Incidentally, I think we can all agree that Bob Carson is a terrible interviewer. He’s one of those completely accepting, happily credulous talking heads who lobs softballs at his guests while never really challenging them on any of their claims.  Carson sounds, frankly, equal parts confused, ignorant, and bored through most of his talks with Dux.  How does somebody who’s supposedly a big name in Mixed Martial Arts say, with a straight face, that he doesn’t really know what Ninjitsu is?

I remember thinking, as I listened to Carson’s podcast, that I could do a better job than he did — and recently, I got my chance.  Frank Dux phoned me on July 8, 2010 (and it was with glee that I set his ringtone on my phone to the “Kumite” chant taken from Bloodsport’s soundtrack).  We spent an hour on the phone, altogether.

I’m posting the martialmentary we did on him (which is what prompted him to call) as well as the six-part interview I recorded and put on YouTube.  This phone call is completely unedited.  What you hear is our conversation in its entirety, barring a few private words before and after.

I tried to do what somebody like Carson and those like him will not — strike a balance between letting the guest talk while pressing and challenging him where possible.  I also tried to keep Dux on message and prod him to keep the conversation going in a productive manner.  Left to his own devices, he tends to bury the listener in complicated soliloquy.  That’s a nice way of saying it was kind of hard to get a word in edgewise while he was talking.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJoNnt1PKJY

www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXmqB5FhF8g

www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXAo7I8y17M

www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_r3X1hmJHw

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ekOuuklaOo

www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuTUSQyFUks

www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZU0Gsscybc

Did I back when The Martialist was founded? Do I now? Do I yet?

Stating any opinion on the Internet invites criticism. Stating any opinion on the martial arts or on fighting invites that much more criticism. Ego and the sciences of self defense cannot be separated, for too many people derive gratification and false confidence from playing the part of “virtual tough guy.”

Is that, then, what The Martialist is all about?

Well, no. If this online magazine was devoted to inflating my ego, considerably more space would be devoted to making me look good. The material on these pages that does involve me (for I am a prolific contributor, the publisher, and the owner of the site) is not censored and not geared towards making me look like anything or anyone I am not. My pictures show me participating. My training videos show me learning. These things are not edited and not censored. I’m a large and fairly homely Caucasoid mammal who wears glasses and likes flavored coffee. I don’t make claims I cannot support, I do not demand your respect or your fear, and I don’t ever try to tell you how tough I think I am.

Twenty years ago. A misspent youth. I've always had the eyebrow thing, I guess.

This approach is the only one I consider intellectually honest. Let me make one point explicitly: I do not pontificate from ignorance. I do not write about subjects on which I am not informed and experienced. Several articles I’ve written have never seen “print” on these pages because they were shot down by friends, advisers, and teachers who serve as “fact checkers” for my more experimental pieces. I have no ego invested in the things I write — apart from a professional desire to see them written accurately and well.

My most frequent online criticisms usually come in the form of, “You’re a good writer, but…” The “but” could be followed by anything from “I disagree in this case” to “you’re fat and you wear glasses” to “you obviously don’t know anything about real-life fighting.” This type of challenge, at least in the case of the latter, always makes me chuckle.

Yes, I am a good writer. That’s not my ego talking. I write for a living, so I don’t have a choice. If I wasn’t good at it, I would be unemployable. Eloquence, however, is not enough to carry a publication of this type. Glibness alone does not inform, though it may still entertain. Poetry of language may impress, but it does not instill.

One of the more bizarre statements I’ve seen about me online is that I’m peddling fear or otherwise trying to make a name for myself. What The Martialist does is not about fear. It’s about prudent preparation. It’s about taking responsibility for self-defense in a world that is dangerous. I’m not saying the world is dangerous to make you afraid; I’m saying it is because it is. Self-defense and survival require that we acknowledge reality. Reality does not care what we want or what we hope. Reality simply is. Logic and objective reason require us to acknowledge this. If we substitute our wishful thinking for what is objectively true, we destroy ourselves.

In the years I’ve published The Martialist I’ve absorbed some of the most hateful, caustic, abusive, and vile criticism a human being can endure. I learned early on not to let it bother me. What was my crime? How did I earn that abuse? I stated my opinion. I stated it honestly. I was truthful about who I am and what I think. I told the truth and I stuck to reality.

Some people hate that.

I’ve been using what would become the Web since it first became available to mere mortals. My initial exposure to the art of online debate came in the form of reading alt.magick, rec.knives, and rec.guns through my college’s monochrome-monitored VAX laboratory. I played a text-based “Multi User Domain” (MUD) roleplaying game (based in Sweden) for hours at a time, slaying orcs and trolls and fellow players with reckless abandon. Anyone who recognizes this format…

> The Rambotron Demonslayer is manufactured
> by Lukewarm Steel. Everybody knows that, you
> pinhead!

Oh yeah? Then how come mine’s marked Splatterco, Inc.,
you moron?

…will recognize the influence of those old newsgroup flamefests on the point-by-point rebuttal format I used to use when engaged in heated arguments. My first modem was a 2800 baud internal. My first PC was a 386SX.

The point, however, is not that I’m a computer nerd who’s logged countless hours bickering about weapons, the martial arts, and esoterica under a number of pseudonyms (and finally my own name) through the years. I freely admit that — but it explains nothing except why I type so quickly.

How is it, then, that I dare to speak on topics like knife fighting, unarmed self defense, and situational awareness with what I believe to be reasonable authority? I don’t presume to call myself an “expert,” but I also don’t speak out on topics of which I have no knowledge. Before I started writing on the martial arts at PhilElmore.com (a hobby that eventually became The Martialist), an online friend accused me of being a “metaconceptual thinker” — a writer of topics about topics. Another friend told me that yes, he wished I would write more substantively about self defense. I started slowly, gained confidence in what I was doing, and years later I am still increasing the pace and content of the articles I contribute to this publication. The Martialist, as it approaches a decade of regular contributions, is the logical outcome of that early criticism and encouragement.

Four years after that first picture. There's a knife sheath on each hip. You can see one; the other's hidden.

