"Ga-ray, Ga-ray"

I wandered down through the lobby of the hotel, and stepped out into the hot summer morning. I had my Chinese phrase book with me, in case I needed to communicate because Alicia and Pei Pei had not yet come looking for me. The area outside the hotel was crawling with people but two men caught my attention as I meandered around, happily occupied in my "foreign people watching." The one man was a huge, powerful-looking hulk of a guy, and I immediately took him to be a martial artist. He was smoking a cigarette and talking with an older, smaller man. The smaller man had a powerful presence about him as well, and I had no doubt that he was also a martial artist. There was something about these two men--they looked so...........authentic. I strolled toward them, trying to keep a low profile, but as I got closer the bigger one turned and looked at me with a broad, welcoming, stained-tooth smile. I smiled back and he nodded his head as if to say hello, and then he spoke in a booming voice to his friend, the older man. The older man looked at me also, but with less interest. He was not exactly unfriendly, it was just that his eyes were so piercing. I spoke some English to the big man, but he shook his head. So I pulled out my phrasebook and between my questionable Mandarin pronunciation and my ability to point at drawings and Chinese characters, we managed a pretty good chat.
"Are you two men here for the competition?"
"Yes, you?"
"Yes"--at this point the two looked at each other and then back at me, amazed.
"You are here to compete in xingyiquan?" asked the big man.
"Yes, I've come from America, the USA"
The big man was impressed but the older, small one looked stern.
"My name is Gary"
"Ga-ray?"
"Yes, Gary"
"Ah, Ga-ray"
"My name is Yu Chang Lin, and this is my teacher"
"Ah, your teacher, 'ni hao shirfu' " I bowed to the teacher respectfully, and he responded by looking more closely at me, chuckling and saying something in Chinese to the big man.
They both laughed, and I laughed too, having no idea if I was the butt of a joke or not.
Yu Chang Lin handed me a business card filled with Chinese characters on one side and English on the other. It said: "NANJING XINGYIQUAN ASSOCIATION' , Yu Chang Lin. Yu wrote his hotel room number on it, and twenty minutes later I went up and met them in their room, ready to eat breakfast with my new xingyi boxer friends.

Yu's room and several adjoining rooms were occupied by other members of the Nanjing Xingyiquan Association. I stepped into the room and it seemed that about twenty people took turns patting me on the back, examining my biceps, studying my shoes and commenting back and forth in a lively fashion. Next, they wanted to see my "santi". Santi is the basic stance, common to all styles of xingyiquan--it is the core of the art, and most xingyiquan boxers used santi as a training stance. They commonly hold this posture for up to one hour. There was no time for me to feel self-conscious or weird; they all stood back and waited for me to show my stance, so I did. Well, they were not overly impressed at all--and one man in particular gently readjusted my posture. This was Sun Jin Quan, another xingyi boxer who would teach and show me many things in the weeks to come.

I marched down to the hotel dining room, surrounded by my new friends from the Nanjing Xingyiquan association. Every door we approached would be opened and they would insist that I walk through before them. They were elegant and polite to a tee, and yet these guys exuded power--it was a fascinating balance that I had seen in Mr. Chen back in America, and I wanted to be a part of whatever it was that they had. The food in Shanxi Province was strange to me. There was a kind of sour noodle concoction that was very popular in that region but I couldn't stomach it. The congee (soup-like rice) was okay, and I knew what a hard boiled egg was. The cuisine at that hotel was to become a problem for me, but I just attributed the strangeness to my Westernized palate. The Nanjing boxers invited me to train with them in the mornings, before breakfast and I gratefully accepted the opportunity. Over the next few weeks, whenever I would be walking down a street or going into the hotel, one or several of my new friends would be calling me: "Ga-ray, Ga-ray...."

