It was a Wednesday evening, and I was teaching my class, Heian ni-dan—the second kata in Shotokan karate. Normally, the dojo was quiet, but that night I was competing with the pounding music from my next-door neighbor: the world-famous Troubadour nightclub. They usually didn’t start until nine, after my classes had ended, but this time the music roared to life at seven.
As I raised my voice above the music, I noticed curious faces peering through the windows before drifting away. Occasionally, people wandered in and sat down to watch, but that night, only one person entered and quietly took a seat. Focused on my dozen students, I didn’t pay much attention—except to note his shape in the back mirror. Fifteen minutes later, after class bowed out, I walked to the front. As I drew closer, my heart skipped. Sitting on the bench was none other than Elvis Presley.
I’d been around celebrities before, especially during my time working for famous record producer Phil Spector, but seeing Elvis in my dojo left me momentarily speechless. I snapped out of it when he broke the silence with a smile:
“That was heian ni-dan,” he said.
And so began my chance meeting with the King.
When I asked if he practiced karate, he nodded warmly and explained he had been studying for over 10 years. He seemed genuinely surprised to see my school. He’d been coming to the Troubadour for years, he said, and hadn’t noticed a dojo here six months ago. I told him I had only opened four months earlier, and I was equally surprised that he recognized the kata.
Elvis went on to describe how, while stationed in Germany with the Army, he and a friend stumbled upon a class taught by Jurgen Sydel, a Shotokan instructor. Intrigued, he joined and eventually earned a brown belt. So fascinated was he that during a 30-day leave, he flew to Paris for private lessons with Tetsuji Murakami, then Europe’s leading Shotokan instructor. Elvis said he still remembered his katas vividly. Murakami, he recalled, was a strict traditionalist and a firm believer in the importance of kata. He would often make him perform a kata a dozen times or more.
When I asked him if he still trained, he replied that for the last few years, he had been training in Kenpo karate with Ed Parker. I told him I knew Sensei Parker, and I was curious why he switched styles. He said that when he returned to the U.S., he happened to be at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel on the day that Ed Parker was doing a karate demonstration. He was intrigued by the flamboyant and flashy style of Kenpo and became a student. He said that whenever he was not traveling, he would train at Sensei Parker's dojo in Santa Monica. He claimed that the karate techniques, especially the katas of Kenpo, were so much more intricate than Shotokan and that he planned to use some of the moves while performing on stage.
When I pressed him about the combative aspect of karate, Elvis grew thoughtful. Yes, karate could be helpful in a fight, but that wasn’t his main draw. “For me,” he said, “it’s the artistic side—the ritual. When I’m training, my mind is totally focused. All other thoughts disappear. It’s like meditation in motion.”
Unlike many celebrities I had seen dabble in karate as a passing novelty, Elvis was serious. His passion for the art seemed genuine. When he learned I had trained in Japan, he lit up, telling me it was something he dreamed of doing one day. Before leaving, he mentioned he was performing regularly at the Las Vegas Hilton and invited me to visit. I figured it was just a polite gesture, but two months later, a letter arrived with a personal invitation to see his show and meet him backstage.
Though I wasn’t a big rock ‘n’ roll fan, I went. Elvis was electric on stage, and afterward he welcomed me backstage like an old friend. In his enormous dressing room, he suddenly launched into heian ni-dan. “See? I remember,” he said with a grin. Then he performed Bassai Dai, the last Shotokan kata he had learned. To my astonishment, his form was pretty good. I told him so, and he beamed. He then performed a Kenpo kata, which was much longer and more intricate. While I agreed that Kenpo was a much fancier style, I still maintained that it lacked the power of Shotokan.
He asked me about my opinion of the leading karate instructors in America, and then we discussed some of the top competitors. Elvis seemed most impressed with Chuck Norris and Joe Lewis, both of whom he had seen at Ed Parker’s Long Beach Internationals. He had attended the tournament several times, and he mentioned that one day he wanted to make a documentary about sport karate.
Before I left, he gave me his number, saying he had a house in Bel Air, and I should call him. Over the next year, we met a few more times before he began spending more of his life in Memphis, and we drifted out of touch.
But meeting and befriending the King was a great honor, and trading karate stories with him was something to remember.