Side kick! Grab! Punch! The old man leaned against the wall for support. Now his body shuddered as he struggled to conceal his amusement. Suddenly his efforts failed, and his silent chuckles grew into loud roars of laughter.

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Leung stopped his class, his face red with anger. “Hey, old man!” he snapped. “What are you laughing at?”

“Oh, nothing,” he replied. “Please continue. I’ll try not to disturb you further.”

Leung took a deep breath and paced across the room. He was still furious. “Look, old man, a few months ago we found you living out of garbage cans in Macao,” he said. “We brought you here to the Union Hall. We gave you a place to sleep and food to eat. The least you could do is show a little respect when I’m teaching.”

The old man perked up an ear. Had he heard the man say “respect”?

“Then the least you could do is show a little respect for the art that you teach,” the old man growled back. “All you do is have your students punch air.” He quickly moved through Leung’s technique: side kick, grab, punch. “But the air doesn’t hit back. What happens when you face an enemy who will?”

The old man shook his head. “If you are going to practice kung fu,” he said, “you should do so seriously — or not at all!”

“Look, old man,” bellowed master Leung, “if you think you know something, why don’t you come up here and teach me?”

With this challenge from Leung on that day in 1952, Yip Man officially opened the doors on his 20-year career as a martial arts instructor and patriarch of wing chun. Standing only 5 feet tall and weighing 120 pounds, Yip Man proceeded to throw the 6-foot, 200-pound bak mei master around the room with almost no effort. No matter how Leung attacked, he always found himself carefully deposited on the floor. When all was said and done, Leung had surrendered his kung fu class at the Restaurant Workers’ Union Hall to Yip Man and had become Yip Man’s first disciple.

The Master’s Past

Yip Man did not happily accept his new role in life. Before World War II, he had been a member of a wealthy merchant family in the southern Chinese town of Fatshan, in Kwangtung province. He had owned a large manor house, a prosperous business and a farm, and he had enjoyed a life of relative ease with his wife and family.

Between 1937 and 1941, Yip Man served in the army during China’s valiant effort to repel the Japanese invasion. He returned to his family in Fatshan during the years of the Japanese occupation. Times were hard. His farm was ruined, and his wife became ill.

The end of the war brought little improvement. China needed to rebuild its ravaged cities and towns but found itself embroiled in civil war instead. The Nationalist Chinese government recruited Yip Man to the post of captain of the police patrols for Namhoi County. Although the government appointment helped the living conditions of the Yip Man homestead, it did not come in time to prevent the death of Yip Man’s wife from extended illness.

After the Communist triumph in 1949, Yip Man left his two grown sons in Fatshan and fled to Hong Kong. If he had remained, his position as police captain would have meant almost certain death at the hands of the Communists. Thus, at the age of 51, Yip Man was forced to start an entirely new life from scratch.

“When the Communists took over, he lost all his major tangible assets,” explains William Cheung, one of Yip Man’s most senior disciples. “But he still had whatever he could carry: money, gold bars, etc. But Fatshan was a very small town compared with Hong Kong and Macao. There were a lot of shrewd operators in the city. So he immediately lost some of his money through people cheating him.

“Then the heartbreak of losing his home and his wife and being separated from his family caught up with him. He became disillusioned and perhaps began to pity himself. Soon, the Chinese nobleman found himself destitute.

“Then Leung Sheung and a chap called Cheng Kao found him wandering around at the pier of Macao. He seemed to be homeless. They didn’t know that he was a martial artist. They were just being kind. They would have helped anyone they could. So they took him back to the premises of the Restaurant Workers’ Union Hall. They let him stay there. When Yip Man started teaching at the Restaurant Union, he first taught Leung Sheung, Lok Yiu and Cheng Kao. Then there were a few others, like Tsui Sung Ting. Of course, Leung Sheung, being a kung fu master already before he studied wing chun, progressed much faster than the rest.

“A few months later the rest of us turned up.”

Yip Man quickly proved to be a most unusual instructor. For example, Cheung recalls that during the seven years he spent with his teacher, he never once saw Yip Man actually teach a wing chun class. Yip Man was usually present in the back of the room, supervising the assistant instructors and correcting his favorite students, but the actual tasks of instruction were left to Leung Sheung, Lok Yiu, Tsui Sung Ting, Wong Shun Leung and William Cheung.

“He never taught classes himself,” Cheung says. “Well, only in some situations … with the big clients, the ones who could pay very heavily for a private session. At those times, he would often take me along. Then, suppose he was going to teach a wooden-dummy technique, he would show the technique once. After that, I would help the person.” Yip Man’s regular classes generally consisted of forms practice, chi sao (trapping hands) drills, wooden-dummy techniques and free sparring. There was no set pattern to the sessions. Each assistant instructor was allowed to exercise some personal discretion.

At rare times, the grandmaster might touch hands with one of his favorite students in chi sao practice. But those occasions would last only for a few seconds at a time. Yip Man feared that by doing chi sao with a junior, his own technique would deteriorate. He would have to slow down to create openings for him.

Yip Man had a soft-spoken style that taught more by example and suggestion than by the spoken word. He urged his students not to bully people or to act in a rude or arrogant manner. And he tried to keep them from fighting in the street gangs of Hong Kong, though he did encourage organized competition.

Bruce Lee’s Memories

In Bruce Lee: The Man Only I Knew (Warner Books, 1975), Linda Lee quotes from an essay written by her husband for freshman English in 1961. The essay clearly illustrates the subtle tactics Yip Man would use to influence his students:

“After four years of hard training in the art of gung fu (kung fu), I began to understand and felt the principle of gentleness — the art of neutralizing the effect of the opponent’s effort and minimizing expenditure of one’s energy. All this must be done in calmness and without striving. It sounded simple, but in actual application it was difficult. The moment I engaged in combat with an opponent, my mind was completely perturbed and unstable. Especially after a series of exchanging blows and kicks, all my theory of gentleness was gone. My only thought left was somehow or another I must beat him and win.

