20 year old man lived through the frozen hell that was the Korean War. Fighting at Inchon, Pusan, and most likely tagging quite a few communist for himself.
After this was done, he continued his refinement and pursuit of the arts of violence, eventually coming to America, traveling around the world, and becoming recognized as one of the founding fathers of the modern sport of taekwondo.
When I knew him he was a man in his 90s. Still spry, still spirited, still completely willing to walk into a room full of children, chain smoking in his old man pajamas. He had zero fucks to give.
He had a protégé, an American fellow (said American fellow had his own protégé, but there’s not much I can say about her other than describing her as a turkey necked fatass). His protégé was a bright eyed and bushy tailed Caucasian boy who wanted to learn martial arts. He was raised in a vastly different environment than the grandmaster. He was raised in the soft, supplicating confines of American suburbia, the wealthy suburbs of Bergen County, New Jersey in the 1970s and 1980s. He likely consumed much martial arts via film, cartoons, and the burgeoning medium of video games.
He obtained a seventh degree blackbelt in the fistic arts, and a personal trainer’s certification at some point. He then settled down in another very wealthy part of New Jersey. When I knew him he was 40 or so, still spry and athletic, with the yielding supplicating smile of a man who had been in many corporate boardrooms.
So why do I tell you this? While I worked for both men technically, I was only (on paper) the employee of the second. I occasionally taught fitness classes at this gym/dojo, but mainly I was a glorified janitor (surprise, a fitness job fucked me over).
The main reason I bring this up is to tell you about how my personality interacted with these two vastly different men who both dub themselves martial arts masters.
The first man, who I was technically not even employed by, I found it a joy to work for, even though I wasn’t getting paid by him. I helped the man fix the computer, do his tax return, and naturally being that my mother is of course from Taiwan, he liked to ask about how the other “Asian Tigers” (Taiwan, South Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong) are doing. While I think it would be a stretch to call him a friend or mentor, I had a cordial relationship with the old guy. If you happen to be in the area, I’d recommended learning under him.
AND THEN THERE’S THIS ASSHOLE. A fake twinkle in his eye and the charming sneer of a corporate cocksucker, he represented a much less commanding style of study then the grand master (who was by my judging strict but fair with the young students).
He curtly dismissed me when I asked to teach more classes…and THEN there was one occasion in which I had to discipline a certain child, a child who was more destined to become a catamite than any child I’ve seen in my life. Allow me to explain:
One of my duties was to herd the kids out of the school at the end of the day. On this fateful occasion, I opened up the dressing room and saw this child who we’ll call “Bobby” prancing about in front of the floor length mirror in his underwear fondling his nipples. Not wanting to make a fuss, I asked him to hurry up and get dressed. Turkey Neck called me on the phone and told me to send him out because his parents were there. He said to give him a few minutes.
I turned away and got some other kids out of there. Five minutes later, I checked on the dressing room again. Bobby was still fondling away, and in slightly sterner tones, I told him to get out. In a voice that was far fruitier than your average 8 year old child, I was told to wait another few minutes. And again, Turkey Neck called me telling me to send him out.
FIVE MINUTES LATER…
Bobby is still fondling away, the last child in the school and at this point I tell him to put his clothes on and get out. Not profane, not yelling, just stern and authoritarian.
And with that, he gathered his clothes and dressed himself and left without a sound.
Of course he started blubbering like a bitch as soon as he saw his mother, and I was fired the next day. Over text.
And when I wanted to ask why, I was given a smug “thank you” and given my walking orders. I’m going to repeat this—
Seventh degree TKD black belt. Can’t look somebody in the eye when he fires them.
So what is to be said about this tale of two masters? First of all, martial arts in and of itself isn’t a panacea for being a glad-handling little tool. It was very disheartening for me to realize this, but yeah, many decorated martial artists ARE this way.
Two: Martial arts teaches you moves, but it can’t teach you grit, heart, and honor. But bear in mind these are not inborn qualities, they can be taught, but they are disciplines in and of themselves.
Thirdly, like in most things, martial arts teaching is better done old school than new school. Do you think master WIGGITY WIGGITY DUDEBRO could survive Inchon? I doubt it. And thirdly, proper practice of honor, discipline, and grit, combine with the physical training will make you a truly great person and embody what it is to be a man: formidable yet kind. Much more so than either or.