Judo Boy E-Book

John Ball

• Herausgeber: Thunderchild Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Judo Boy is an adventure story for boys built around the ancient traditions of Judo.Rod Mitchell wants to fight his own battles. After being beaten and humiliated by the school bully and his gang, Rod is determined to fight back. Hearing about Judo from his friend, Mark Takahashi, a Nisei (Japanese-American), Rod joins the Judo school and is soon deep in a strange and fascinating new world.
To his surprise Rod learns that Judo is, first of all, a sport with a strong and inspiring code of sportsmanship. Next he finds that Judo teaches courtesy, respect, and discipline as well as technique. Then, and most difficult of all for the fiery-tempered Rod, he discovers that the best thing a Judoist can do when a fight is starting is to walk away.

Plenty of action, both on and off the Judo mat, keep this story of Rod Mitchell's self-development in Judo exciting. Based on accurate Judo data, it provides an original and valuable view of a new world of sport for boys.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Dedication

Author’s Note

About the Language of Judo

Chapter One - Encounter in the Park

Chapter Two - Mark Takahashi

Chapter Three - Shiai

Chapter Four - Modern Knighthood

Chapter Five - On the Big Mat

Chapter Six - Evidence

Chapter Seven - First Blood

Chapter Eight - Portrait of a Sensei

Chapter Nine - Victory and Defeat

Chapter Ten - Third in the World

Chapter Eleven - Demonstration

Chapter Twelve - April 15

Chapter Thirteen - Moment of Truth

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

JUDO BOY

Copyright © 1964 by John Ball, Jr.

This edition published by agreement with Kesang Ball.

All rights reserved.

Edited by Dan Thompson

A Thunderchild eBook

Published by Thunderchild Publishing

1898 Shellbrook Drive

Huntsville, AL 35806

First Edition: March 1964

First Thunderchild eBook Edition: October 2014

Cover design by Dan Thompson.

Dedication

For my son:

John David Ball III

student of Judo, Aikido, and Karate (green belt) who, at ten, is beginning to grasp some of the meaning of these great arts.

From his proud father

Author’s Note

Judo Boy is an adventure story based on this traditional, exciting, and newly popular sport. While it includes much of the Judo discipline and describes the training methods used, it makes no attempt to instruct the reader in the art. Those looking for how-to-do-it information will find a number of good books in print. Among these the author highly recommends Boys’ Judo by H. E. Sharp and C. C. Hadly, Jr. (Burton Publishing Co., Los Angeles), both for the authoritative text and the delightful illustrations.

Judo boy is the standard international term for any student of the art below the brown belt level. All beginners are called Judo boys.

Those who may feel that the Judo dojo (school) described herein is too good to be true might be interested to know that it really exists. So also do many of the people who appear in this story. The author would like to express his great appreciation to the San Fernando Valley Judo Club, to its officers, and to its outstanding faculty of black belt instructors for their unstinting co-operation and help. Gentlemen, arigato.

The author is particularly grateful to the great American judoist and teacher, Master Sego Murakami, for his gracious permission to write him into the story.

John Ball, Jr.

Encino, California

About the Language of Judo

THE sport of Judo had its origins in ancient Japan. Today the world center of Judo is the great Kodokan school in Tokyo, and throughout all of the countries where Judo is practiced and taught the language used is Japanese. In the same way the universal language of fencing is French while most musical scores give the performing, instructions in Italian.

While Japanese is a totally different language from English, the words frequently used in Judo are easy and simple to learn. Here are some of the most common:

dojo: a Judo school, or a gymnasium set aside especially for Judo.

judogi: the Judo training suit or uniform.

sensei: a teacher or master of Judo. Sensei is a term of respect applied in Japan to anyone who has reached a high level of achievement. When used as a title it comes after the name of the person rather than before as in English. It is therefore correct to say Doctor Smith and Yorita Sensei. When the word sensei is used with a proper name it is capitalized, but not otherwise. For example: Yorita Sensei told me to practice my rolls. I met the sensei downtown yesterday. It is the same in English: When Johnny was taken ill we called Doctor Smith. After half an hour the doctor came.

arigato: “thank you” in Japanese.

rei: the command to bow.