“My instructor, Professor Yip Man, head of the wing chun school, would come up to me and say: ‘Relax and calm your mind. Forget about yourself and follow your opponent’s movement. Let your mind, the basic reality, do the countermovement without any interfering deliberation. Above all, learn the art of detachment.’

“That was it! I must relax. However, right here I had already done something contradictory, against my will. When I said I must relax, the demand for effort in ‘must’ was already inconsistent with the effortlessness in ‘relax.’ When my acute self-consciousness grew to what the psychologists call the ‘double-blind’ type, my instructor would again approach me and say: ‘Preserve yourself by following the natural bends of things and don’t interfere. Remember never to assert yourself against nature; never be in frontal opposition to any problem, but control it by swinging with it. Don’t practice this week. Go home and think about it.’

“The following week I stayed home. After spending many hours in meditation and practice, I gave up and went sailing alone in a junk. On the sea I thought of all my past training and got mad at myself and punched at the water. Right then at that moment, a thought suddenly struck me: Wasn’t this water, the very basic stuff, the essence of gung fu? Didn’t the common water illustrate to me the principle of gung fu? I struck it just now, but it did not suffer hurt. Again I stabbed it with all my might, yet it was not wounded. I then tried to grasp a handful of it but it was impossible. This water, the softest substance in the world, could fit itself into any container. Although it seemed weak, it could penetrate the hardest substance in the world. That was it! I wanted to be like the nature of water.”

Although Lee added a bit of his own genius to the events he related in this essay, it does indicate the intellectual as well as technical heights to which Yip Man inspired his students. But at the same time, the wing chun grandmaster also had a playful streak. He loved Lee’s practical jokes — which was probably tough to do when he would show up for class with itching powder, handshake vibrators and water-squirting cameras.

“Yip Man had a very good sense of humor,” Cheung says. “He liked to give his students nicknames, and he would take a long time to dream them up. Like Wong Shun Leung was called ‘Wong Ching Leung,’ which means that he’s like a bull. I was called ‘Big Husky Boy.’ And Bruce was nicknamed ‘Upstart.’”

Two years after Yip Man began teaching at the Restaurant Workers’ Union Hall, he was asked to leave. His classes had grown so large and included so many nonunion members that the hall had actually become a kung fu school. So Yip Man and his followers opened the first commercial wing chun school on Lei Dat Street in the Yaumatei District of Kowloon.

Although Yip Man was now a self-supporting member of society with a successful business, his life was still not a happy one.

“He remarried in 1954,” Cheung says. “He was about 56, and she was about 40. He met her in a restaurant, I think. Anyway, some people thought she didn’t have a very clean past. All his students sort of looked down at her, and this made Yip Man very upset.

“People do not realize that life changes. It moves in cycles. Sometimes it progresses, sometimes it transcends. So there are times that you have to forget about the past. The students were very narrow-minded. They just didn’t show any respect for their master. They even used to address him as ‘old man’ sometimes in a very disrespectful way.

“This was one of the reasons Yip Man never taught a class personally. And I don’t think he was doing the wrong thing by not teaching. Only after the fame of Bruce Lee did they realize that the master was so great and that the style was so great because they saw that it could produce practitioners like Bruce.”

According to Cheung, Yip Man’s difficulties with his students were further aggravated by his continued drug use. Sometimes the school rent would go unpaid. By 1956 Yip Man had been evicted from his first school in Yaumatei.

The wing chun clan then moved to an apartment in a government-supported housing project, where Yip Man lived and taught. His students formed a committee that collected the school tuition, paid the rent and left Yip Man with a living allowance.

Cheung recalls that during this period, his master would sometimes have to fight for survival — literally. “At the time we moved to the government house, there was a restriction on water,” he says.

“They only turned on the water once every four days for four hours, so you had to collect buckets of water to store until the next four days were over.

“Usually I did all the chores and organization around the apartment, but that morning, I was at the market and my master wanted to get some water. Now all the tenants had to get their water from the same government tap.

“The local gangsters got a hold of this tap and charged everybody 50 cents a bucket.

“Well, because it was so early in the morning, Yip Man didn’t have the humor to argue with these characters, so he challenged them.

“I had just gotten back to the apartment when I heard the commotion. I could see what was happening and I started running toward it. Yip Man was fighting at least six or seven. The thugs all had poles for carrying buckets. They probably used them to threaten people. Yip Man took away one of their poles, then he flattened them all within seconds. When I got there, they were all dragging their poles, holding their heads and running away.

“From then on, every morning — not just every four days, but every morning — two buckets of water were delivered to the apartment.”

As the years passed, Yip Man’s reputation as an instructor grew, and he was eventually able to afford better accommodations. In fact, by 1964 he was able to bring his two sons and their families out of mainland China. Three years later, due in part to the prosperity brought to him through Bruce Lee’s The Green Hornet fame, Yip Man made his final move to a large, well-equipped gymnasium.

Today, Yip Man’s martial arts legacy has been encased in mystery. Many wing chun instructors claim to be his direct disciple or the personal inheritor of some secret set of wing chun techniques. However, as Cheung confirms, “Probably fewer than six people in the whole wing chun clan were personally taught, or even partly taught, by Yip Man. Yip Man had to teach the first two so that the first two could teach the next six.”