Alicia and Pei Pei, the college girl translators, found me and frantically told me that I had to go with them to meet Master Zhang Xi gui, the tournament director and one of the Top 100 Martial Arts Masters of China. Master Zhang was also my teacher's kung fu brother, and so I was learning from the same lineage. I retrieved the letter Mr. Chen had written, and got ready to meet Zhang Xi gui but first Alicia and Pei Pei introduced me to a woman who worked for the biggest newspaper in Taiyuan. I consented to the first of several interviews for the Chinese media, and they all went about the same way. First they would want to take my picture, but not a normal picture. I had to adopt a martial arts stance for their pictures, which was really kind of embarassing because wherever I was, a small (or large) crowd would gather to watch whatever it was I was doing. It was constant. If I was in a shop buying something, people would crowd to see what it was. So, every time a reporter would ask me to pose in a martial arts stance, I would try to get out of doing it; yet I was never able to talk my way out of doing it. The interviews went like this:

"Welcome to China, do you enjoy Chinese food?"
"Yes, it is great."
"How do you like our city?"
"Very nice, it's great, really."
"What do you think of the new construction in our city?"
"New construction? Oh, impressive, impressive.."
"How does it compare with the construction in USA?"
"Well, I don't know."
Usually this answer would make the reporter very uncomfortable, so I would try to elaborate.
"I suppose the construction here is equal to the level I have seen in the USA, sometimes even better."

Alicia and Pei Pei led me into Master Zhang Xigui's hotel room, which was filled with people. Mr. Chen had recommended I give Zhang a gift, which I did. I also handed him the letter that Mr. Chen had written, which Master Zhang solemnly opened and read in front of me.
He spoke to me through the translators.

"So you've learned some xingyiquan from Chen Sifu, please show me what you've learned."
"Yes, ah, what would you like me to show?"
"Jin Tui Lian Huan Quan" he replied, referring the famous xingyi connecting form.
I was mortified.
Sitting in front of me was one of the top masters in China, and several of his friends and associates. As I stood up to begin, I felt light-headed, hot, thirsty, dehydrated, hungry and nauseous. My legs felt rubbery, and as I glanced at Zhang Xi gui, he seemed to have a sneer on his face. I had one good thing going for me--Mr. Chen had scrutinized me going through this form hundreds of times.
When I was finished, I walked back to my chair and sat down as Zhang spoke.
"That was very good. But when you move in xingyiquan, everything must arrive at the same time including your fist, your step and your butt." He gave me a few seconds to ponder his advice.
"I understand that you are interested to learn some tanglang quan (praying mantis fist)--I will arrange for you to learn from my student."
I was soon to be training in praying mantis kung fu twice a day, competing in the tournament and getting tips on xingyi boxing from the Yu Chang Lin, Sun Jin Quan and the other Nanjing team. Mr. Chen had helped me to be physically ready for this trip, but I was about to take the fast track to over training, exhaustion and two different Chinese hospitals.

Next: Praying Mantis Master

Visit to An Ancient City

I stepped out of the airport in Taiyuan, Shanxi Province armed with my luggage, a hand-written letter from Mr. Chen, and two George Foreman grills. I was to give the letter to Master Zhang Xigui when I met him at the competition, and the George Foremans were for Mr. Chen's son Jindao. Taiyuan was a city of about 5 million people, and Jindao took me to his home for lunch. Jindao and his wife spoke no English, so they had their nephew there to translate for us. Jindao looked concerned as he asked me about his father, and I told him that Mr. Chen was recuperating well and looking better every day. He seemed very relieved at that point, and we had a home cooked lunch while chatting about the upcoming competition. I needed a "kung fu uniform" for the competition and asked if they could bring me somewhere to buy one. We went to a martial arts shop and I picked out the material, a black silk. The proprietor of the shop measured my arms, waist, legs, and chest in a fraction of a second and scribbled his findings on a piece of paper. He had the ever-present cigarette in his mouth, just like 90% of the other people I met in China, including half of the athletes at the competition. The next day a woman rode up to us on a bicycle with my hand made black silk uniform. I paid the man for the uniform and handed the woman some money as a tip. She turned red in embarassment, took the money after some encouragement and climbed back onto her bicycle while carefully not looking at me. Had I unknowingly just propositioned the woman? I had no idea. That was just one of the many slightly uncomfortable situations I would encounter over the next month in China.