Where does it all come from? My first martial arts promotion certificate is for a yellow belt in Chidokwan Karate. It’s dated 1993. I have several other certificates now decorating my office, including my blue sash in Wing Chun, my brown sash in Shanliang Li (a system I cofounded with a friend), and the black sash I earned in Liu Seong Gung Fu. As of this writing, I’ve spent twenty years studying the martial arts. While other people complained about me or demanded to know how I dared to express an opinion, I kept on training. I kept on learning.

The last two decades did not come without cost. Friends I trusted betrayed me when I refused to express their opinions instead of my own. A teacher whom I respected showed me the petty, venal side of his nature and attacked me publicly after I left his school; he lied about me and rewrote the history of my time as his student, disgracing himself. Libel and slander was posted about me in the Wikipedia, whose moderators are notoriously biased. An entire discussion forum on the Web developed an obsession for me, and some of them made ridiculous death threats. Dishonest reviews for my books were left on Amazon by people who had never read the books in question. People who dislike my martial arts work even followed me into an online game and tried to harass me there.

What I learned through all of this is that what I’m doing is worthwhile. Conflict and criticism are not by themselves an indicator of success, of course; if people think you’re a loser, you just might be. But if the criticism is almost always without grounds, almost always based on lies or distortions, then you know you’re bothering people — and you know you’re bothering them with the truth.

If you’re one of those people who demands only military or law enforcement figures teach you self-defense, I can’t help you. I have no impressive credentials and have always downplayed the official accomplishments I’ve earned, none of which are awe-inspiring in and of themselves. I moved quickly from art to art and did a lot of studying on my own prior to most of the last decade, when I finally stuck to a couple of systems and started accumulating higher ranks. Some of the last twenty years was well spent. Some of it was wasted. Ultimately, however, my search for knowledge in the field of self-defense led me to where I am today, for which I am very grateful.

I have never tried to pretend to be more or less than I am. Those who cannot see an ordinary person like myself possessing real ability or knowledge may well dismiss me for that reason — but I would be lying if I said that mattered. It does matter to me, however, that readers of The Martialist know its publisher is not a liar or a pretender. Unlike so many of my critics, I have never had to lie about who I am or what I do. I have never had to pretend to hold ranks or military experience that I don’t have. This magazine is not intended to teach or encourage its readers to do anything specific — but I’m a real person with real opinions who does not simply fabricate his beliefs for the sake of bolstering his sense of self.

The reason all of this crap is still a “debate” is because it is illegal, and in some cases immoral, to put someone’s eye out with a Bic Pen during training when they are teaching nonsense.

- Don Rearic

My introduction to the realities of force and weapons came during my youth. I lived a sheltered life as a doughy, middle-class white boy until I left home. As a result, I had my “teenage rebellion” late — and I did my best to make up for lost time. I’ve experienced some truly unusual and a few dangerous things, the stories behind which are sketched and echoed in my first novel (which is fiction, but still true). That may not make a great deal of sense to some of you, but bear with me — I have a point to make.

About fifteen years ago. Eyebrow still permanently arched. Same general attitude; different goals and venue.

I once told a coworker at my first job out of college that I’d been something of a wild guy for a couple of years. One of my college friends, in fact, told me that his first impression of me was that of a “dumb thug.” While he would not think me “dumb” after we got to know each other, I was a thug. I’m better now. Oh, and that coworker? She never did believe me, which is how I’ve learned to like it.

…I myself am a little overweight these days. I’ve got a gut. I’ve decided that I’ve had enough of it and it’s going to go away but between now and then, I’m not too concerned. I hope every punk out there takes a look at me and thinks “fat old man” and dismisses me. I hope he writes me off as an “easy mark” and when he gets in my face, he won’t expect much in the way of resistance. Unless of course he’s smart enough to spot a well-fed predator.

- Ken Cook

Now, don’t think I’m making more of this than it is. I’ve never been a criminal. I have no particularly horrible skeletons in my closet. I never “killed a man in Reno just to watch him die,” to do The Man in Black a grave disservice. I’m kind to animals and would own a small, cute dog before I would own a mastiff of any kind. I don’t carry illegal weaponry, I never roamed the streets delivering my own brand of vigilante justice, and I’ve never considered myself any tougher than the average balding technical writer and adventure novelist.

None of this is the resume of a reality-fighting instructor, an indestructible warrior, or the reincarnation of Bruce Lee. I’m simply hinting at a set of footnotes to my life. It’s the life of a fairly honest guy who believes passionately in self defense and who likes to talk about the best ways to achieve success in that field of human endeavor. These are the underpinnings of a mere mortal who believes self-defense is for everyone, and that ordinary people can help other ordinary people learn to be successful in self-defense, without all the attitude, the ego, the posturing, and the bullshit that characterize the martial arts industry today.

Me in 2010. A lot older, some wiser. It's been a long road. I used to have hair.

Do I know what I’m talking about? The truth or falsehood of an assertion is found in analyzing the assertion — not in critiquing the background of the speaker. It’s my hope that the material I offer here — in conjunction with the diverse opinions, some conflicting, offered by our contributors — stands on its own merits and can be judged accordingly.

I won’t regale you with war stories of the experiences I’ve had, though I’ve had them. I won’t tell you to believe me simply because I say so. I won’t demand your respect. I’ll just say what I say and do so with confidence. I don’t know how else to be and would be embarrassed to try and impress you. Frankly, I don’t care what you think about me. You’ll either learn or you won’t. You’ll either read or you won’t. I hope you do. I can’t make you if you won’t.

If it’s really important to you, though, I’ll go out on that limb. I’ll say to you, “Yes, I know what I’m talking about.”

Take from that whatever you will.

In the spring of 1964, Black Belt Magazine’s  John Van Nutter credited John Keehan as one of two men greatly responsible for what he called the rapid growth of the United States Karate association.  At the time, the organization had more than 5,000 members, and had the previous July held its first nation-wide karate tournament.  The tournament drew over 300 contestants from around the country, and the USKA was poised to hold its second World Karate tournament in June of 1964.

Answering the question, “What kind of man is John Keehan?” Nutter praised the man who would later anoint himself Count Dante, saying that Keehan, at age 25, is “one of the top instructors of karate in the US.  He has,” Nutter wrote, “already supplied 18 instructors to other schools and clubs in the Midwest area.”  Nutter described Keehan’s “proficiency as an instructor” in glowing terms, pointing to the success of Keehan’s students in competition and describing Keehan himself as an able competitor in his own right.  The article also uncritically repeats Keehan’s assertions that he was a former Marine and Army Ranger who had never been defeated in freestyle or kumite competition.

