Against All Odds: My Story (6 page)

I listened intently, mesmerized by the words that were searing into my heart. When Billy Graham invited those in the Sports Arena who wanted to be forgiven of their sins and wanted to commit their lives to Jesus Christ to walk down to the front of the stage, I almost leapt to my feet. Had Mom, Weiland, and Aaron not wanted to go with me, I might have run down to the front.

Whether my response was an intellectual assent to the gospel or a recommitment to the faith I'd embraced as a child, I can't really say. All I know for sure is that from that night on, I knew my life was in God's hands. I believed, as Mom frequently reminded me (and still does!), that “God has plans for me.”

I stood in the midst of about a thousand people as Mr. Graham explained God's plan of salvation. He then prayed a collective prayer for the large group of seekers. A counselor gave me some literature that clarified my decision and gave me some basic tips on how to study the Bible. We prayed together, and he encouraged me to go to church, which I was already doing. It was a rather simple, unemotional affair, but a very real transaction between God and me took place at the Arena that night. I committed myself to follow him, no matter what, and he committed himself to me as my Savior and Lord. Over the years I haven't always held up my end of the bargain, but—I'm thankful to say—he has never reneged on his.

In August 1958, two months after graduating from high school, I enlisted in the United States Air Force, with Mom's blessing. As soon as I signed the paperwork, the Air Force whisked me off to boot camp at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. During boot camp, one of the guys in my barracks asked me about my name. “Carlos? That's a rather odd name for someone who isn't Hispanic, isn't it? What does Carlos mean in English?”

“It's roughly equivalent to Charles,” I told him.

“Good, then we'll call you Chuck. Chuck Norris.” The nickname has been with me ever since, although my family members and closest friends still call me Carlos.

For the next few months, I ate, drank, walked, talked, and slept military life. I didn't mind the rigorous workouts and training. In fact, as I started feeling stronger and in better physical condition, I began to develop a better sense of self-worth and confidence. I felt so good about the changes in my life, I decided to ask Dianne to marry me. I proposed to her in a letter, and she responded, “Yes!”

Dianne attended an Episcopal Church, so when I came home on leave four months later, she and I were married in a simple, traditional wedding ceremony in Torrance, California. I wore my Air Force uniform and Dianne looked radiant in her wedding gown. I was eighteen and Dianne had just turned seventeen.

Following a four-day honeymoon in Big Bear, California, Dianne moved to Arizona with me. We set up housekeeping just off the Air Force base in a twelve-foot-long trailer with no bathroom. We felt that we were living in luxury when we were finally able to move to an apartment with real plumbing. I was stationed at a base in Arizona for a year, and Dianne was able to remain with me. But then I was transferred to Osan, Korea. At nineteen I left behind my wife and stepped into an extremely uncertain future. The Korean War was over by then, but tensions still ran high between the newly divided countries of North Korea and South Korea. I had no way of knowing it then, but my stint in Korea was to become a major turning point in my life.

My military tour in Korea was the first time I had ever been out of the United States, and the poverty in the country was an eye-opener for me. I had grown up poor, but I had always had enough to eat. Yet many of the Koreans I saw were barely surviving on subsistence levels of food day after day. Life was a constant struggle for them, with no hope of improvement. More than ever before, I realized how fortunate I was to be an American. Until then I had taken for granted all the opportunities and benefits our great nation has to offer. I decided then and there I'd never make that mistake again.

At Osan Air Base soldiers could do three things with their spare time: (1) booze it up, (2) enroll in an academic class, or (3) study martial arts. I'd never been a drinker, and academic studies weren't my forte, so delving into the martial arts seemed the best way to pass the time.

Judo was the only martial art that I knew anything about, so I joined the judo club on the base. I was interested in learning something that would help me as a policeman when I left the service.

During my second week of judo training, I was practicing with another student, and he threw me. Rather than landing on my back, I fell directly on my shoulder. I heard a sickening crunching sound, and pain seared through my shoulder. Although I landed on the judo mat, I broke my collar bone in the awkward fall.

A few days later, with my arm in a sling, I went for a walk through the village of Osan with its straw huts and shabby market stalls. The strong aroma of kimchi (cabbage cooked with garlic) permeated the air and was almost overpowering in the narrow alleys.

As I walked through the village, I suddenly heard fierce yelling and saw people's heads popping up over the top of a knoll, like puppets on a string. Curious, I walked up to see what was going on. Several Koreans, dressed in what appeared to be white pajamas, were jumping up in the air and executing spectacular kicks. I had never before seen such incredible athletic maneuvers, and I could not believe that the human body was capable of such amazing feats. I stood there watching them for more than an hour, fascinated by the sight. I wanted to ask the Koreans what style of martial arts they were doing, but I was apprehensive about interrupting them.

When I returned to the base, I told my judo instructor, Mr. Ahn, what I had seen. “What kind of martial art is that?” I asked. “It's nothing like I've ever seen before!”