“But Yip Man was so intelligent in the martial arts that he could not stand a slow student,” Cheung says. “He was very impatient with slow students. So he could not stand to teach more than a few. Also, he belonged to the old tradition, influenced by the Boxer Rebellion, which believed that the martial arts should not be passed on to Westerners. He even believed that wing chun should be just a household art.

“Yip Man was a well-educated man who never wanted to teach kung fu. His best loves were watching soccer and attending the Chinese opera. His strongest hatred was for ignorance. That’s why he did not like many martial artists. He was a man of perfection. He believed that there’s no halfway to doing anything.

“That’s why a lot of people did not understand him.”

In May 1970, Yip Man permanently closed the doors on his career as a martial arts instructor. He died from throat cancer on December 2, 1972. He was 79.

Who is Gilbert Johnson? Why is he of major significance? Let’s begin with the fact that Gilbert was specifically chosen by Linda Lee Cadwell to carefully and delicately tend to the sea of papers reflecting her late husband’s thoughts, words and insights.  The monumental task of organizing and preserving these writings by my honorary uncle would become a sacred endeavor for Gilbert, and he became co-editor of Tao of Jeet Kune Do (and The Filipino Martial Arts, a book by my father, Dan Inosanto). As an accomplished martial artist on his own terms, Gilbert was an inquisitive human being and connected very much with the teachings and principles of jeet kune do.

Before his mission with Tao of Jeet Kune Do, Gilbert was a gifted writer and independent journalist who frequently wrote for Black Belt and other publications during the 1960s and 1970s.  According to one of his family members, Gilbert experienced several life-threatening events in his lifetime, but he managed to survive.  As a freelance journalist, Gilbert also threw himself smack into the middle of the 1979 protests in Isfahan, Iran, and survived to write of his account of the Iranian Revolution. Perhaps because he served in the military, Gilbert was prepared to boldly and resiliently come face to face with the world.

Despite these experiences, Gilbert managed to have a big heart.  He wanted to help people. Gilbert tried to share his enthusiasm and friendship with others no matter how old or young.  I adored this man as a child growing up. He inspired me through the pure essence of his kindness.

By the time the 1980s rolled around, the AIDS epidemic started to spread across the United States, where the illness was labeled a “gay disease.” Sadly, Gilbert was one of the first people I knew to contract the disease via a blood transfusion, which he needed after being involved in a car accident. And because of this, he quickly understood the discrimination and prejudice he’d face. As a result, he became an activist to help spread awareness that AIDS can affect anyone, that compassion is needed, not hate.

In my film The Sensei, I tried to show how this historical attitude affected the martial arts world by featuring a gay martial arts students who had to deal with discrimination.  As a writer, director and producer, Gilbert would challenge me—mind, body and spirit—to address the prejudice that has touched the martial arts community.

As a close family friend to my father and the rest of the original jeet kune do family, Gilbert was a brilliant choice to meet the challenges of putting together the most soul-searching and significant writings of my godfather.  He tirelessly worked and employed the techniques of a researcher and detective. He studied and trained with my father and the other jeet kune do students at our family academy, which was humbly tucked away in our home’s backyard in Carson, California.

Gilbert wanted to understand and explore what Lee was saying through these precious and profound documents that were left behind.  I like to compare his work on Tao of Jeet Kune Do to a doctor helping to deliver a child into the world.

It has been 35 years since Tao of Jeet Kune Do was born into the public eye. I am glad that such writings will be exposed to a new generation and that Gilbert has a place in martial arts history for giving the world such a groundbreaking and spiritual book.

In this first of an ongoing series of exclusive interview videos, Diana Lee Inosanto (Bruce Lee’s goddaughter), Octavio Quintero (second-generation student under Jerry Poteet) and first-generation Lee student Richard Bustillo share their thoughts on exactly what kind of book Tao of Jeet Kune Do is. The primary question set for this martial arts interview segment was, “Is Tao of Jeet Kune Do a philosophy book? An instruction manual? Or? …”

TAO OF JEET KUNE DO INTERVIEW VIDEO
Diana Lee Inosanto, Richard Bustillo and Octavio Quintero Reflect on the Nature of Bruce Lee’s Famous Martial Text, Tao of Jeet Kune Do

The consensus — between these three martial artists, at least — is that Tao of Jeet Kune Do is primarily a philosophy book.

“I lean toward the philosophy,” Quintero explains, “because there’s a lot of quotes in [the Tao] that have deeper meaning than what it really says.”

Bustillo points out that the book also has aspects of a technical manual, referring to Lee’s diagrams, sketches and terminology development: “It’s a philosophy-type book to back up the techniques that Bruce Lee [was] doing.”

MORE JEET KUNE DO VIDEOS!
See Tim Tackett, Lamar M. Davis II, Richard Bustillo and others demonstrate their jeet kune do techniques in exclusive videos and DVD excerpts!

Inosanto remarks that the book contains text that can seem to change over time as the reader changes: “There’s a passage that you might have read years before, and then you realize it has a completely different meaning. And I suppose it just depends on where the person is in their life in that moment.”

Whatever the case may be — whether Tao of Jeet Kune Do is a philosophy book, instruction manual, collection of notes, a sketchbook … whatever — it is undeniably an iconic text that has influenced millions of people, both martial artists and non-martial artists.

The expanded edition of this iconic text is available now for pre-order in our online store! Get yours today!

In his three-disc martial arts DVD collection, Street Fighting Applications of Wing Chun, Grandmaster William Cheung, the longtime friend and wing chun training partner of Bruce Lee (whom Cheung at one point introduced to Ip Man!), recalls some of his most dangerous street fights and deconstructs the techniques he used to survive the encounters.