The ancient city of Pingyao was about an hour away from Taiyuan, and I rode there on a bus with Jindao. I have often thought about that bus ride, as it was the most crowded bus I have ever been on. Not only was every seat taken, but wooden benches were placed in the aisle between the seats, and filled with people. That one-hour bus ride from Taiyuan to Pingyao ignited a deep love and appreciation of China for me, in a way that no one could know by "touring" the country. That was the most lively bus ride of my life. Families with children eating hard-boiled eggs and other snacks; the blatant staring that I would become used to very soon; and the tolerance of the people riding a ridiculously over-crowded bus with no air conditioning past coal mines and heading to Pingyao; I sat and took it all in. And those people sat and took me in, too. I later found out that many of them had never seen a Caucasian, except on television. Occasionally I would catch someone's eye, and they would realize that they were staring at me, and quickly look down. They seemed so innocent and polite, I didn't mind the staring at all. It actually made me feel kind of important--if I was the first Caucasian they would see, I needed to make a good impression. The enormity of this international competition had not really registered to me yet, for some reason. But that bus ride--just when it seemed no more people could fit in the bus, the bus stopped again and picked up some young men who joyfully stood in the open front door of the bus. These guys were hanging out of the bus, holding on for dear life. About ten minutes later, the bus pulled over to the side of the road and some men piled about ninety cases of potatoes or produce of some kind on TOP of the bus. I was convinced that the bus had lost all possibility of being a balanced load--I would have felt that it was a death trap except that now all the weight had slowed it to a crawl. The Chinese passengers sat impassively while all of this went on; this completely insane bus ride was simply business as usual for them.

When we arrived at the compound where the competition was to be held, I was immediately approached by two young college girls who spoke to me in English. "Welcome to China, we are Alicia and Pei Pei, we will be your translator guides." I registered for the competition and was issued two official t-shirts from the competition, a stack of meal tickets for the hotel restaurant, and a hotel key. The newest hotel in Pingyao was reserved for the visiting athletes and it did have all the modern conveniences, including air conditioning. It was evening, so I took a hot shower, put on the television (more on that later), kicked back and slept very soundly.

Next: "Ga-ry, Ga-ry..."

The Real Training Begins

A whirlwind of events occurred, culminating in me going to China alone to compete in the First International Invitational Xingyiquan Competition and 20th Annual San Shou Tournament. The Competition was to be held in Pingyao, Shanxi Province China, an ancient historical city. According to Wikipedia:

Historical importance

Pingyao still retains its city layout from the Ming and Qing dynasties, conforming to a typical bagua pattern. More than 300 sites in or near the city have ancient ruins. Preserved Ming- and Qing-style residences number close to 4,000. The streets and storefronts still largely retain their historical appearance.

In the Spring and Autumn Period, the county belonged to the kingdom of Jin. It was part of the kingdom of Zhao in the Warring States Period. In the Qin Dynasty, it was known as Pingtao. During the Han Dynasty, it was known as Zhongdu county. In 1986, the People's Republic of China designated Pingyao as one of the Chinese Historic and Cultural Cities. It became a World Heritage Site in 1997, included also the outlying Zhenguo Temple and Shuanglin Temple.

City walls

Pingyao's city walls

The city walls of Pingyao were constructed in the 3rd year of the Hongwu Emperor (1370). The walls have six barbican gates. The north and south sides have one gate each. The east and west sides have two gates each. This pattern is similar to that of a turtle (the head, tail, and four legs), earning Pingyao the moniker "Turtle City." The walls measure about 12 meters high, with a perimeter of 6,000 meters. A 4-meter wide, 4-meter deep moat can be found just outside the walls. Aside from the four structured towers at the four corners, there are also 72 watchtowers and more than 3,000 battlements. In 2004, part of the southern walls collapsed but were reconstructed. However, the rest of the city walls are still largely intact and are considered among the best-preserved ancient city walls on this scale. This makes the city walls the centerpiece of the Heritage Site.

At this point I had mostly learned traditional Shaolin martial arts from Mr. Chen, as it was his specialty (the main styles of Ba Fan Shou and Mian Zhang Quan were local styles of Shanxi Province). I had only learned the wuxing or Five Shapes, Jin Tui Liang Huan Quan (Front Back Step Continuous Form) and Ji Xing Si Ba (Chicken Four Hand Grabbing), and Wu Hwa Pao (Eight Flower Cannon) styles of Xingyiquan. I had not yet learned the famous Twelve Animal Styles of Xingyiquan. Frankly, I was very scared to go to China and demonstrate my xingyiquan in the home province where the art originated; and on an international stage! What had I gotten myself into, and why did I agree to do this? Such were the thoughts that went through my head, when I had any time to think.