By 1967, Black Belt had changed its tune, and John Keehan had fallen out of favor, becoming almost a pariah — a karate villain whom the magazine invited its members to pillory in the article, “Storm Clouds over Chicago.”

Keehan’s World Karate Federation was, at the time of the article’s writing, slated to stage an infamously billed “no-holds-barred” karate competition in Chicago that summer. Black Belt was quick to point out that the WKF was “mainly confined to a few dojos in the Chicago area.”  It was in 1965 that Keehan was arrested on charges of trying to bomb a competitor’s dojos, a charge that would follow him as surely as would the charge of murder that still lay in his future.

“Virtually every single major karate leader in the country has denounced the Chicago bout,” Black Belt pronounced,  quoting “top karatemen and leading players throughout the country” in their characterizations of the coming competition as a “return to barbarism” and an “insult to karate.”  By column length, the article consisted mainly of a huge photo of the city and several pull-out quotes condemning the competition.  Among those quoted were notable figures Jhoon Rhee, of the US Tae Kwon Do Association, and Skipper Mullins, who would go on to be called one of the top ten fighters of all time in a 1987 survey in Black Belt.

Even Robert Trias, whom Black Belt praised in 1964 alongside Trias’ student Keehan, took the opportunity to decry what he called the “disgraceful attitudes of the promoters of such a tournament” to what he called “karate-do.”  He made the dire pronouncement that the competition would, “for certain,” affect, presumably negatively, “the growth of karate in this country,” saying it could well be “the beginning of the end for the science some of us have dedicated our lives to in promoting brotherhood, sportsmanship, competition, and tournaments on a high amateur level, with the dream of someday bringing unity and respect to this fine art.”  One can only assume Keehan and Trias had a falling out since the days when Keehan called Trias “Sensei.”

www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNFFKQd2DWQ

In 1969, Black Belt’s Managing Editor, D. David Dreis, penned an article called “The Trial of Count Dante,” in which he commented at length on a martial arts forum held in Chicago with John Keehan and several other martial artists.  The forum was, in Dreis’ words, “a means for [Count Dante] to explain himself; to tell all of us who he really is.” Dreis admitted that Black Belt had refused to cover the man who, in his words, had done “more harm and more good for karate than any man in Chicago.” Dreis’ bias is clear; he describes Keehan as a “smartly dressed, bearded karateka with a pomposity in his manner which seems to mark him as a man set apart from the usual trappings of the Oriental karateka.” He writes, “Dante, upon meeting me, displayed an open contempt, a hostility, which seemed less against me than for an image he disliked.”  Several times in his commentary, Dreis invokes his psychic powers to tell us what John Keehan was thinking, even if the man didn’t say it.

The real reason for Dreis’ and Black Belt’s disdain, of course, is found a couple of pages in.  He mentions Dante’s self-published “World’s Deadliest Fighting Arts,” getting the title wrong, and says, “Why [Keehan] would publish such a booklet is beside the point. The answer is readily understandable. The fact that the book is spawning ‘fighters’ throughout the nation is an uncomfortable reality to those who know of his reputation and who are trying to wade their way out of the mire he has put them in.”

In the forum, the man who called himself Count Dante took to task those who presumed to sit in judgment over him.  “The streets,” he said, “are where you learn whether you can fight, not tournaments where they pull their punches. I know plenty of guys who have black belts who couldn’t defend themselves when they got into a street fight. Black Belt respects them.” He also pointed out the hypocrisy of Black Belt refusing to cover tournaments in Keehan’s Chicago, while giving plenty of coverage to what he called “blood baths” of more traditional karate bouts in Japan.

Attorney Robert Cooley, writing with Hillel Levin, in the book, When Corruption was King, recounted the often suddenly violent, larger-than-life man who was Count Juan Rafael Dante.  Keehan was charged with murder under an accountability statute that held him liable for the death of his student, after he started a fight at a competitor’s school and the student was run through with a spear. In court, Cooley argued that the students of the Black Cobra Hall were the aggressors, but once on the stand, Keehan was as belligerent and macho as ever, declaring that no one could ever get away with attacking him.  The Black Cobra Hall members were equally belligerent and, in the end, the judge declared them all “a pack of lunatics” and dismissed the charges against everyone.

Keehan was still making headlines in Black Belt in 1976, when noted firearms writer Massad Ayoob wrote an article titled, “Count Dante’s Inferno: What It’s All About.”  But now, the Count was making headlines for doing something he’d never done before or would since: He was dead at only 36 years old.

Interestingly, in this article, Ayoob describes Bill Aguiar II, who ran a dojo in Fall River, Massachusetts, as “perhaps the most dedicated and enduring of all Dante’s students. To him had fallen the mantle of president of the World Karate Federation and chairmanship of the Black Dragon Fighting Society.”

Ayoob’s article is the text of an interview Dante gave to Black Belt just a couple of months before he passed away in his sleep on May 25^th, 1975.  In the article, Dante claimed to have studied a variety of arts and with many teachers, including Bruce Lee.  Of Lee, the ever-bombastic Dante proclaimed, “He was very good. He got a lot of reputation, but for what? Did he ever win a championship? Did he ever challenge anybody? Did he ever accept a challenge?”  When asked if he had challenged Bruce Lee, Dante said, no, he did not, because he did not challenge people that were “no competition.”  He went on to demand what Bruce Lee had ever done for the arts.  “Was he a pioneer?” he asked.  He concluded that being in the movies had made Lee lucky, and if he, Count Dante, had that kind of backing… well, he doesn’t say, but the implication is clear.

Ayoob’s commentary subsequent to the interview is damning.  He dismisses the implausible death matches on which much of what he calls the Dante legend was based, and says that most of the people who knew Dante in Chicago thought he was “basically a coward who let other people fight his battles… a charlatan, a mediocre shodan whose only outstanding skill was his ability to impress strangers with his dramatic lies and his charismatic personality.”  Even after he was dead, the three-part series Ayoob wrote for Black Belt about the life and death of Count Dante still titled his booklet “World’s Deadliest Fighting Arts” rather than World’s Deadliest Fighting Secrets.