WING CHUN DVD PREVIEW | William Cheung Shows You How to Deal with Low Kicks in a Street-Fighting Situation

In Street Fighting Applications of Wing Chun Volume 3: Muay Thai Melee, the narrative backdrop takes place in the spring of 1962 in Sydney. A friend of William Cheung’s who is being bullied by a fighter from Thailand asks the wing chun fighter for help. William Cheung confronts the Thai fighters and his partners, and it is a dangerous situation, pitting the traditional wing chun kung fu expert against three opponents with brass knuckles. As the fight went on, William Cheung was injured but still managed to devise some creative solutions to stay alive.

Learn how he did it in this DVD! In Street Fighting Applications of Wing Chun Volume 3: Muay Thai Melee, wing chun kung fu grandmaster William Cheung covers:

• cross-arm drills for close-quarters fighting
• shin-kick drills
• execution of stances and entry techniques
• dealing with elbow and knee strikes
• defenses against low kicks
• dealing with multiple opponents

William Cheung is a member of the Black Belt Hall of Fame (Kung Fu Artist of the Year, 1983), who has trained since the age of 10, originally under the legendary Ip Man. William Cheung currently operates a worldwide network of instructors based in Australia. During his decades of studying martial arts and Chinese medicine, William Cheung has also become an expert in meridians, pressure points and meditation dealing with internal energies. Today, William Cheung’s programs for the treatment of sports injuries and stress-related illnesses using ancient Chinese-medicine remedies are highly sought across the globe.

Bolster your martial arts arsenal with our FREE weapons guide—Ninja Gear: Master Modern Self-Defense Weapons With Ninjutsu Training

The above-mentioned founders wrote scores of books describing their martial arts techniques, as well as their ideas for self-improvement and spirituality. That no doubt helped spread the message of the Asian martial arts to the masses. But what of the Western martial arts, the ones that originated in the countries from which most Americans come? Do they have as much to offer the modern practitioner? It is the opinion of many that they do.

Combat Sports vs. Martial Arts

Boxing, wrestling, fencing, archery and javelin throwing are the best-known forms of Western martial-like play, and although they’re somewhat limited by safety rules, they’re still extremely effective in their own way. They are sports that haven’t developed as methods of self-improvement and spirituality to the extent the modern martial arts have, but they do teach sportsmanlike behavior and build character. This idea of sport goes back to the ancient Greeks, who believed that a beautiful body was as important as a sharp mind.

Sportsmanship is concerned with fairness in competition and grace in defeat. Character involves putting forth one’s best and abstaining from immediate gratification for the sake of later rewards. This Protestant-like value develops self-discipline and the ability to suppress one’s appetites, as well as the capacity to function as part of a team for the greater good, rather than pursuing personal glory and ambition. It also promotes self-sufficiency and the ability to think on one’s feet. Submitting to authority in the form of coaches and referees serves as a model for social conduct. Unfortunately, those qualities are seldom seen these days in professional and college sports.

Boxing and wrestling are at least as well-known as karate and judo, and they can hold their own against any Asian striking and grappling style. They can easily be made more combative and dangerous by incorporating martial arts techniques that are considered fouls in their sports. The two sports were used for combat in the past, but the dangerous techniques were removed for the safety of the players. The fouls can be practiced as prearranged drills in much the same manner as kata from Japanese martial arts. Known as “dirty fighting,” they’re what thugs and ruffians used before the introduction of the martial arts in the mid-20th century. Bruce Lee held an extremely high opinion of the Western martial sports and drew heavily on boxing and fencing while developing jeet kune do.

Boxing

Boxing as practiced by the ancient Greeks involved minimal science. It consisted mainly of swinging- and looping-type blows and little defense other than the ability to “tough it out.” The Romans added a leather hand wrap or glove called a cestus, sometimes with metal studs to inflict more damage as their tastes grew bloodier. As boxing evolved in England, it was influenced by fencing, which added more accurate and powerful linear thrusts rather than swings, and more effective parries rather than simple blocking. The shuffling footwork of boxing is nearly identical to that of fencing, as is the use of strategy to allow one to strike a target rather than just lash out at it. It’s interesting to note that in Japan, swordsmanship also influenced aikido.

The sport of bare-knuckle fighting used many methods that are no longer allowed: the “chopper,” or hammerfist strike; a technique that utilized the head to block and break the delicate bones of the opponent’s hand as well as to strike his face; and the cross-buttock throw. With the introduction of gloves and the rules of the Marquis of Queensbury, the “manly art of self-defense” developed into the “sweet science” of boxing.

Wrestling

In addition to being a type of play for children, wrestling is the most ancient and universal form of combat. Humans love to grapple and do so all over the world. There are images of wrestlers from ancient Egypt, references to it in the Bible and the continuing popularity of the Greco-Roman style (which was actually developed in France in the 1860s). Probably the most widespread and varied are the many ethnic and folk styles of wrestling. All forms of the art offer numerous skills and techniques—including takedowns and grappling techniques effected from the bottom and top positions—that are deemed valuable for street fighting. Most also include plenty of illegal techniques that can hurt and maim, which makes wrestling supremely useful in ground encounters.

Fencing

Fencing developed into the academic study of the sword and later into a sport. The sword was the preferred weapon for combat and self-defense, and its use continued even after the introduction of firearms. Military officers still carry a sword as part of their dress uniform. The tradition of dueling with the sword continued in Europe into the 20th century. Fencing parallels kendo in that it’s associated with refined people, as well as the noble ideals and higher values (chivalry, bushido) of an elite fighting class of knights.

The foil is not a weapon but an instrument to learn how to fence. There are two main styles of foil fencing: the French style is refined and precise, while the Italian style is more powerful and athletic. A good foundation of foil technique is a prerequisite for learning the epee (sport version of the dueling sword, or rapier, a thrusting weapon) and then the saber (a cavalry sword mainly used for cutting while on horseback). The Italians and Hungarians are said to have developed the best saber technique.