But I didn't have much time to think about it because there were applications to fill out, passports and visas to apply for, and arrangements to be made. Who would take care of my dogs while I was away for a month? What about the job I had, could I get the time off and still have a job upon my return? All of these things had to be figured out quickly because the competition was only a few months away. Mr. Chen seemed to recovery quickly, and was soon watching me like a hawk, just like in the old days. His living situation had changed again, and he and his wife were now living in the Tomac Motor Lodge on Rt. 10 in Morris Plains, NJ. Most of my training took place in that motel room, with Mr. Chen still recuperating in bed. With great effort, he would rise from the bed to correct a few of my movements before almost collapsing back into the bed out of exhaustian. That was when I realized and understood the master's lifelong love for traditional Chinese Martial Arts. I remembered a story his daughter Jinling had once told me:

When the young Chen Jun Hao was learning traditional martial arts, China was undergoing the Cultural Revolution. During that time, all things traditional, intellectual or artistic were basically banned by Chairman Mao Zedong's Communist Party. People who were caught practicing these things would be punished severely--beaten and possibly even killed. Their entire family would suffer greatly as a result. Mr. Chen was in possession of some very extensive "martial arts manuals"--the kind of comprehensive, hand-written and illustrated manuals that contained the lineage secrets of his traditional martial arts. Mr. Chen's father was very frightened that the Red Guard might search and find these manuals, so he burned them. According to Mr. Chen's daughter, those manuals contained the jewels of Chinese traditional martial arts culture--pure national treasures burned to ashes in the 1960's by Mr. Chen's own father.

Mr. Chen risked everything to learn these arts, and decades later he was teaching them in America, to me. "Many people in Taiyuan know who I am, and they will know that you are my student. If you make a poor showing at the competition, it will make me look bad." That's exactly what he said to me one day when I was struggling through the forms. For the next couple of months, I ate, drank, slept, dreamt and lived xingyiquan. I forgot about my fear of going to China and looking like an American clown. Soon Mr. Chen starting saying "no" less and "okay!" more often during my training. I reached the place where I got as good as I possibly could at that moment in time, and there was nothing left but to board the plane for China.

Next: China, August 2001

Who Is Mr. Chen?: Xingyiquan Training Begins

Soon after we began our training with Mr. Chen, he told us through a translator: "If you learn from me for one year, it is equal to ten years with another teacher." We had been learning mostly self-defense methods and Ba Fan Shou from Mr. Chen, and I was in some of the best shape of my life. Mr. Chen advised that I should practice two hours a day--once in morning and once at night, and I followed his advice, usually putting in more than an hour at each session. I really wanted to learn Xingyiquan, a famous internal fighting art of great renown in China. During the mid to late 1800's and even during the early 1900's, Xingyiquan was the art practiced by famous bodyguards, caravan escorts, and famous boxers of China. It had a reputation as a no-nonsense style that combined power with intention, hence it's name means "Mind/Intention Fist". When I learned that Mr. Chen was from Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, I became all the more excited because I knew that Shanxi Province was where the art of Xingyiquan, the Mind/Intention Fist originated!

Mr. Chen's lineage in these arts was traceable back six generations, and he came from a very famous traditional martial art lineage. His teachers were famous and one of his kung fu brothers (fellow classmates in martial arts) is Zhang Xi Gui, who is known as one of the top 100 Martial Arts Masters in China today. And here was Mr. Chen, living in his daughter's house in Randolph, New Jersey, and no one knew who he was. Mr. Chen began teaching me the Shanxi Style of Xingyiquan, and I was in my glory. The basic training of the wu xing or Five Shapes is practiced back and forth with very specific stepping patterns and physical alignments. Mr. Chen taught us the Squatting Monkey exercise from Dai Style Xingyiquan--this training stance developed one's power but was not very pleasant to practice.