Massad Ayoob writes that Count Dante’s system “never appeared, really, in anything he wrote; the most he ever put down in print was a critique of other systems.”  He referred to his form at times as simply a means of “fucking up” another human being.  Later, Ayoob claims William Aguiar, among others, encouraged Keehan to name it something more commercial, and he called it Dan-Te, or “deadly hands.”  In his philosophy of combat, Dante said, “you don’t use your feet much until your man is on the floor.”

According to Ayoob, World’s Deadliest Fighting Secrets was written between 1966 and 1967, published in 1968. It has, Ayoob wrote, sold millions of copies. Arguably, it was Count Dante who helped put mail-order martial arts on the map, forever changing the self-defense industry.

Reading of John Keehan’s disdain for the powers that were during his day, it was hard not to develop a certain regard for him. In some ways, he had the right attitude about self-defense.  He dismissed traditionalism in favor of efficacy, and he spat in the faces of those who presumed to tell him what he could or could not do.

He was also, from all accounts, a huckster, a showman, and possibly a deluded egomaniac with a violent temper and poor impulse control. His fame did little to hurt karate as a commercial martial art in the long run, as was feared during his day; those following his business model continue to empower or to misguide self-study practitioners, however, which surely was a blow to the traditional martial arts power structure then …and now.

52 blocks first came to public attention in the late 1990s, thanks to Douglas Century, author of the book Street Kingdom: Five Years Inside the Franklin Avenue Posse. In the book, Century describes his friendship, over the course of a few years, with a former criminal and would-be rap star named Big K.  It is in this profanity-laced narrative, in which the identities of those involved are disguised with aliases, that 52 Blocks or “Jailhouse Rock” is described.  Century followed this up in August, 2001 with a feature article in Details magazine called “Ghetto Blasters: Born in prison, raised in the ‘hood, the deadly art of 52 Blocks is Brooklyn’s baddest secret.”

The style was also profiled in the New York Times in July of 2009.  The article explains that several instructors have emerged who now publicly teach what author Justin Porter called a “quasi martial art.”  Porter charitably allows that, “because 52 Blocks exists practically as an oral tradition, its history is a bit murky.” This is a polite way of saying that no one can or will give you a straight answer or any substantiating evidence of 52 Blocks’ lineage.

Regardless of these mentions in the media, if any single man could be held responsible for promulgating the popular myth of 52 Blocks or Jailhouse Rock, it would probably be Dennis Newsome.  Newsome is notable because he consulted on the mix of fighting styles used by Mel Gibson in the movie Lethal Weapon, some of which supposedly include elements of 52 blocks.

Profiled by the San Diego Tribune in 2004, Newsome was described by staff writer Gil Griffin, quoting martial artist Darrell Sarjeant, as “one of the pioneers of African martial arts.”  Newsome, as explained by Griffin, claims his father and grandfather taught him “a type of leg wrestling passed down from African slaves in the Americas.”

In a series of interview questions and answers reproduced at stickgrappler.tripod.com (to whom we are grateful for the considerable research done on 52 Blocks, which made compiling this report considerably easier), Newsome claimed that 52 Blocks or Jailhouse rock originated in Africa and possibly comes from the same parent art as capoeria.  As the story goes, when evil whites began jailing freed black slaves as a form of racial persecution, inmates who knew this martial art passed it on to others, and as they did so the martial art evolved.

According to Newsome, Jailhouse Rock comprises multiple styles developed in different places and under different conditions, and thus each of these incorporate different techniques. These techniques range from striking to wrestling, using the hands, elbows, knees, head butts, and some low kicks.  Practitioners of Jailhouse Rock supposedly learn in-depth knowledge of pressure points and vital striking areas, as well as foot sweeps and “Gangsta Locks” (which Newsome equates to trapping such as in Wing Chun or Jeet Kune Do).

According to Newsome, 52 Blocks or Jailhouse Rock is an underground system.  Unless you go to jail, hang out in underground fighting circles, or are family to an ex con, you’ll never learn it — and if you are white guy, nobody will teach it to you.  As Newsome’s interviewer, identified only as “Dempsy,” wrote, “the art is the art of the African who needs it for survival. Much like the Asians decades ago, who would not teach outside their race, the analogy is that you do not give your enemy your best weapon.” In other words, Jailhouse Rock is a racist, racially determined system, in which all of you who are white and NOT in prison are the enemy.

This would be offensive if not for the fact that the system simply doesn’t exist.  To believe that it does we have to believe a series of increasingly unlikely propositions:  First, we are asked to believe that a people sold into slavery and shipped across the ocean to serve as slaves in the United States somehow managed to transmit the coherent body of a complex, technically diverse martial arts system to their children, their children’s children, and their children for generations, all under the watchful eye of slave owners who would not be eager to have their property learning to fight.  There are those who would have you believe that these offensive and defensive moves were disguised as dance… but while this might be believed of flowing, rhythmic styles like capoeira, it is far less likely that Jailhouse Rock’s progenitors could have so disguised this system of fighting.

Second, we are told we must accept the absurd notion that entire systems of fighting — not one, not some, but many — are being transmitted and taught from inmate to inmate in an extensive web of prison instruction despite the fact that such activities would surely be discouraged by prison officials.  Yes, we do have grainy footage of inmates teaching their fellow felons sloppy martial arts moves or other criminal methods, such as during time in prison yards… but these isolated incidents are a far cry from the fully realized, technically complex instruction we are asked to believe is taking place.  Violence does occur in prison, yes… but it takes only moments to stab or rape a fellow prisoner.  It takes considerably more time to impart the details of an intricate martial art system to another person and especially to successive generations of other persons… all while in the strictly controlled environment of the penal system.

For that matter, if the system is so varied, so different, so determined by context, then there is no system at all — just a loose collection of technically diverse underground martial arts that have nothing to tie them together except that they are alleged to be practiced in prisons and by ex-cons.

So what prompts those who claim to have seen, to know, or even to teach 52 Blocks to further this myth? Fighters like Mike Tyson and Kimbo Slice have been alleged to know it and to have exhibited it; UFC fighter Rashad Evans has called it “dirty boxing” taken to the next level; various rappers have cited it in their lyrics; there is no shortage of people, such as on YouTube who are only too eager to describe their own experiences with it, even going so far as to demonstrate techniques.