Several books about medieval and Renaissance sword fighting have been published. They’re based on solid research and reflect the combat applications rather than the sporting aspect of the weapon. There are also many translations of old sword-fighting manuals from the 12th century to the 18th century from England, Germany, Italy, France and other countries. Those manuals teach combat methods for the sword, sword and shield, two-handed sword, rapier and dagger.

Projectile Weapons

Part of most modern track-and-field events, the javelin has distant origins as a projectile weapon for hunting and waging war. It was most effectively used in combat by the ancient Romans. The weapon had a heavy wooden handle connected to the point by a thin metal shaft that would easily bend. It wasn’t necessary to pierce the opponent’s flesh; it was enough simply to get it to stick into his shield. The shaft would bend so he couldn’t throw it back, and before he could pull it out of his shield, the Roman soldier would charge with his sword drawn.

The bow has been decisive in determining the outcome of battles throughout history—although Greek and Roman armies usually prevailed without depending on it. The English made effective use of it, as did the Persians and Mongolians, but the modern bow owes its development to the Turks. Archery is now practiced mostly as a sport, but bow hunting and even bow fishing remain popular. Modern special-forces operatives sometimes use bows for clandestine missions.

Part of most modern track-and-field events, the javelin has distant origins as a projectile weapon for hunting and waging war. It was most effectively used in combat by the ancient Romans. The weapon had a heavy wooden handle connected to the point by a thin metal shaft that would easily bend. It wasn’t necessary to pierce the opponent’s flesh; it was enough simply to get it to stick into his shield. The shaft would bend so he couldn’t throw it back, and before he could pull it out of his shield, the Roman soldier would charge with his sword drawn.

The bow has been decisive in determining the outcome of battles throughout history—although Greek and Roman armies usually prevailed without depending on it. The English made effective use of it, as did the Persians and Mongolians, but the modern bow owes its development to the Turks. Archery is now practiced mostly as a sport, but bow hunting and even bow fishing remain popular. Modern special-forces operatives sometimes use bows for clandestine missions.

According to Singh, for Bruce Lee, JKD was not a style so much as it was a path and process of self-discovery and constant growth. “[Lee] refused to refer to [jeet kune do] as a style because he believed doing so would be tantamount to limiting it,” Singh writes in his “Roots of Combat, Part 1″ article in Black Belt.

Check out our FREE guide to learn more about Bruce Lee’s views on jeet kune do—Bruce Lee’s Biography and the Birth of Tao of Jeet Kune Do.

Topics for Hardinger Singh’s two-part martial arts article, “Roots of Combat,” appearing in the July and August 2011 issues of Black Belt, include:

• wing chun
• jun fan gung fu
• jeet kune do techniques
• kettlebells for martial arts fitness
• mixed martial arts training
• Lyoto Machida and his strikes in shotokan karate
• execution of destruction techniques
• kina mutai training
• Brazilian jiu-jitsu’s influence on modern combat fighting
• mind/body coordination
• biting, gouging, destructive techniques
• martial arts conditioning for optimal fighting performance

JEET KUNE DO + BRAZILIAN JIU-JITSU + KINA MUTAI ACTION
Martial Arts Video of Harinder Singh Behind the Scenes at Black Belt Magazine

This new edition of the landmark book gives martial arts enthusiasts and collectors exactly what they want: more Bruce Lee.

In addition to the master’s insightful explanations on gung fu, this book features digitally enhanced photography, previously unpublished Bruce Lee pictures with the Little Dragon’s original handwritten notes, a brand-new front and back cover, and introductions by widow Linda Lee Cadwell and daughter Shannon Lee.

This new modern edition of the 1963 classic preserves the authority and charm of Lee’s original language. This official reproduction––as sanctioned by Shannon Lee and Bruce Lee Enterprises––features Chinese characters written by the author and painstakingly scanned for this project as well as vintage photographs from Bruce Lee’s personal collections.

Explore the history behind Bruce Lee’s art with our FREE guide—Bruce Lee’s Biography and the Birth of Tao of Jeet Kune Do.

In addition, Chinese Gung Fu includes the testimonials from the first edition by James Y. Lee, the legendary Ed Parker, and jujutsu icon Wally Jay as well as contemporary introductions by Linda Lee Cadwell and Shannon Lee to help contextualize this iconic work.

Recently discovered pictures from a lost photo session, which are described by Lee in his own handwriting, round out this new edition of Chinese Gung Fu.

We thoroughly enjoyed recreating this timeless classic by one of the greatest masters in martial arts. Your financial support provides us with the opportunity to pursue projects like this one, so if you’re interested in Bruce Lee or kung fu, please spend a few moments checking out Chinese Gung Fu at our martial arts shop.

When faced with diminishing speed, power and strength, many people cease training altogether. Others seek out alternative methods. Note that use of the word “alternative” confers no hint of settling for second best even though many people enter this phase in their journey with exactly that feeling. The fact is, these alternatives often prove superior to the way we did things before. That’s because the methods we followed in our early days were, relatively speaking, simpler and easier to assimilate—which is precisely why they are taught first.

Lacking the depth of experience that comes only with time, beginners are capable of digesting only small amounts of all that the martial arts have to offer. Still, even at that early level, we enjoy what we learn, develop skill in it and perfect that skill to the best of our ability. However, because everyone else in our peer group is practicing and playing with basically the same tools, there is little incentive to try anything else. Enter injury and aging. Although viewed as rusty, jagged edges of the same double-edged sword, they are really our allies, not our enemies.

I hate those nagging injuries as much as the next person because they keep me from reaching higher levels of physical skill. I feel the same way about aging, and I still fight it tooth and nail, but I am—at least at this point in my training—beginning to taste and appreciate lemonade.

