# data[].attributes.body
Japan Journal Outtakes

A Strange Look Back

(Or what happens when you try to write through writer’s block)

I don't know what compels me to write of my Mark Gowers experience, maybe it's the entry into my brain of an experience that screams for analysis, of an experience from so long ago that flew by in the moment but years later, for some strange reason, unearths itself screaming at you for your youthful naiveté.

It was the occasion of the seventh game of the 1991 World Series between the upstart Atlanta Braves and the Minnesota Twins, who with the rotund but lovable Kirby Puckett were making their second attempt at a championship in four years. On the final Sunday of October in Chico, where the fall presents itself theatrically, with colors bright on the leaves and a vapor producing breath, I had come across Mark Gowers in the lobby of the Merriam Library on the school campus. He had been the teacher in my speech communications class the previous spring, his class a source of frustration as he seemed to carry a chip on his shoulder, a misplaced sense of importance that conveyed itself in what seemed an impossible grading curve. If your speech had perfect rise and climactic storyline, it would be degraded for lack of continuity; whereas the perfectly written speech would be marked down for lack of eye contact. The problem in all of this was that it was a general education requirement and we were a group of freshman used to being rewarded for trying. Gowers, tall and thin to the point of gauntness, had introduced himself to us on the first day of class in late January as a former standup comedian who, after suffering a bad motorcycle accident, was back doing graduate work. His summation of his situation left us wondering whether or not he actually wanted to be there, and I can say with certainty that a majority of the class did not.

The exception in that majority would be me. I relished a speech class; it played perfectly into my desire to have all the attention in the room. As a class clown throughout much of junior high and high school I had enjoyed the spotlight and my speeches in Gowers class were prepared for eagerly. I wanted to give this “former standup comedian” a chance that others in the room were too turned off to give, sensing that he had more then condescension to offer, and willing to suffer his lack of tact to get there.

The feelings of the rest of the class towards him were similar to those of a motorist towards the citation-writing officer, but without the knowledge of guilt. His standards were difficult to decipher, yet at times entertaining. Quietly we applauded when he zinged the Los Gatos blond who circumnavigated her way through a story of a botched sorority flower pinning ritual; however, his lambasting of the shy student in the class who told a difficult story of his mothers breast cancer scare seemed unnecessary and misplaced. Outside the class we gathered like the embittered cast in the production of a tyrannical director, lashing out about our potential mobility, or possible insurrection. It was in one of these gatherings I recall a frustrated fraternity pledge from San Diego, trashing Gowers and in the next breath sharing his previous Christmas holiday: “Man my parents stoked me out, I got a new car AND a computer!”

Gowers was an alien figure to the undergraduate crowd at Chico State circa 1990. He was a graduate student, intellectual, homosexual, and seemingly unsure whether he should be empowered or embittered by it all.  There was a courteous yet guarded side to him, seemingly ready to pounce at any moment, yet gentle and curious about the details of certain speeches, like the previously mentioned breast cancer speech.  It was the clumsy follow through in his evaluation of that breast cancer speech, where he obsessed on delivery and pacing, that soiled the memory of his feedback.

I had made plans to meet him at the Café Sienna. It was quiet in downtown Chico, perhaps because of Game 7 of the World Series or maybe the cold. Gowers initially appeared to be his usual mercurial self, his greeting was polite, as if we hadn’t planned on meeting but had inadvertently bumped into each other. I told him about the previous night’s drunken fiasco, where I helped wrestle the keys to my roommates bright orange truck from him as he was going into his second Coors Light twelve pack of the evening.  As usual I shared the story as though I had been sober through it all, even adding that “I could have driven him home,” which was a boldfaced lie. I sensed that Gowers would look down upon me further had he known that I was another undergraduate weekend drunk, the type that he had to tolerate in his classes on his way to his doctorate. The initial apprehension with which he seemed to greet me would eventually fade; as the conversation weaved it’s way through historical, political, and social avenues. The German writer Rilke, Jesus Christ, and Ghandi came up, with him offering an elaborate description of how something fundamentally good, like the bible, was impossible to transfer down over time while it was so intertwined with power and the subjugation of other religions, thoughts, and peoples.

This was the first time I had ever been social with a teacher, and though Gowers was a grad student, my mind did not differentiate. As worldly as I thought myself to be, and able to keep up with intellectual discussions, the mechanics of a university and the way that graduate students are used in the classroom had not entered into my understanding. That Gowers would take the time to sit with me and share his well-informed views of the world cleansed him of whatever faults I had seen in him as an instructor. I never worked the topic of the grade I had received that previous spring into our conversation. As we ended the conversation and parted ways that night he mentioned that he would be giving a presentation at the student union in a couple of weeks about history. I made a mental note and thanked him for his company.

On the night of his speech I worked my usual custodial shift in the Whitney Hall student dormitory, clocking out around seven-thirty. The student union was on the other side of the campus but I decided to make my way over and hear Gowers presentation. The hall where he was speaking seated about sixty people and was about half filled. I took a seat in the back and Gowers nodded to me as he was describing a transparency lit up on the overhead projector. The topic of the presentation was homosexuality and history, and how it was imbedded in so many different cultures. The main premise was the idiocy of discrimination based on orientation, likely by the church, possibly by the government. I looked around the room and noticed a couple of the students from the dorm, whose masculinity might have been on the more ambiguous side, and their approving nods to me upon my entry. It was as though I was gaining entry into a private club, whose initiation ritual I might not have been interested in learning. I had always been comfortable around gay men, having spent considerable time around them as a child. My mother once had a friend, a man in his seventies named Cyrus, who wallpapered his East Stroudsburg apartment bathroom with pictures of the male penis, in varying shades of light and arousal. My eleven-year old eyes were a bit taken aback, especially with the lack of explanation from my mother as to what it all meant. But Cyrus was not the only one, as there was a cadre of gay men who worked at the hotel I did, and helped suggest the drag queen costume I donned for Halloween in 1984.