The single biggest component of this drive to lay claim to 52 Blocks is that people think its cool.  This is a function of popular culture.  For years, Hollywood has fed us a steady diet of movies that glorify and horrify prison life.  To study, or even to have seen, a “prison fighting style” is to mint your own street cred, cementing your place among incarcerated, penal-system hardened badasses.  Urban culture glorifies thuggery and criminality, upholding it as glamorous and a shortcut to wealth and power.  This alone is enough to spur people to get in on the shared delusion of Jailhouse Rock.

Then, too, there are those eager to lay claim to a cultural history of some distinction.  Just as there are those who try and fail to link contemporary urban culture to the ancient society of Egypt, asserting that an African martial art has survived and been disseminated in America’s prisons fulfills the same need to identify cultural significance and differentiate it from Western culture.

The heaviest irony here is that all of these people claiming to have seen or to teach a fictitious African martial art have, in effect, caused it to exist.  Remember the martial art of Hikuta?  Coincidentally marketed as the fighting style of the ancient Egyptian Pharaohs’ bodyguards, Hikuta was invented in the 1990s by a man named Lee Crull.  A few years later, Crull has passed away, and two of his students continue to each the Hikuta system.  A style that never really existed has become a second-generation fighting system which, if its practitioners continue to certify succeeding instructors, will have come into being from nothing… all because one wheezing old man thought it would be fun to say so.

Likewise, regardless of the true provenance of the techniques they teach as 52 Blocks or Jailhouse Rock, those instructors claiming to impart it to their racially pure student bodies or to and from their fellow felons and ex-convicts have created a self-fulfilling prophesy.  The fiction of Jailhouse Rock is now realized as a living, breathing style because there are people who say so… regardless of the truth.  In so doing, they’ve breathed life into the lie of 52 Blocks… and helped further the popular culture imagery associated with street criminals and thugs, for good or for ill.

What I’ve come to appreciate about 4Sevens is the diversity of its product line. While the AA Tactical I carry is a great little light, there will be those who don’t like carrying a clip-equipped light in their pocket in this way. There will also be those who would prefer something smaller, or perhaps something more closely resembling the dimensions, weight, and operation of a traditional pen light. Still others won’t want the multiple lighting modes available on the latest tactical lights… and then there will be those who want all the features of a modern, circuit-controlled tactical light who want something even more substantial. Regardless of the requirements, I would imagine there’s a light in the 4Sevens line-up that fits the bill… and the batch of lights I’ve recently spent a few weeks evaluating prove this out. The latest offerings from 4Sevens include the Preon in two sizes, the Quark MiNi AA and MiNi 123, and the Quark RGB.

Quark RGB

The Quark RGB is a full-featured tactical light available in different qualities of LED (cool-white and neutral white). It has all the usual “tactical” features, including a body of knurled aluminum, a pocket clip, and a tailcap switch. What’s remarkable about it is hinted by its name: the RGB produces multiple colors of light.

Back in the days when the Mini Maglite was the pocket light by which all others were judged, I had several deluxe sets of these flashlights that came with plastic colored filters. Different colors of light are useful in different situations, depending on how much visibility you want, whether you’re trying to protect your night vision, etc. To mess around with little plastic discs isn’t practical, however, and attempts to produce lights with rotating color heads have met with varying degrees of… let’s say underwhelming performance.

The first time I produced a wash of bright green light with the RGB, I realized that things have changed. As with any multi-mode LED light, I then had to read the instructions to figure out how to make the RGB do what I wanted it to do when I wanted it to do it.

Officially, the RGB has a maximum output of 150 lumens and a .4 lumen “moonlight” mode. Maximum strength produces a burn time of 2 hours total, while in moonlight mode your light could conceivably get 27 days of constant-on use out of a single pair of CR123A cells. The light of course features multiple color modes of operation, as well as strobe and S.O.S. pattern “blink” settings.

Fit and finish are top quality, as I’ve come to expect from 4Sevens. The knurled light is sturdy, provides good traction, and feels as solid as a bank vault when you turn the bezel. The textured tailcap switch clicks on and off positively and sits level with a raised ring around the tailcap that helps prevent accidental activation in your pocket. Slots and holes in this ring provide mounting points for the provided lanyard, which has a metal clip. Speaking of clips, the pocket clip on the light had good tension and held the light securely in my pocket right out of the box.

Switching among the RGB’s modes is relatively simple. Tightening and loosening the bezel switches the color output, while clicking the tailcap quickly on and off (within 4 seconds, according to the light’s manual) makes the light change from “moonlight” (it’s lowest output) to low, medium, high, maximum, strobe, and beacon. As recorded in the product literature, “low” is about 2 lumens, “high” is almost 60, and maximum is supposed to be the promised 150. When Xenon-bulb tactical lights became all the rage, 60 lumens was the rough average of what most lights produced. I thought this was plenty bright, which makes the 150-lumen maximum output freaking incredibly bright. My eyes are unable to process the difference, really, once we get up over 100 lumens and more. It’s obviously more than bright enough for your self-defense and shooting needs, while the lower levels of output offer utility options for situations in which you just want to check your watch in a movie theater or see what’s inside a closet without blinding yourself.

The cone of light produced is very large. I was impressed by just how big it was, and just how much light the RGB pumps out. If you like to keep your flashlight focused to a tighter spot, however, you’ll be disappointed. There’s no way to do that. Turning the bezel changes the light’s color mode but does not alter its focus.

The size, weight, and length of the light make it an almost perfect choice for self-defense, however. It projects just a bit from either side of my fist and is neither too big nor too small, comfortable and reassuring whether used alone or in conjunction with a firearm. The multiple modes will give some users pause, considering that when shooting under stress you don’t want to click the light into another brightness or strobe option accidentally… but such single-mode lights can’t offer the utility features that make the RGB such a versatile daily carry item.

The RGB ships with batteries, extra O-rings, a synthetic finger loop, sheath, and lanyard.

MiNi AA and MiNi 123

Available in black and titanium, the Quark MiNi AA and MiNi 123 are the little siblings of the “tactical” models I’ve previously reviewed in The Martialist. To be honest, these are the lights that I really ought to be carrying, considering what I use my AA Tactical to do most days. I drop the light in my pocket and leave it there, using it primarily for utility. This is the role for which the MiNi lights were explicitly designed.