What do I mean? Well, there’s an old saying that goes something like this: “When you’re stuck with lemons, you can either put on a sour face, or you can make lemonade.” Here, then, are our lemons:

• If you train seriously, injuries are inescapable
• If you breathe, then so is aging

Since no one likes a sourpuss, you might as well try to make lemonade from your lemons. The following is an old Chinese recipe.

Traditional Taoist Martial Arts

Although there are hundreds of Chinese martial arts, all of them grew from two traditions: Buddhist (or Shaolin) and Taoist. Of the two, the Shaolin family tree has more distinguishable branches. Divided many times over—into northern/southern, grappling/ striking and so on—the Shaolin arts have numerous recognizable names, including praying mantis, white crane, hung gar and wing chun. The Taoist arts, on the other hand, number only three: hsing-i, pa kua chang chang and tai chi chuan.

Many Taoist martial artists hold that the best course to study self-defense is to begin with hsing-i, intern in pa kua chang changand graduate with an advanced degree in tai chi. Not everyone subscribes to this style-switching progression, believing that each one includes all the necessary elements. But even among those who delve into only one of them, there often exists a similar, albeit less obvious, progression within that art.

The late Jou Tsung Hwa, a renowned tai chi master, believed that his art could be divided into at least three phases. He claimed that the three major tai chi systems—Chen, Yang and Wu—are actually best taught in a progression because they build on and complement one another. As he saw it, the Chen style (the oldest known tai chi system and one that bears marked similarities to hsing-i) should be learned first, since it is half yang and half yin, half hard and half soft. It should be followed with the Yang style (the most popular form and the one that most folks recognize as tai chi), which is 75-percent soft. Finally, one should take up the Wu style, which is considered the most internal of the three with its small, subtle movements.

The progression from hsing-i to pa kua chang to tai chi runs counter to common Western experience in which tai chi by itself is often pursued strictly for its health benefits rather than its martial potential. Unfortunately, this leads to some erroneous conclusions about the effectiveness of tai chi as a means of self-defense.

That aside, there remains something notable about this Taoist progression: It closely parallels and complements us as we grow, age and mature in our practice of the arts.

Tai Chi Chuan Style Overview

The most linear of the three, hsing-i frequently has us advancing in a straight line, turning and advancing again. Strength is opposed mainly by strength, and this style’s rapid-fire punches remind us of modern wing chun. Granted, this is a generalization.

There is much we can say to mitigate and expand upon some of these impressions, but they are accurate as far as they go and, as such, useful for this discussion. Hsing-i, then, is rigorous, conditioning, strengthening and especially effective when we have the speed and strength of youth. Technically more precise, sophisticated and smoother than hsing-i, pa kua chang chang requires less effort and strength.

Whereas hsing-i is more linear, pa kua chang is circular. The two arts are extremely effective in and of themselves, and many practitioners spend their lives studying just one of them. However, it is when we work through hsing-i and progress well into pa kua chang chang that our combat effectiveness soars. In The Way of the Warrior, Howard Reid and Michael Croucher quote a master named Hung I-hsiang: “In pa kua, the emphasis is on tricks and subtle evasive action. Unlike hsing-i, it does not require one to face the opponent directly. In hsing-i, 1,000 kilos of strength is met with 1,000 kilos. In pa kua, one tries to move in circles to avoid direct confrontation, thereby permitting one to deflect and overturn 1,000 kilos of strength with only 100 grams. Hsing-i is direct and linear, pa kua chang is indirect and circular. Tai chi works in all directions.”

Tai chi represents the crème de la crème of the Taoist martial arts. As the last step in a progressive martial arts training program, it demands still less effort and strength, for the physical conditioning and toughening of hsing-i have paved the way for the technical excellence developed in pa kua. That, in turn, yields to a complete blending with the opponent that is so perfect it uses his energy to effect his destruction.

Taoist Martial Arts’ Natural Progression

Armed with a general understanding of hsing-i, pa kua chang and tai chi, we can now draw a parallel between this traditional Taoist progression and lifelong martial arts training. Besides providing an effective method of self-defense, hsing-i serves to condition, toughen and prepare us when we’re young. With youthful vigor and strength, we are more than capable of fighting fire with fire, of facing force with force. But as we enter middle age, old injuries take their toll and strength begins to wane. No amount of additional training can overcome the injury-imposed limitations or halt the decline.

What were once punishing blows and blocks now become painful, even harmful to us. Techniques that were possible are now impractical. Recovery times lengthen, and decreased stamina makes prolonged conflict even less desirable. This stage is the first point of discouragement, and many of us simply acquiesce here and cease martial arts training altogether. However, this is unnecessary, and the Taoist arts show us how to adjust.

Moving into pa kua, we learn new methods that enhance our technical skill, allowing us to overcome an adversary using sophisticated, largely circular movements in place of raw speed and strength. Challenged once again, we discover that there is still more to learn. Equally important, our need for self-defense is still satisfied. Now, however, the training and fighting progress without the collateral damage to us. All this is unthinkable to younger students, for they have neither developed sufficiently in the basics nor do they possess the necessary wisdom of years to recognize the need to try something else. Athletes who are strong and in great shape almost despite their years will probably not pursue different avenues until pain overrules any gain received from their current training methods. But even the seasoned practitioner cannot remain forever in this middle-age category, for time marches on. This brings us to tai chi, the “grand ultimate fist.”