Judo: this is a proper name and is capitalized; literally it means “the gentle way.”

You will learn some others as you read the story.

Chapter One - Encounter in the Park

WHEN Rod Mitchell opened the front door of his home and stepped outside, he discovered there had been a dramatic overnight change in the weather. The cold damp air and the gloomy overcast of heavy gray clouds were both gone. Instead the sun was shining brightly, and the air was warm and inviting. Rod took a deep breath and let the new air fill his lungs. He felt charged with ambition and the desire to get out and do things. The fact that it was Saturday and the day was his to enjoy sent a tingle of satisfaction through his body.

He turned and called back over his shoulder. “Going to the library, I’ll be back.” With that he picked up the half-dozen books he had to return and ran lightly down the steps. It was six blocks to the library, or four if he cut through the park, but he did not mind. The wonderful day filled him with energy, and he began to think of the many things he had planned for the summer vacation that lay ahead.

He reached the park and cut into it at the corner. It was a big park that would be crowded by mid-afternoon; right now he had it practically to himself. The grass was soft underneath his feet, and if he hadn’t been carrying a stack of books he would have been tempted to run just to get his blood circulating faster. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t see trouble coming until he almost ran into it.

Sam Murton was standing across the path, blocking his way. He had his feet wide apart and his thumbs tucked under his belt. Chuck Andrews, who didn’t do much more than follow Sam around, was sprawled on the grass beside him. So was Hal Bancroft, who made a game of plugging up the drinking fountains at school. The three were waiting for Rod, and Rod knew it.

Still if he played it the right way, it could be all right. “Hello, Sam,” he said casually and started to walk around him.

Sam moved over a step to block him. “In a hurry, aren’t you?” Sam asked. To Hal that was funny, and he laughed with his teeth together.

“Not particularly,” Rod answered, “just going to the library.” He kept it casual, knowing it was the smart thing to do.

“Doing a lot of reading, I see, Rodney boy.” Sam put a sneer into his voice. Ever since the papers had started reporting on teen-age gangs in the city, Sam had fancied himself a tough guy. He was big, and his older brother had been a professional boxer for a short time before he had gone into the Army. That had been enough to set Sam on his way, and for months he had been getting steadily worse. When Rod’s father had been appointed to the new Juvenile Delinquency Commission which the mayor had established, Sam had chosen to take it as a personal insult.

“Why not? It’s free,” Rod answered. The calmer he played it, his common sense told him, the less chance there would be of any real trouble.

It might have worked. Sam had half stepped away when Chuck Andrews reached up with his foot and kicked the stack of books out from under Rod’s arm.

Rod’s temper blazed. He turned to throw himself on Chuck when Sam grabbed him by the shoulder. “You dropped your books, Rodney boy,” he said. “Now pick ‘em up!”

Mad as he was, Rod made one last effort to stay out of an uneven fight. He bent over and began to pick up the volumes. He had the third one in his hand when Sam drove his foot against the seat of his pants and sent him sprawling onto the grass.

That was it. Rod braced his arms to get up and fight, but a heavy foot landed hard in the middle of his back.

“You’re trying to be too smart, Rodney boy,” Sam hissed down at him. “You read too many books. You want to be a big man. Being like everyone else isn’t good enough for you.”

Rod thought fast. If he could turn over quickly despite the pressure, he could grab Sam’s leg and yank him off balance. If Sam went down, then he could jump on him. He didn’t worry about the other two — Sam had to be handled right now.

He didn’t get the chance. As if on signal his two arms were grabbed and he was held so he couldn’t move. Sam took his foot off Rod’s back and planted it under his nose. “Kiss my foot,” Sam said. “You’re good at history — that’s the way the books say they used to do it.”