Mr. Ahn's lips hinted at a smile—he rarely smiled during class. “That style of Korean karate is called
tang soo do
, the art of empty-hand fighting, using your feet and hands as weapons.”

“Do you think I could learn to do that?”

The judo instructor's face broke into a full-fledged smile. No wonder! I was only two weeks into learning judo! And I hadn't exactly been breaking any records with my progress. A broken collar bone? Yes. Nevertheless, Mr. Ahn was encouraging. “Yes, I believe you could learn
tang soo do
,” he said.

“Could I train in
tang soo do
while my shoulder is healing?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” the teacher responded. “It might be a good idea, although you must learn to block out the pain.”

The next day Mr. Ahn took me into Osan Village to meet Mr. Jae Chul Shin (actually the Koreans place the last name first: Shin, Jae Chul), one of the instructors there. When I told Mr. Shin that I wanted to train with him, he looked skeptical. Americans had a sorry reputation for trying but not lasting long under the grueling training. And I was an American with a broken collar bone! What chance did I have of learning this highly physical martial art? Mr. Ahn convinced him to give me a shot.

There were twenty students in my class, most of whom were Korean black belts already! An unusual feature of the class was that everyone trained together, the beginners with the black belts. The theory was that if you wanted to learn, you learned, but no one actively encouraged you. The Koreans were not schooled in the psychology of teaching. Like most of the beginners, I struggled along, handicapped even further by my arm being in a sling. Still, I did most of the exercises with one arm. The black belts were indifferent to me, and I did my best to keep up with them.

The daily training sessions were five hours long, Monday through Saturday. My body was not limber, and the stretching exercises we did before each class were real agony. Classes started at 5:00 PM, with five minutes rest between each hour.

For the first twenty minutes of each day's session, we warmed up by punching from a wide stationary stance. Then we practiced blocking techniques for forty minutes. For the next hour we practiced various kicks: front, side, round, and back. We spent the third hour working with a partner, with one attacking and the other attempting to block the attacker.

Then we reversed the procedure, with the partner who had earlier attacked doing the blocking and countering. Next we did those flying kicks that I had first seen and admired. For the fourth hour we did
heians
, choreographed movements fighting an imaginary opponent. During the final hour we free-sparred or fought against each other. It was the same routine day in and day out. It never varied, and it was especially difficult for me in the beginning since I had only one good arm, and no one was any easier on me because of my injury. Worse yet, compared to the other competitors, I was not in particularly good physical shape, nor was I especially well coordinated. But I was determined to learn
tang soo do
, so I refused to give up.

After my shoulder healed, I continued my daily classes in
tang soo do
, but I also studied judo for four hours every Sunday, my one day off from training in
tang soo do.
Many nights I went to bed so stiff and sore that I could hardly sleep. Despite the agony of training, I said to myself, “If I can stick with this, I can stick with anything!” I was learning discipline by developing the ability to do something that was never easy, not always pleasant, and about which I was not always enthusiastic. But I kept at it. I had not set my mind on achieving any particular goal, such as becoming a black belt. I just wanted to survive the training and perhaps learn some moves that might be helpful in my future career as a police officer.

Meanwhile I had my hands full with my job as an Air Force Military Policeman. The Koreans were resourceful people and had managed to illegally hook up the electricity for the entire village of Osan by tapping into a wire from our base. Every night the village would light up like a Christmas tree, powered by the US Air Force. Occasionally I drew the late shift, and it was my duty to drive around the perimeter of the base and locate the connection. When I found and removed the wires, the village would go totally dark. By the time I returned to headquarters to report, however, the village would be ablaze with lights again.

One of my daytime jobs was to guard the main gate and check the Korean workers as they left, since government property was constantly being “liberated.” One day a
mamasan
, an elderly woman, who must have been seventy years old, approached the gate carrying a big bale of hay on her back. Before going through the gate, she sat down on a curb to rest. I noticed that when she tried to get up, she could not. I went over to help her up but was unable to heft the load. I started digging through the hay, and to my surprise found an entire Jeep engine hidden inside the bale! I confiscated it but soon regretted my decision. I couldn't begin to lift the thing! Five soldiers were needed to haul the engine back to the motor pool. How that little woman had been carrying it, I'll never know!

I continued studying
tang soo do
the entire time I was stationed in Osan. It took time for the Korean black belts to accept me, one of the few Caucasians in the class. But when they saw how determined I was to learn and how willing I was to persevere no matter what the cost, they became friendlier. That didn't make the training any easier. Not being a natural athlete, developing strength and agility in the military was already a rough challenge for me. I had never before really stayed with any form of exercise or physical sports for long. Growing up, my tendency was to take the easy way, the convenient road of least resistance. I had a hard time sticking with anything. But the intense discipline I learned by studying the Korean form of karate inspired me. While the training caused my physical body to become more flexible, it infused steel into my spine and my spirit. I was determined to finish what I had started. I knew that I would never be the same, but I could never have dreamed that within eight years I would be sitting on top of the martial arts world as a champion!