After some time, my understanding of Mr. Chen's speech improved. He still spoke hardly any English words at all, usually just: "no", "no no no" or "okay!" I began to understand Chinese and would translate for him somehow, usually just the martial arts related phrases which I began to hear all the time. "Mai man" (do it slowly); "Dui" (right, correct); "jin bu" (step forward); "tui bu" (step back), etc. Mr. Chen would repeat the phrase "Kung fu duo lian", meaning to learn martial arts required practice of the fighting sets. As time went on, Mr. Chen would move his arm and shoulder gingerly, he seemed to feel some pain there. In our big indoor garage/training area (where we would go in bad weather), he would sometimes stand with his back to the woodstove, allowing the heat to make his shoulder feel better.

After a couple of years, Mr. Chen's daughter decided to sell her house, and Mr. Chen's period of roaming began. He and his wife moved into a condominium with some other Chinese people, with Mr. Chen and his wife occupying the basement apartment. So I began traveling to train with Mr. Chen at his new location. After a couple of months, Mr. Chen's arm was bothering him too much to teach. He went to the doctor to be checked out, and when I called to speak to his son-in-law, he told me Mr. Chen would need surgery, but he did not tell me what the surgery was for. Eventually his daughter told me that Mr. Chen had lung cancer, and was going for a big surgery to remove a cancerous tumor. She had not told him he had cancer, because she felt it would be better not to. It's hard to explain how I felt upon hearing this. Mr. Chen had become more than a teacher to me, he was much like a father in many ways. I had been spending more time with him than his family, and he was a big part of my life. I knew that he smoked a lot, but he was so powerful; I never expected he could get this sick.

When he came out of the surgery, I went to visit him in the hospital. I went to the hospital every day that he was there, and would talk to him about xingyiquan. One day he began speaking earnestly to me from his hospital bed. There was no one available to translate to me, but I knew it was important so that night I called his daughter on the phone. "There's a big international competition being held this summer in China, my dad thinks you should go to it." I was really excited: "Wow, that would be amazing, to visit China and watch an international competition."
"Yes, it will be quite an experience for you, but my dad says he wants you to compete at this tournament...."
"Compete? Me?"
"Yes" Jinling replied, "of course you can't win a prize there, because those people have been doing xingyiquan all of their lives. But, it will be a tremendous opportunity for you."

Next blog: Training For China

Training With Chen--Ba Fan Shou--The 8 Tumbling Hands

I called the phone number that the kung fu coach had given me, and spoke to his son-in-law. He told me that Mr. Chen was somewhat famous in his home province of Shanxi, China. He said that Mr. Chen had learned kung fu since he was 11 years old, and had persevered through some very hard times during the Cultural Revolution. During that time, he had to practice and learn in secret for fear of persecution by the Red Guard or from being reported by other citizens. Mr. Chen's parents did not really approve of him learning kung fu during that time, and he had to keep it secret from them as well; but the young man's love for Chinese traditional martial art was deep and strong, and his teachers were willing only to teach serious students, because of the risk involved. I would get to see firsthand just how strong and deep his dedication was in the years to come. Mr. Chen had a couple of other students, but no formal class times. Basically I would pick him up at his daughter's house and drive to a place to do our training. The training was 2 hours long, with the first part consisted of the punching and kicking line drills I had seen at the Chinese school, the jibengong, as it is called in Chinese.

Before my first class, I called an old friend of mine and told him about the master I had met. My friend immediately decided to join me in training, and so we had the class ready. Mr. Chen began to teach us a powerful martial arts form that I had never seen. We had no translator, and therefore had no idea what we were learning. After each classs (twice a week), my friend and I would go to the diner and write up notes on what we learned. Over time, it seemed obvious that Mr. Chen taught martial arts differently than any teacher I ever had. Every movement was related to a martial arts application, which we drilled over and over again under his close supervision. The forms and applications had to be performed perfectly in order to avoid the loud "no" that Mr. Chen would immediately say when we made a mistake, followed by a patient correction. Repeated mistakes were followed by less patient corrections, and chronic mistakes were given the Royal Annoyance Treatment where Mr. Chen would throw his arms in the air and shriek "aghh...." while turning his back to us and walking away.

"My father is very strict about martial arts," his daughter told me over the phone. "He believes that martial art should be practiced correctly, and he is not afraid to voice his opinion. Sometimes he will see someone practicing in a park and go up and correct their mistakes. I have to rein him in sometimes, because he is very blunt about it. But he likes you very much. He says you learn quickly, and he enjoys teaching you. He told me to tell you that he wants to teach you this style first, it is called Ba Fan Shou. My father says this is a very old style, and not many people know this traditional style, not even in China. He says it is a very good style to learn because all of the movements are very good for fighting. My father believes strongly that Chinese traditional martial art must be good for fighting use, not just for show."