Furiously Rod struggled to free his right arm. He yanked hard and almost broke the grip. At the same time he lashed out with his right leg to try and trip up Hal, who had hold of his right arm. He succeeded partly and kicked his foot hard against Hal’s leg.

Sam’s hands closed around the back of Rod’s head, forcing it downward. “I said, kiss my foot,” he snarled.

Rod felt the heavy pressure of Sam’s knee on the back of his neck. It was more than he could resist, and he was forced prone onto the ground.

“Company coming,” Chuck Andrews warned.

The pressure let up, and Rod felt he was free. He scrambled to his feet, but by the time he was up, there was nothing, he could do. All three of his adversaries had taken off, and Hal turned to laugh at him for a moment as he ran.

Rod collected his books as a man approached. “What happened?” he asked.

“I fell down,” Rod answered shortly. He was still too enraged to talk. He stayed angry the rest of the way to the library.

When he came out, plans for revenge were already forming in his mind. Trying to find Sam at that moment would be foolhardy, Rod knew, but as he took the long way home, a dozen ideas seethed in his brain. Someone had to “get” Sam, and he wanted to do it himself. A couple of others to help make it even was all he asked, even though he knew Sam was much bigger than he. He was mad and he intended to stay mad. The taste of shoe leather was still in his mouth, and the only way to get it out would be to see Sam cringing on the ground. He thought about that and took a savage delight in picturing himself standing over him, knuckles bleeding, but feeling no pain at having won a smashing victory.

Rod tried to blot out the knowledge that Sam had taken boxing lessons from his brother and was essentially a fighter while Rod was not. As far as Rod was concerned, he would learn!

When he reached home the gardener’s truck was parked in the driveway.

Rod barely noticed that it was there. In the midst of all of the ideas that were still surging through his mind it did not occur to him, in even the remotest way, that in that simple fact lay the final solution to his problem. He did not even know that the problem itself was far greater and deeper than he imagined.

Chapter Two - Mark Takahashi

THE gardener himself was down on his knees cleaning out a small flower bed at the corner of the driveway. As Rod, deep in his own thoughts and still wrapped in his burning anger, turned in, the gardener looked up and nodded a greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Takahashi,” Rod said. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he had to say that. The gardener was always pleasant despite his limited English.

“You have trouble?” the gardener asked.

Rod’s temper flared a bit at the question; it was no one’s business but his. “Nothing much, I just fell down,” he answered shortly.

“Somebody help you to?” the gardener persisted.

Rod came dangerously close to telling the gardener to mind his own business. In his hurt and anger he didn’t care what he said to anyone. He stopped only because the sound of a power lawn mower was growing louder around the corner of the house. In a moment the machine appeared guided by a boy of about Rod’s own age. His body was trim and athletic and his face pleasantly sun-tanned. Rod noticed the same thing he had seen in other Nisei, evidence of oriental ancestry combined with a healthy American openness.

The boy with the lawn mower brought it over and shut down the ignition. The machine coughed into silence. “This my son Mark,” the gardener said.

“Hi,” Rod said. It was an acknowledgment and no more. Mark took off his work gloves and held out his hand. “Glad to know you,” he said.

Rod realized he was being rude; if he didn’t take Mark’s hand, it would be inexcusable. He offered his own. “I’m Rod,” he said, “Rod Mitchell. I live here.”

Mark looked him swiftly up and down. “Have some trouble?” he asked. “What happened?”

Rod clenched his teeth and took a moment to control himself. “Nothing much, some guys got fresh, that’s all.” He hoped that would end it.

“Need any help?” Mark offered. “I can handle myself pretty well.”

Despite himself Rod liked that. It wasn’t Mark’s fight, but he was willing to get in and pitch.

“Later, maybe,” he answered tersely. “Through with that lawn mower?”

Mark nodded. “All done. I came to help Dad today, he wants to finish early if he can. We have somewhere to go.”

The gardener looked up. “O.K.,” he said, “no more for you to do.”

“Do you like basketball?” Rod asked. “I’ve got a hoop rigged over the garage and a ball.”