I exited Gowers speech and noticed a different acknowledgement towards me from a couple of the men who had been in attendance. I would see them passing through the dining hall as I was working, Reggie, Billy, Grant, and a few others who would approach and discuss social issues and foreign policy, as I had a reputation for being politically aware, though not necessarily astute. I would not see Gowers again until December, at LaSalles bar, during finals week. I had been on the street side of town, in Chico the south side of ton from campus has the streets and most of the bars, while north of campus are the avenues. I had a final the next morning so for me it was mainly a social call, and I wanted to visit a group of pre-law students I had befriended through a professor. Back to Gowers, he was wearing a sports coat, like he had been to a formal party of some sort, and was obviously drunk. His face was close to his hair; in it’s shade of persimmon, which on this night so close to Christmas was appropriate. He greeted me much more enthusiastically then he ever had before, and offered to buy me a drink. I accepted in the spirit of the holiday, but was weary about his glee in seeing me. He immediately began talking about the grade he had given me in the class the previous spring, waiving it off, “You know, that grade, that was…well” . He was trying to articulate something beyond the grade. I felt the potential for awkwardness. He then asked me if I wanted to go back to his place and have a beer, which I politely declined. He shuffled away towards the door of the bar, set his drink on one of the speakers, and exited out into the street. Big, buzzed, and drunkenly humbled, sure to avoid any future discussions with his former student.

Notes from Master Uezu on the Kata  (April ’03)

1)    In Sunsu, at the end you must cover before raking the eyes. This will be easier to explain in person, but when I did the kata Master Uezu stressed this cover that I had been neglecting.

2)    When doing kata for Master Uezu it is not easy to complete a kata. John Byrd told me as much and it seemed true. Master Uezu will do the moves next to you and frequently stop you and point things out. I was never able to do a full kata all the way through. His mind is extremely sharp on technique.

3)    He stressed that ‘Peace is always #1. Kata begins and ends in peace’. Sensei Ruhl makes this point repeatedly as well of course.

4)    Over lunch I asked Master Uezu the top priorities in Isshinryu. He stated them as 1) Basics (Chart I presume) 2) Kata 3) Ippon 4) Kumite

5)    At the end of Wansu, when you do the double open hand block, Master Uezu teaches that your opponent is completely exhausted and the next move would be a straightforward open hand thrust like #7 in chart. However, you show mercy and end the kata.

6)    According to Master Uezu, as relayed to me by John Byrd, Master Shimbabuku was constantly changing his mind about kata and technique. In fact, according to Master Uezu, there was a two-year period when Master Shimbabuku reverted back to the twist punch.

7)    In Sai 2 there were a couple of things that Sensei Nakahodo and Master Uezu corrected me on. One significant correction was in the strikes immediately after you punch with the sai. Picture your thumb as being twelve-o-clock – I had been striking top of wrist at about twelve o’clock as well. Master Uezu said it was more akin to two-o-clock that you strike the top of your opponent’s wrist. Your opponent by the way, has a knife. In other words, you punch straightforward with the sai and then strike top of wrist to your right – not directly on top. I hope this is clear but it may be, as Sensei Ruhl likes to say, ‘Clear as mud’.

8)    In Sai 2 I need to be quicker taking the bo down and when I block the bo it is farther out away from my body then I had been going, to the point of really reaching out. I will be looking at videotapes to see exactly how far.

9)    I need to keep the sai along my arm, rather then having it out, which I have a tendency to do.

10) I was briefed on some of the controversies in the Isshinryu world, and will have much to share when we meet in person.

Final Democrats Abroad Meeting

On Saturday August 2, 2003, the Kansai Chapter of Democrats Abroad held a meeting at the Bon-Bon café along the Kamagawa River in Kyoto. There were seven people in attendance, as the majority of regulars had gone on summer vacation to places like Seattle, China, California, and Europe. The meeting was presided over by the vice-chair, Linda, and lasted approximately two hours.

There were introductions given at the beginning and there were two new attendees present. One was from Seattle, and arrived in Kansai in June to teach at a language school; the other was a returning Kyoto resident, who had come from San Francisco and voted for Nader in 2000. Linda began the meeting with a summary of her hopes to see more activity from the group with the goal of bringing in more members and stressing the need for fundraising. The success of the May fundraiser, a showing of Bowling for Columbine, was brought up and brainstorming was done as to how to achieve something similar in the future. There were a couple of comments about how the current crop of potential Democratic nominees for President were not familiar enough and people hadn’t seen them speak and wished to do so. The merits of CSPAN.com and the file of speeches and video that can be downloaded from that website were mentioned as a way to see all of the candidates.

There was also talk of strategizing at the national level and the message that the Democratic Party needs to convey to voters if the 2004 election is to be a victorious one. There was a lingering frustration over Florida in 2000 and concern that those in the Democratic Party are too often playing a defensive strategy; this is understandable given the chicanery of the last election but may also be self-defeating if it impedes vision and a focus on the future.

Linda closed the meeting with details about future meetings, her desire to get out more voters, and to expand the base of the group.