We were very happy to be learning a rare martial arts form, but I had no idea how rare it was until many years later. My friend and I trained at least twice a week with Mr. Chen and usually I met with him and trained another day or two a week because I couldn't seem to get enough. The Ba Fan Shou (Eight Tumbling Hands) taught us hundreds of ways to punch, grab, throw, trip and change from one application to another. The style was sometimes called "Mother/Son Fist" because each movement followed the next, and included counters and counters to the counters. This style was like an opening door for me because I finally knew that I had learned how to use Chinese Martial arts for real combat.

Mr. Chen liked to use me to demonstrate the martial uses, so I got thrown, kicked, punched and flipped. I got use to being hit pretty much everywhere, and became good at breaking falls to the ground. Mr. Chen did not go lightly on me, but he also never hurt me in practice. Occasionally someone would show up and be slightly challenging toward him in their approach, and he did deal a bit more harshly with them, causing them to never show up again. Mr. Chen was in his 60's at that time but clearly was in great shape and tough as nails. A few mishaps occurred in training, and once he was hit by an errant elbow, squarely in the face--he seemed impervious to pain. He could put his hand on a rock with just his pinky finger out, and he would allow you to smash his finger with your fist. I saw him do this rather disturbing stunt a couple of times, with the result always being the same. Mr. Chen would stare quietly ahead while the person trying to smash his finger would have to stop because they were hurting themselves. He had trained Iron body qigong and Iron Palm as well, and taught me the basics of the palm training. But he did not put emphasis on that training, as it required daily training and close supervision by the teacher (especially the Iron body qigong).

Next: More Training With The Master

Meeting Chen

After the children's kung fu class ended, a few adults began to assemble together, and the coach led them through the movements of the Yang Taiji 24 form. His demeanor with the adult taiji class was markedly less intense, and he smiled and encouraged the students during the class. For some reason, he did not seem to notice or acknowledge me or my friend, the only two non-Chinese in the room. We were sitting off to the side watching the class, yet the man never seemed to even glance in our direction. When the class ended, we continued to sit politely to the side while the students filed out of the room. It was time for me to go meet my teacher.

I walked across the room and greeted the Kung Fu teacher. He politely smiled, nodded and gave me his full attention as I began complimenting his teaching style, discussing my interest and experience in Chinese Martial Arts and asking if the classes were open to non-Chinese. For the first couple of minutes he looked very interested, before returning to that blank look I had seen during the kids kung fu class. He impatiently looked around and then pointed to his mouth and shaking his head. "You don't speak English" I remarked, brilliantly stating the obvious.
After a couple of minutes of searching for a friendly face, I convinced a woman to help me talk to the master.

At that point, the conversation really took off. I told him I had studied taijiquan and xingyiquan before, and that I was interested in pursuing xingyiquan. The man assured me that he knew xingyiquan, taijiquan, shaolinquan and he especially knew how to use those arts for fighting, not just for "show". That last part made my heart soar like a hawk. Here it was--a real martial arts master from China, and he was talking to me and answering my questions. But he wasn't about to accept me yet. He wanted to see me demonstrate some xingyiquan first. No problem. I had learned most of the Hebei style xingyiquan from a friend, and I had even gone so far as to attempt to teach it to others. I stepped into the middle of the room ready to show my xingyiquan off, when I noticed the man's expression as he watched me getting ready to get ready to do xingyi. Emotion-less. Vacuous. Serious. I went through a line drill of piquan, one of the basic five forms or wu xing. When I was finished I looked at the man and he looked at me. No words and no discernable expression--he spoke through the translator:

"Piquan?"
"yes".
He then mimicked my movement and shook his head, as if to say "wrong".
"But piquan is not a straight punch" he said, "it is moving from up to down"--he began to demonstrate the correct method of piquan, and I realized that I had never seen real xingyi before.
"Do you know how to use it?" he asked.
"Yes" I replied, a remark that I still regret to this day, because the kung fu coach asked me to show the useage of piquan. I had my friend throw a slow punch at me, which I deflected, grabbed and pulled down while simultaneously palm-striking at his face. This time the coach looked at me with a truly blank expression. All previous blank expressions could be described as animated compared to this new blank expression--my God, he was a master of blank expressions. Totally unimpressed by my demonstration of martial arts useage, he wagged his head and muttered his first words in English: "no, no, no".
Next, he wanted to show me the real useage of piquan, and I agreed immediately. My first real lesson from a xingyi master! Hooray!
He faced me and said: "Lai le" (which means "come on" in Chinese). I threw a lazy right punch toward him, this was for demonstration purposes I figured. The man stepped at a slight forty-five degree angle while absorbing the punch, and his next step seemed to go past me, taking my body backward and...........DOWN.

Yes, he had said that piquan was not a straight punch, that it went from up to down. I stood up, brushed off my clothing and smiled, convinced.
"I would like to learn from you sir".
He scribbled a phone number on a scrap of paper, with his name next to it.
It said: "Chen".

Next blog: Training With Chen

"Chen"

As a high school student in the early 1970's, I had the rare opportunity of studying at the infamous Shaolin Temple in the high mountains of Northcentral China. I heard a voice, very far away in the distance, calling to me.......Gary......Gary.......Gary.....GARY.......no matter how I tried, I could not escape the voice........

Yep, my mom was very persistent when it was time for me to get up for school. And my recurring dream about living in the Shaolin Temple would have to wait until the next episode of the TV show "Kung Fu" starring David Carradine. Fast forward to 1999, a watershed year in my life. I had been pursuing my kung fu dream for many years, with varying degrees of success, until I met Mr. Chen. My kung fu dream was a difficult one to pursue in the 1980's and 1990's. Finding good teachers was not so easy and often the ones who were skilled were, well, basically jerks. In the kung fu movies the masters were so wise, compassionate, and enlightened. There superhuman powers were not obvious to the world because they were humble and at peace in their hearts and souls. There was never any doubt in my mind. I knew that I would be led to one (or more) of these masters, and my destiny would be fulfilled. I was persistent in my search, and checked out a lot of Chinese Martial Art teachers. Some I stayed with for years, and some were in my life for months, weeks, or days. More often than not, these teachers positioned themselves as "having it", and the students basically didn't have it. They distributed their knowledge in accordance with some very unclear criteria that seemed to have something to do with whether or not you could be useful to them. It wasn't just the money--they were looking for fame, status and social standing.

I trained pretty hard in those days, always wishing that the teacher would recognize me as "the one" who would receive some of the real secret training. I figured if I worked hard enough--lived, breathed and embodied the true spirit of the Shaolin Temple, my diligence would pay off. A good friend of mine often says: "The truth always reveals itself", and such was my experience with teacher after teacher. Eventually their true colors would come out, and that would be my time to move on. No point in going into their transgressions, weaknesses or unimpressive behaviors here--suffice to say that when the time came for me to move on, I moved on.

In 1999, I was teaching taijiquan and Chinese Martial Arts in my friend's massage school in Parsippany NJ. Like I said, I had paid my dues and was fairly competent at the material I had learned. Progressively, my choice in teachers had become more discriminating and I had something to teach in those days. One day, one of my students told me:
"There's a guy teaching kung fu at the Chinese school, I heard he was a coach in Beijing."
The following weekend, we went down to the Chinese school to observe the man teaching. First we watched him teaching traditional Shaolin kung fu to young Chinese children. Wearing the customary matching sportswear (white and blue) outfit of a wushu coach, the first thing I noticed about the man was the stern expression on his face as he watched the children go through their simple punches, kicks and line drills. He watched their every move with the eyes of a hawk. The expression on his face was impossible to describe in words--he watched intently yet his faced conveyed no emotion whatsoever. Little did I know at that moment that those same line drills would become my twice daily companions for the next five or six years of my life. And for the next three years, I would be the object of that scrutiny--that same stern look; the piercing eyes that observed every improperly executed step. That same face of a man who was to become my first real teacher, not just of taijiquan and kung fu. What Mr. Chen taught me most about was his passion for his art. I want to tell this story in upcoming blogs and hope some people will read about my time with Mr. Chen Jun Hao and what he gave me.