In our advanced years, even if we are a hard stylist we find that our art’s focus and training methods are “softening.” Whether by conscious decision or subconscious evolution, our body resists repeated hard martial arts training. For example, those who have witnessed the development of tang soo do claim that the methods that were part of the founder’s curriculum have changed with every decade of his life, softening considerably in later years. In this vein, tai chi offers us the grand, ultimate destination in the Taoist progression. We may be less virile in appearance, but once we have mastered hsing-i, pa kua chang and tai chi, we will seldom be challenged successfully. We will remain a formidable player, largely because our skill is based on a natural progression and on the years of experience that such a progression demands.

Taoist Martial Arts: A Lifelong Study

Even if we do not study the Taoist martial arts, that kind of progression is still possible. The specific martial arts training we choose are less important than their philosophies, methods and principles.

We can substitute any number of hard styles for hsing-i, for instance. Likewise, there are many arts from China and Southeast Asia that can stand in quite nicely for pa kua chang chang. What is important is our willingness to embrace the changes forced on us by injury and aging, not merely accept their consequences. If that means switching arts to learn new principles, so be it.

At the beginning of this article, I stated that seeking alternative methods of martial arts training does not mean settling for second best and that injury and aging can actually be our allies. Believe it or not, at age 56 my technique is more effective than it was when I was younger and stronger. Obviously, having trained for 30-plus years has a lot to do with that, but more important is the fact that my strength no longer hampers my ability to relax while moving—and relaxation is the key to unlocking speed and power. Despite not being as strong as I was decades ago, I am significantly faster. I hit harder than ever, but without the effort and the damage to myself.

I would never have improved so much had my body remained whole and my strength remained as it was 30 years ago. The transition was also possible because the arts I study are amenable to “softer” execution of their techniques. In fact, beyond the beginner’s level, every technique and principle in the arts I study actually improves in efficiency when executed with less strength. And therein lies the challenge: How do you train to use less strength in an endeavor that may someday be needed to save your life? Less strength and relaxed execution seem counterintuitive when you’re learning potentially life-saving skills.

Good News for Your Martial Arts Training

There is no easy way to surmount that obstacle. Perhaps the best advice is to train smarter, not harder. We must listen to our bodies. As martial artists, we’re supposed to be in tune with ourselves. When we find that meeting 1,000 pounds of force with 1,000 pounds of resistance is getting harder, we must step back and reevaluate our martial arts training. If our martial art’s answer is to train still harder, we should seriously consider looking elsewhere. I have many taekwondo friends, for example, who now augment their martial arts training with tai chi—not just for health, but for continuing growth in their martial skills.

For some of us, our own discipline and determination prevent us from looking elsewhere. We try harder (not smarter) until something breaks. Only then do we look elsewhere. I know— been there, done that. A bad back and subsequent operation forced me to lower my kicking height. But instead of settling for less, I found that kicking low was not only more effective but also more challenging than I’d thought. And as arthritis made punching hard targets more painful, my recognition of the greater vulnerability of other targets, such as joints and limbs, soared. At the same time, my appreciation for my other weapons—knees, elbows, open hands and so on—grew significantly.

The nature of this article requires a perspective that only age and experience can bring. Whether you see that as fortunate or unfortunate may foretell how you will continue to grow in the martial arts as your injury toll and age climb and your physical abilities sink. Even if you are still young and vigorous, this article applies to you, for it is a harbinger of things to come. Heed it, and your knowledge, skill and pleasure in the arts will continue for many years. Skip it, and enjoy to the fullest the few youthful years you have left, for they will be brief.

(Bob Orlando is a freelance writer and martial artist based in Colorado. He has trained for more than 30 years and holds instructor-level rank in kuntao and pentjak silat.)

The concepts of the five animals is thought to have originated early in the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) at Shaolin Temple, located on Song mountain in China’s Henan province, says Black Belt Hall of Fame member Eric Lee. “The animals of Shaolin made a huge impact on the development of kung fu and are still doing so today. That’s because the animals, like nature, offer the same insights today as they did centuries ago.

“In the beginning, the old masters studied the animals and adopted many of their habits. Those habits included how they rested, how they gathered and released their chi (internal energy), how they stalked their prey and how they fought. The five animals were chosen for their superior attributes for fighting and defense and for other mannerisms that contribute positively to human life.”

Practicing kung fu with the attitude of one of the five animals can help you see things more clearly, says Eric Lee, who began teaching the Chinese arts in Oakland, California, in 1970.“You’ll be more aware, and you’ll be more in balance internally and externally. The animals help you express yourself wholeheartedly in any direction. They’ll help you know what it’s like to be anything you want to be. If you let nature be your teacher, good things happen.”

Shaolin Kung Fu: Snake Form

Full-body awareness gives the snake a heightened sensitivity, and that allows it to use all its resources to accomplish its goals. The animal coils its body for speed and power, then strikes without hesitation or fear. It’s a relentless hunter that uses every muscle to push, slide, penetrate, wrap and eventually control its prey. The snake is a natural ground fighter— which is why grapplers often find its movements to their liking.

The snake hand, in which all four fingers are extended to strike like a spear, is the primary weapon. “You can move the snake hand up, down or from side to side using it or your arm to block, then you can strike your opponent’s throat or another vital area with the same hand,” Eric Lee says. “When doing snake moves, you can strike and lock simultaneously. Offense becomes defense, and defense becomes offense.”

A useful snake technique entails raising your hand like a cobra lifting its head, then relaxing your arm and shooting it out and back for a lightning- fast strike, Eric Lee says. In super-tight quarters, he adds, you can increase your effectiveness by switching to the snake tongue: Extend your index and middle fingers and hold them together as you jab them into a pressure point.