To this end, the lights have small mounting points for lanyards (which are not provided) and ship with extra O-rings in attractive gift boxes. There are no tailcap switches. The only control is the bezel, which can be tightened and then loosened to switch the light’s mode from low to medium to high.

As the names imply, the lights are available powered by a single AA or a single CR123A cell. I prefer the AA simply because it’s so much easier and cheaper to buy AA batteries than CR123A cells — but the AA light is correspondingly longer (while the CR123A light is fatter). Either will sit comfortably in a pocket all day long, although the shorter CR123A light practically disappears with my keys and other pocket debris.

Fit and finish meet 4Sevens’ usual high standards and both lights feel very solid when you turn the bezel. The knurling provides good traction, and the available “titanium” color is very attractive to boot. If you’re tired of basic black and want something a little more shiny, this is a great option.

The product literature claims the highest lumens output from the CR123A light is 189, versus only 90 for the AA light. This is another determining factor when you choose the torch your prefer; there are only so many lumens you can squeeze out of an AA battery. You pay more for CR123A cells, but you get more power in the exchange. The low mode for both lights is supposed to be about 3 lumens, while the medium mode is 40 lumens for the CR123A and 25 lumens for the AA. Burn times range from several days at low output to over an hour at high output, for both lights.

Both lights offer “special” modes of output, too. After quickly switching through two cycles of brightness options, if you keep tightening and loosening the bezel, the light will switch to strobe, SOS, high beacon, and low beacon modes. The beacon modes flash five times, then once every 10 seconds.

These are excellent daily utility pocket lights that combine powerful output with multiple modes for great versatility. I’m seriously considering replacing my well-worn Quark AA Tactical with the MiNi AA… although I keep debating the increased power and smaller size of the CR123A model. Either will serve you well as an everyday carry item, and both are perfect for dropping into a pocket all day, every day.

Preon 1 and Preon 2

When I was a boy, when most of the flashlights I encountered were the beat-up aluminum torches we kept in a drawer in the kitchen, my father always carried a pen light. It was his version of the daily utility and emergency light, which would later give way to a series of Mini Maglites and then finally more modern pocket torches. Regardless of how quickly technology advances, however, there is something pleasing about a pen-sized light that no other flashlight can equal.

4Sevens’ website describes the Preon lights as “absurdly bright” and “the world’s first AAA powered, CREE XP-G flashlight.” The lights feature six levels of output and three “special modes” of output, all in a package that reminds me of nothing so much as those pen lights my dad carried in his shirt pocket (complete with pocket protector full of pens).

The Preon 1 is powered by a single AAA battery, while the Preon 2 holds two and is twice as long. The Preon 2 also has a tailcap switch (the Preon 1 does not). Both are available in multiple colors and both models have slim pocket clips that provide great retention right out of the attractive packaging.

I feel like a broken record (an expression that no doubt dates me as old), but fit and finish are excellent. When you click the Preon 2’s tailcap switch (which is quite loud) or you turn the Preon 1 and Preon 2 bezels, the lights feel extremely solid and well-made.

Like the MiNi lights, turning the bezel tight and then loose switches the Preons from one level of output to the next (from low to medium to high). Cycling through these modes twice and continuing to cycle will allow the user to access the “special” modes of operation — Strobe, SOS, high beacon, and low beacon, just like the Minis. Because the Preon 1 has no tailcap switch, turning the bezel also serves as the light switch. The Preon 2 can be cycled through its operating modes by repeated clicking of the tailcap switch, or turned on once using the switch and then cycled using the bezel. The Preon parts are modular, so you could put a Preon 2 tail switch on a Preon 1 bezel, etc.

Burn times for the Preons range from 23 hours on “low” mode to most of an hour on “high” mode. The brightest output from the Preon 1 is supposed to be 70 lumens, but adding an AAA cell in the Preon 2 ratchets that up to an amazing 160 lumens.

For shirt pocket carry I can’t think of a better utility light than these little Preons. I personally would only carry the Preon 2, because I prefer the tailcap, but as a keychain fob or an impossibly compact daily pocket light, the Preon 1 would be an excellent choice.

Conclusion

The extensive product line at 4Sevens has just about every combination of feature sets you could want in an individual pocket torch. I’ve been very impressed with every model that has crossed my desk so far, and 4Sevens shows no signs of slowing down. The company is also laudably cognizant of the importance of customer feedback and networking in the presentation, review, and distribution of its products. Such a modern and responsive business model deserves to be rewarded.

According to the statistics on Gerber’s website, the knife weighs 5.7 ounces and is 4.75 inches closed.  The blade, which is ground on both sides (except for the serrations, which are chisel ground)  is 3.8 inches long.  My sample was extremely sharp out of the box and held its edge well during light cutting chores.  As I  see this knife as primarily for defensive purposes, I don’t see much need for exhaustive cutting tests.  It will cut through clothing readily enough and won’t be used for daily utility (a self-defense knife simply should not be used that way), so in that regard it is more than capable.

“FAST” is Gerber’s Forward Action Spring Technology, one of the many assisted-opening mechanisms on the market today.  (It was designed by Butch Vallotton.) When the blade is started forward, it springs open of its own accord with only a slight push of the ambidextrous, graduated thumb studs affixed to the blade.  (According to Gerber, about ten degrees.) I wouldn’t say it opens particular quickly compared to some other assisted openers, but the device is adequate and the blade snaps securely in place.  My sample has absolutely no blade play in any direction.

The lock release is a convenient push-button switch set on the handle.  If your thumb is on the ramp where it belongs, you won’t have any issues accidentally releasing the lock (the mechanism of which I cannot see on casual examination).  Pushing the lock forward releases the knife. It will remain in the forward position, showing a red dot.  Pulling the switch down over the red dot activates the safety, and now the knife won’t open.  I found that pushing the switch forward to release the safety was a very natural motion.

The blade steel on the 06 Auto is listed as S30V. No blade steel is listed for the 06-Fast, either on the website or labeled on the knife itself, other than “stainless.”  There’s no reason to think the blade steel is the same, either; the handle of the auto is machined aluminum, while of course the 06-Fast has grips of G10 (Nylon). 

