In September 1961, while attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, I became interested in karate. A fellow dorm resident, who was a ROTC candidate, was successful in defending himself while walking through Central Square, enroute from Harvard Square back to MIT. He said someone attacked him with a knife and he left the assailant wreathing in pain on the ground. The story intrigued me. What power to be able to defend oneself successfully--empty handed no less--against a knife attack!

I proceeded to research the martial arts. My first reference material was a classic book by Nishiyama and Brown entitled KARATE, which taught me what a "dojo" was. A traditional dojo, I learned from this Shotokan style based book, was a room with a bare hardwood floor surrounded by mirrors with a makiwara (punching board) and perhaps a heavy bag for kicking--the quality of the teacher being of ultimate importance. I set out to find such a place.

There were three immediate sources of martial arts instruction in the Boston area. First, MIT had a judo club. Their first meeting of the school year would be held in a couple of weeks. (I couldn't wait that long--I had the itch). Next was a reference from the telephone yellow pages: Nishimoto Style School of Judo, in Cambridge. My visit found a small, dark, dingy, and smelly training room with matted floor and walls. Judo gis (uniforms) hung on hooks in an adjacent changing room. I told the teacher that I wanted to study karate. He said that their training included the best of Judo, Jujitsu, and Karate combined into an efficient format. No hardwood floor; no makiwara; no heavy bag! I was unimpressed. I knew what a "dojo" was and this wasn't it.

Third on the list: Mattson Academy of Karate. On Boylston Street around the corner from Massachusetts Avenue was a tall building without an elevator (long since razed). George Mattson's dojo was in loft space on the sixth floor. When I entered I saw a hardwood floor, a makiwara, and a single small mirror on the wall. At the side of the room was a small desk. Bingo! I'd found my dojo. Now to enroll. As it turned out the only person there was Walter Mattson who had enrolled three months earlier. I wanted to begin right away and expressed this to Walter. He gave me a brochure and recommended I call George to make the arrangements.

When I called George later in the day, he told me that he placed inquiring students on a waiting list and started an eight-lesson beginner's class whenever he had enough to fill the class. This could take up to two months and since he had just started a new beginner's class it would be a while before I could enroll. You can understand how that would not do. I wondered why I could not join the existing class and catch up. George suggested a way to do this: Take a couple of private lessons with him to catch up, then join the existing group. That would do just fine. I made the appointment and had my first private lesson which was supposed to be one hour long. George taught me a few of the basics, then after half an hour into the lesson, George stopped the lesson, charged me half price for the lesson and told me I could join the recently started beginner's class without further private instruction. Later, George was to tell me I was an exceptional student.

Classes for beginners were taught not by George but by George's senior students. There were no black belt senior students in George's dojo at that time. He hadn't been teaching long enough to train any. My first teacher was Donald MacCalmon, a green belt. The procedure was to take eight lessons, once a week, as a probationary student. We were not allowed to wear a belt. At the end of the probation, we were tested and granted our first promotion, typically a kyu-kyu (one green stripe on the white belt). We then had the privilege to wear our belts to display our rank: a great honor. Among the twenty students in my class, myself and one other, Kurt van Volgen, were promoted to hachi-kyu (two green stripes) for exceptional performance. I was indeed very proud of that accomplishment. I was now a full-fledged member of the Mattson Academy of Karate and was promoted into intermediate class status. My teacher in that class was a sichi-kyu (three green stripes) named John Kotelli, a fellow MIT student. I did not think at the time that it was strange that the teacher of this class was only one rank higher that I. He had not been practicing karate long. I became so enthralled with karate I attended classes at least five times a week and sometimes more than once a day. At the time tuition was a flat rate for unlimited class attendance. It took no time at all for me to progress to what George was to call a teacher level: green belt. Within six months I was asked to be his assistant in the advanced class on Friday evenings. This was George's most advanced class. I suspended my studies at MIT to allow me to practice karate more.

One year into training, George asked me to consider teaching karate as a career. At his urging, I opened a dojo in Quincy, Massachusetts. Walter Mattson was encouraged to open a dojo in Framingham, Massachusetts. So opened the first of many branches of the Mattson Academy of Karate. There was a verbal franchise arrangement with George where Walter and I were to give George 10% of gross revenues from our branches. The use of George's name and reputation was the agreed upon justification for this fee. This was a gentleman's agreement. No formal contract existed.

At the time of the Quincy dojo opening, my rank was Sankyu (brown belt). George used to give promotions by simply announcing them in class. No tests were given. Colored belts were not generally available. After being promoted, I would walk up to the corner drugstore at Mass. Ave. and Boylston, buy a box of Rit dye and spend the evening back at my apartment over the dye pot so that my belt would reflect the correct rank at my next class. I did this for green, brown, and black belts. That drug store was another source of delight for me after karate lessons. As a reward to myself for hard study, I would often treat myself to a banana split or an ice cream soda. Sometimes I would have both in sequence: banana split first. I weighed 170 pounds and did not fluctuate in weight at all for many years.

After approximately one year of teaching in Quincy, I decided to open a dojo in Providence, RI: Same verbal franchise arrangement with George with his enthusiastic blessing. I subsequently gave the Quincy dojo to Carmen DiRamio and Forrest Sanborn, two police officers who were among my first students in Quincy. Carmen was from the Quincy police department. Forrest was from Braintree. Carmen used to practice his karate kicks on parking meters while walking his beat. Forrest taught me that a police officer has no jurisdiction outside of his town when he encouraged me to pass a Braintree policeman's cruiser at 120 miles per hour in my 1961 fuel injected Corvette while traveling through Quincy on the expressway. The policemen didn't even look at me as I passed them.

My Providence dojo opened in September 1963 under the name Mattson Academy of Karate. On April 16, 1964 George Mattson awarded me the rank of Shodan (first degree black belt). Also promoted was Walter Mattson, Tom Bruno, and Charlie Caughlan. We were the seniors of George Mattson's Mattson Academy of Karate and surely proud of it. At this time there were only two of us embarking on a career of karate: Walter and myself.


 

HERE'S WHAT'S COMING UP IN OUR NEXT UPDATE

 

I was the first of George Mattson's students to go to Okinawa to study with Master Uechi. I went prepared to document the trip by buying a professional 16 mm Bolex movie camera. As a consequence, I authored the earliest historical films of Master Uechi which I have copyrighted. During that first visit I found on Okinawa elation and disappointment at the same time. Stay tuned!

 

Our dojo holds 12 classes a week open to all students and one class a week for black belts. Master Earle supervises all of his classes with help from his senior instructors.