Shaolin Kung Fu: Crane Form

The crane epitomizes yin and yang as it passively stands on one leg for hours yet maintains its ability to kill in a heartbeat. When it springs into action, it’s the embodiment of subtlety and grace. The movements of its wings create hollow contours, allowing it to move with seeming effortlessness. It can adapt to harsh weather and fly through the severest of storms. In a battle on the ground, it uses its wings to deflect attacks and propel its body along a circular path. That, augmented by the animal’s long legs, enables it to use evasion techniques to create distance between itself and its adversary.

When an enemy is within range, the crane will slap with its wings and stomp with its feet, thereby creating openings for impeccably timed beak strikes. Its long, flexible neck enhances its attacks.

Crane training boosts your concentration and balance, Eric Lee says. “The crane style teaches you to lift one leg and use it for blocking or deflection. Then you can execute a fast snap kick out and back with the same leg.” You form the crane beak by extending your thumb, index finger and middle finger and hitting with their tips. It’s perfect for short- to medium-range strikes to pressure points and other vital areas, he says.

A variation of the fighting method uses dual crane beaks. After striking with one, it becomes a hook that pulls your opponent close. Then you attack with your other hand. Eric Lee recites an old kung fu adage: One beak lies while the other tells the truth. Your enemy never knows which hand you’ll use for offense and which for defense.

The crane style also teaches an esoteric vibrating technique. It’s effected by first attacking with a crane beak, then turning the beak like a corkscrew with a sudden release of inward energy before backing it out with a reversed twist, releasing the energy again as you withdraw, Eric Lee says. A lot of Chinese stylists joke about the technique, he adds, but done right, it can be extremely effective.

Shaolin Kung Fu: Tiger Form

A ferocious meat eater with strong bones and muscles, the tiger is physically gifted for combat. It boasts thick legs, huge paws with sharp claws, and an enormous head with razor-sharp teeth and powerful jaws. Its sturdy mid-section, back and neck help it generate maximum ripping and tearing energy. It hunts with great stealth, instinctively using ninja-type tactics to hit its prey from behind. The tiger’s speed comes from relaxed muscles; the more relaxed they are, the more quickly and silently it can move. Filled with pure power, its thunderous roar induces shock and fear in its enemies. The Chinese regard it as the king of all beasts.

Since the tiger is representative of the external, training in tiger kung fu involves lots of push-ups, sit-ups, calisthenics and sparring. “It’s important to strengthen your body, liven up your chi and get your blood flowing,” Eric Lee says. “Don’t forget the jing (chi-energized muscles) and shin (spirit), but especially the jing.”

The tiger claw is the primary weapon. Forming your hands into claws involves spreading your digits and bending them slightly. “Strong stances that create stable, grounded positioning contribute to the effectiveness of tiger strikes,” he says. “Circular arm motions with the tiger claws executed while changing from one stance to another result in maximum torque and power for deflecting an incoming blow—or for taking someone to the ground. It’s effective at tearing up muscles in the arms, legs and body of your opponent, or it can be used to press, push and drive him away.”

When you attack, you may want to adopt the roar of the tiger. Your opponent will react with fear, and his hesitation might give you the opening you need to deliver a decisive strike to a sensitive spot. “The roar is also used to develop your internal energy,” Eric Lee says. “When the tiger roars, it breathes out a huge amount of carbon dioxide, then replaces it with fresh energy, giving it more stamina and spirit.”

Shaolin Kung Fu: Leopard Form

This big cat is a magnificent creature that exudes speed and danger. It can move like the wind to chase its prey or escape from an enemy. It is ultra-efficient, resting as it observes and calculates, then exploding into a blur of tooth and nail. At other times, it may choose to rely on stealth tactics to close the distance with a victim.

After that, it’s relentless. The feline will run its dinner to exhaustion, then tear into its vital areas.The leopard fist, which utilizes the second knuckles of the four fingers, is seen in a number of martial arts—and for good reason. Flexing the fingers makes the hand rigid and strong. Since the knuckles form a smaller striking surface, the shock of a strike is not spread over a large area. And the thinness of the leopard fist allows you to insert it into narrow openings to hit soft targets.

“Strikes to the armpits, neck, spine and temples are easily done with the leopard fist, as are pressure-point techniques aimed at the legs or between the ribs,” Eric Lee says. “The strike usually begins from a relaxed position, then goes out and back quickly to make contact with the knuckles. You can also whip it out like a back-fist.”

Shaolin Kung Fu: Dragon Form

Representing internal and spiritual training, the dragon may live in the ocean or fly down from the heavens to provide the elemental benefits of water, metal, wood, earth and fire. Its mission is larger than life, always noble and full of wisdom. It bestows insight toward the infinite while accomplishing the impossible.

The dragon claw is the most formidable weapon of the style. “It uses the thumb and fingers like a tiger claw, but the fingers are bent less and the palm is flatter,” Eric Lee says. “If you try to grab a basketball, your hand will form a shape much like a dragon claw. The tiger claw is more like holding a baseball.”

You can use the dragon claw to grab, pull and lock your opponent or throw him to the ground. If you use the palm to attack his head or body, you should do it in a soft/hard manner, Eric Lee says. “Be relaxed and wait until you make contact to emit the power, then be soft again. That saves energy.”

The dragon also teaches you to be unpredictable and to use the insubstantial against the substantial, he says. “If you’re pushed, don’t use force against force. Just go with it and let your opponent fall. Or you can fall and use the tail of the dragon—your rear leg—to sweep him to the ground. Then you disappear into the night, leaving him wondering what just happened.”

Fighting like a dragon means being smart, calm and fearless, Eric Lee insists.
“Always think ahead, and lead your opponent away from your vulnerabilities or into the abyss of your power. Take the obvious and reverse it. With the spirit of the dragon, you will always rise to fight another day.”

(Floyd Burk is a freelance writer and martial arts instructor based in San Diego. )