Fit and finish are good overall and the 06-Fast feels very solid.  It is not an elegant cutter, nore does it feel particularly nimble in my grip, given its blocky outlines and blade shape, but it is ergonomic and easily retained.  Thoughtful grooves have been cut into the G10 on the thumb ramp, the back of the spine, and under the rear portion of the handle (where your pinky and ring fingers go).  The grooves in the handle provide good traction and the integral guard is nice and large.  The textured, grooved handle surfaces are very comfortable and provide a nicely secure grip.  A steel point, suitable for striking or glass-breaking, extends beyond the handle and has a lanyard hole drilled through it.

The pocket clip was very tight out of the box, probably because the lip at the end of the clip doesn’t really rise much.  I had to pry it up with a fingernail to get it onto the fabric of my pants pocket.  Once in place, the knife carries comfortably (but it is by no means low-riding).  The pocket clip can be removed (it is held in place with three Torx screws), but it is suitable only for right-hand, tip-up carry.

This is an excellent tactical folder that is neither too large nor too small.  Gerber has not always been quick to respond to changes in the market, but the introduction of a folder like this is very encouraging.  It is well made, affordable, and has a good set of features for a defensive blade.

At what point does a fad become a trend? We can’t usually say until after the fact. It’s true, though, that as of this writing the Indonesian kerambit (characterized by a finger hole at the end of the grip and most often possessing a hawbill blade) remains quite popular in the knife industry, after a period of “fad” popularity during which many manufacturers introduced their own such models. Even the reluctant Lynn Thompson of Cold Steel, who trashed the popularity of the knife during the height of the blade’s newfound popularity, eventually gave in and started marketing some kerambit patterns of his own.

Other prominent manufacturers who have or who still do offer kerambits include Richard Derespina, Steve Tarani (who has written books on knife fighting and on the kerambit specifically), Ernest Emerson, and Sal Glesser of Spyderco.  Countless others have gotten into the act, too, and inexpensive kerambits made in China for Mtech, Master Cutlery, RAM Instrument, and others are everywhere.

Emerson and Tarani have written articles publicly in which they tout the benefits of the kerambit.  In 2003, Lynn Thompson published an editorial in the Cold Steel catalog’s Riposte column in which he characterized the kerambit as “an obscure knife from Indonesia… being pawn[ed] off” on an “unsuspecting public” with the help of Blade magazine (a publication with whom Thompson has had differences in the past). Thompson also correctly pointed out that the kerambit is small, concealable, allows for powerful slashes and stabs at close range, and is difficult to contend with when attempting a disarm.  He went on to criticize its inherently weak extended grip and the relatively short reach of the reverse grip using this knife.

Thompson’s Warrior’s Edge system is based on “long range knife fighting,” and therefore biased towards large knives. While I can see where’s coming from, range is not something one can effectively control when fighting with blades.  Anyone familiar with practical knife “fighting” knows that, in real sparring, the size of the knife and the exact grip used are far less important than body mechanics, footwork, and the positioning of the shoulders (and therefore your limbs) relative to these.  Any “reach advantage” of a knife is a minor factor compared to body mechanics alone.

This debate aside, why would you choose a kerambit (also commonly spelled, “karambit”) over one of the other knife designs available? I think choosing any knife involves making a style choice as much as a utility choice. If you are drawn to the kerambit (which I’ll grant is a very intimidating, flashy blade at first blush), it is because you like it’s style, first and foremost.

The kerambit’s image will work against you legally in self-defense. If you choose to use it in that way, you will be cast as a vicious knife-fighter wannabe. As in all use-of-force issues, however, the context of your actions will matter far more than the aesthetics of the knife itself.  Ignore image, and there are indeed physical advantages to the kerambit, at least for self-defense (and perhaps even for utility).

Because the kerambit is designed to be used in the reverse grip when used martially, it lends itself well to vicious, firmly rooted cutting attacks and hooking thrusts that closely resemble arm movements you’ll already find familiar.  In Jurassic Park, when Sam Neil describes the velociraptor’s talon, he holds a fossilized claw in his hand in much the same way as one holds a kerambit. The talon, extended from the bottom of your fist, rips through whatever the hand passes.

The finger ring of the kerambit acts to stablize the knife, giving you good control over the blade and making it very hard for the knife to be dislodged from your grip. It also facilitates a very positive draw (if the knife is drawn into the reverse grip as it should be).

Some kerambit models on the market, especially inexpensive models, place the clip in the same orientation as would be found on a more conventional folding knife.  This puts the clip on exactly the wrong end of the blade for draw into a reverse grip — if you are right-handed.  If you’re a southpaw, the clip orientation is perfect out of the box.

Is the kerambit useful as a daily utility knife? It’s as useful as any hawkbill blade, really. It cuts well when sharp, has great “inverse belly,” if you want to call it that, to draw material through the cutting edge, and it could be used for horticulture and for cutting linoleum (activities for which hawkbill blades are traditionally used). There’s nothing you can do with a more conventional knife that you can’t do with a kerambit, unless the curved blade is not suited to work requiring a very long, straight edge.

The extended grip is more problematic.  The applications of this method are limited; it is useful for momentary slashing and slicing maneuvers.  It is, as has been observed by many, neither strong nor easily retained.  I don’t see any need to bother with extended-grip techniques, but of course there’s really no reason to discourage you from learning them, either.

What I will discourage you from doing is spinning your kerambit. This is an epidemic among knife people, or at least it was when the kerambit first became popular.  Inner-wrist and inner-forearm injuries are only too common when one starts spinning the kerambit on its finger ring. If you must spin the knife, wear an appropriate leather wrist cuff.  The dexterity developed through such “knifesturbation” is probably of benefit, but please do consider the risks of monkeying about in this way.

The kerambit is a flash, lethal-looking tool that is useful for close-range fighting. It is, in fact, very powerful in that role. It is not the best choice for daily carry if you’re worried about being politically correct, but it certainly has style. If you do choose it, be mindful of its strengths and its weaknesses.

Now, for the record, when people shriek, “Semantics! Semantics!” most of the time this is because they’re too stupid to grasp a critical difference they refuse (willfully or ignorantly) to recognize.  Words mean things, and the difference is this case is far from just semantic trifling. In this case, the distinction made between an AD and an ND is the difference between treating a firearm recklessly, and taking responsibility for control of a potentially lethal tool.