“Let’s go,” Mark responded.

After the first few minutes Rod had to admit Mark had been right when he had said he could handle himself. Rod knew he was pretty good with a basketball, but Mark was better. The young Nisei moved with natural ease and seemed to flip the ball without straining or trying. He scored baskets repeatedly from both the front and the sides whenever it was his turn.

Rod’s mother appeared at the back door. “Would you like to bring your friend in for a little snack?” she invited.

As Rod entered the kitchen he found his father seated at the table with a cup of coffee. Rod introduced Mark quickly and then sat down, aware that his father was studying him carefully.

“Have you been in a fight, son?” his father asked.

“I sort of fell down,” Rod answered.

“Is that how you got a footprint on the back of your clean shirt?”

Rod resigned himself. “I ran into some guys,” he admitted. “They wanted to start something. I did the best I could to keep out of it, honestly, even when Sam Murton put his hand on my shoulder and started pushing me around.”

“How hard did he fall?” Mark asked unexpectedly.

Rod angered a little. “He didn’t, I did. He’s a lot bigger than I am, and besides he’s had boxing lessons.”

“It was a set-up just the same,” Mark retorted.

Rod’s mother broke into the conversation. “I don’t like this. He could have been badly hurt.”

Rod’s father turned toward Mark. “Why did you call it a set-up?” he asked.

“Because Rod could have taken him easily with Seoi Nage,” Mark answered promptly. “It’s a common Judo throw that takes care of situations like that.”

“I told you he was a lot bigger,” Rod said angrily.

“So what,” Mark replied.

“Do you know anything about Judo?” Rod’s father asked.

“I’ve been taking it for about two years,” Mark answered,

“I’ve got my green belt. I sure wish Rod could join. It’s lots of fun and you wouldn’t have to worry if someone tries to pick on him again.”

“I don’t like Judo,” Rod’s mother interrupted. “I’ve seen some of it on television. People chopping each other in the throat — I don’t want my son to learn that.”

“Excuse me,” Mark interjected, “that isn’t Judo at all. There aren’t any chops in Judo, nothing that hurts anyone at all. You might get the wind knocked out of you if you get careless, but that’s about all.”

Mark turned to Rod’s father. “Have you ever seen real Judo?” he asked.

Mr. Mitchell shook his head. “So far I’ve missed that one. I’ve heard a lot about it, of course.”

“Well, there’s a shiai this afternoon,” Mark went on. “That’s a Judo tournament. Dad and I are going right after we get through here. How about you and Rod coming along and seeing it? Everybody does.”

Rod’s father shook his head. “I have to finish some briefs before Monday morning. I’d like to, but I can’t.”

“Then can Rod come with us, if he doesn’t mind riding in the truck? Dad and I will drop him off after it’s over — about six or so.”

“I don’t know . . .” Rod’s mother began.

“Dad’s a good driver,” Mark added quickly. “He hasn’t had an accident or even a ticket since he came to this country, and that was a long time ago.”

“How about his lunch?”

Mark grinned. “Oh, there’s always lots of good food. Healthy too. Delicious seaweed cakes, dried raw fish, fresh octopus.” He stopped for effect. “Of course if he doesn’t like Japanese food there’s always plenty of hot dogs, cold soda, ice cream.”

Rod suddenly had a vivid mental picture. He saw Sam Murton lying on the grass, gasping for breath while he, Rod, stood over him calmly in command.

“I want to go,” he said suddenly. “Can I, please?”

Once they had started, it seemed to Rod they would never get where they were going. The light truck bounced along at a very slow pace while almost every car on the road seemed to go whizzing by. In his mind Rod was picturing what Judo would be like — savage combat with people flying head over heels through the air. He recalled some of the violent action he had seen on television shows and decided that Mark’s statement that no one ever got hurt was a little too glib.

After a careful hand signal, Mr. Takahashi swung the truck left onto a side street. In front of him Rod saw a large graceful building of definitely oriental design.