An AD, an Accidental Discharge, occurs when your weapon fails mechanically. You didn’t pull the trigger, but the gun went off — perhaps because something got jammed in the trigger guard, or because the gun was defective (my father once bought a Grendel P10 that went off when he chambered a round — that one went back to the factory). Sometimes circumstances conspire to cause an impact to the weapon — it is dropped, or something strikes it, and it goes off. These are accidents. They are things that happen because sometimes, things just do. In these cases, there is nothing the operator could have done before the fact (unless he or she had prescient knowledge of the accident itself) to prevent the shot.

An ND, by contrast, is a NEGLIGENT DISCHARGE. A negligent discharge occurs when the firearm operator fails to follow proper procedure. Some aspect of prudent gun handling is neglected and the gun goes off.

A negligent discharge is always the result of pulling the trigger on a gun when you shouldn’t. If, for example, you hand an empty gun to someone, theyplay around with it, and they hand it back to you, proper gun handling says you check it again when it is returned to your possession. You rack the slide or open the cylinder, you check the chamber visually and by feel if necessary, and only when you are satisfied that you have personally verified the weapon’s unloaded condition do you drop the hammer or striker (by pulling the trigger, natch) for any reason.

If you pull the trigger and put a round through the floor, a wall, or a neighbor, you cannot claim, in this example, “Well, somebody else handled the gun, so it’s not my fault that I didn’t know the gun was loaded.”  Your job is to check that weapon, keep it pointed in a safe direction at all times, and never pull the trigger unless you’re certain of the gun’s condition.  That’s safe and prudent firearms handling.  There’s no excuse for doing it wrong.

Too many gun owners fail to make this important distinction. Any time their guns go off when those weapons shouldn’t, these casual users call it an “accident.” But if you pulled that trigger, it’s not an accident at all – it’s negligence. It’s an act of stupidity with a firearm and we must recognize this fact.

I was taught to treat firearms ritually, and methodically so. This is the only way to approach operation of a deadly weapon. Those who forget this do so at the peril of themselves and those around them.

A great technique that solves this problem is to use your palm to slap the opponent.  This is not, however, a simple slap to the cheek, which does no real harm.  Instead, we’re going to use a power slap — a technique that starts from the low line to take the opponent by surprise, delivering serious force that should take him off balance and may even knock him down or knock him out.

The photos below are captures from a video sequence in which I perform a power slap. From a neutral stance, I let my right arm fall to my side (if you’re just standing there, your arm is probably already in this position) as my left arm comes up to guard.  In this photo I’ve already got my palm ready to strike the right side of the opponent’s face, just over the ear and upper part of the jaw hinge.

 My arm arcs up, extended, starting to bend as my palm reaches the side of the opponent’s head.  In the photo below, you can see the head of the Body Opponent Bag (BOB) compressing as the shock of my strike travels through it.  My body has begun to torque to my left as I step into the strike and twist.

 An instant after the strike lands, my arm is starting to pull through the slap…

 …and you can see it start to slide down and off the opponent.  I’m still twisting, turning through to my left.

 When I’ve completed my follow-through, my arm has retracted and is up in a guard position, while I’ve completed stepping through the strike and am now oriented at a forty-five degree angle to the left (compared to where I started, facing the BOB straight-on).  You’ll notice also that I’m much lower now than when I started.  It is this sinking into the strike as you turn and torque that makes the slap quite powerful. 

Comparing BOB’s position from photo to photo should show you that he moves significantly from this slap to the head — no small thing considering how high-up he’s been struck.  (He’s returned to his resting state in the last photograph.)

Slaps of this type are used in many martial arts, such as Silat, and can be used to good effect without undue risk of injury to the practitioner.  With a little practice you can deliver these strikes without telegraphing them and while generating a great deal of power.

The photos below are stills from a single technique sequence.  In the first photo, I am just starting to step forward.  The first strike is an edge-of hand blow.  I am moving from a neutral stance…

…and as I step, my guard is coming up as my right hand starts to move:

The camera has rendered my right hand an arm as a blur as I lash out and whip my hand in a tight arc that uses both my arm and my wrist…

…to acclerate my whipping edge-of-hand blow towards the opponent’s neck:

The blow lands solidly in the neck of the Body Opponent Bag.  As it does so, I have completed my step, cork-screwing it into the floor in a drop-step that brings my body weight into play as part of the blow.  I also torque my hips slightly.

The shock of the blow causes my striking hand to rebound as I whip it back and down.  My goal is to reorient the limb so that I can immediately strike with it again.

My left arm has moved way from my body slightly to give me more space to protect myself in case my opponent tries to counter while my right arm  moves low.  In one fluid motion, my right arm comes from the opponent’s neck, to down across my body, to…

…start whipping up to the opposite side of the opponent’s body.

The goal here is speed more than power, so I don’t do much in the way of shifting or hip torque.  I’m not trying to load up the opposite strike; I’m just whipping it up and in to take advantage of the fact that the opponent is hopefully just now starting to think about the first blow.

I hit BOB solidly (though more lightly than the first, loaded, whipping edge-of-hand blow) on the opposite side of his neck. I now need to retract my right arm, quickly, down across my body…

…which is both guarding me low and enabling me to load up for a power punch to his ribs.

Again as part of the same (hopefully) fluid motion, I’m starting to torque into my already planted foot and use that as my “root” to deliver the punch on that same side.

The punch starts to move and my arm starts to blur in the camera’s view.  You can see the slight sinking in my stance as I corkscrew down into that already planted root leg, the forward leg here:

The strike lands, and BOB rocks back as my punch strikes his imaginary ribs. I’m even lower now than in the previous photograph, having reached the end of my torque-and-corkscrew to power the punch.

Finally, as I retract my punch slightly (and very quickly, using the “hot stove” metaphor — your punch lands and strikes through the target but does not linger on the surface of the target, as if punching a hot surface) BOB settles back into position, having bounced back from my punch.

There are endless combinations of techniques that could be used to apply this same principle.  the key is to strike both low and high, from different directions, in order to confuse and overwhelm the person you’re fighting.  It’s not a complex idea; it doesn’t need to be.  It works well, however, and should be come second nature in practice.