Against All Odds: My Story (12 page)

The director called, “Action,” and I sprang into my role perfectly. There was only one problem. Dean forgot to bend his knees! I hit him flush on the shoulder and sent him flying across the set. The director was horrified, but Dean was good-natured about the accident. “I'm OK,” he said. “Let's do it again.”

When we did the retake, I decided to kick high above Dean's head, just in case he didn't drop down. But this time he sank to a squatting position on the floor. My kick went about four feet over his head. The remainder of the actual fighting was done by Mike Stone. Then Dean came back on the set for the conclusion. The tussle between Dean and me ended with the star of the movie dropping down and kicking me into a table and several chairs. I may have been a grand champion karate expert, but Dean was “Matt Helm”!

Although I hadn't performed up to my own expectations, the scene looked fine on film. I enjoyed being in the movie, but it was not an experience I was in a hurry to repeat. I had been too tense, too unsure of myself; I had never acted before and didn't know what to expect, so I couldn't prepare properly. I was disappointed in my performance, but I wasn't worried about it. After all, I had no illusions about being a film star. Acting was interesting, but I saw myself as a professional martial arts teacher, teaching and opening more schools, with my life revolving around the education of my students. I would probably be teaching martial arts to this day, had my schools not encountered difficulties. I'll tell you more about that later, but for now the acting job did have a residual benefit: it got me into the Screen Actors Guild.

As a result of all the publicity I had gotten from my tournament wins, I received a message from an advertising agency representing Black Belt Cologne. They were looking for a karate expert to do a commercial and wanted to see some film of me breaking something. I thought,
A television commercial could be a big deal. It would give me prestige and exposure, which would help me attract more students.
Also, the money I was to be paid would be welcome.

I videotaped myself breaking burning cinder blocks and some boards. I sent the tape to the agency, and I was signed for the commercial. Bob Wall and Mike Stone, two of the top martial artists in the nation, flew to New York with me to help out.

During the four days of filming the commercial, I broke more than three thousand roofing tiles, and I kicked, punched, and chopped my way through four hundred boards held by Bob and Mike, who were showered by the bits and pieces. By the time the commercial was finished, I was so sick of breaking cinder blocks and boards that I never wanted to see another piece of building material ever again!

My plan to stop competing was delayed further when, late in 1968, fight promoter Aaron Banks called from New York. He asked me to fight for the World Professional Middleweight title against Louis Delgado at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City. I had faced Louis in two previous tournaments, winning one and losing one. Louis was a talented and versatile fighter, a few years younger than me. Recalling my hard-fought battles with Delgado, I knew I was going to have another real fight on my hands if I accepted the challenge. Nevertheless, I agreed to the fight.

In the professional ranks competitors fight for three rounds, three minutes each, similar to professional boxing. Early in the first round, Delgado hit me with a spinning heel kick, cracking a bone in my jaw and dropping me to my knees. My adrenaline level was so intense, however, that I hardly noticed the pain and went on with the bout!

I used a judo sweep to take Louis's legs out from under him. He crashed to the mat with arms outstretched to break his fall. As I dropped down to punch him, my knee landed on his arm and cracked a bone in it. Neither of us knew the extent of the damage, however, because we kept fighting until the match was over, and I was declared the winner. We rode to the hospital together. My broken jaw had to be wired shut, and Louis had to have a cast put on his arm. We didn't look much like karate champions as we exited the hospital that night.

Although winning the pro title was satisfying, I realized that the most gratifying part of my martial arts career was working toward my goals. Winning the small tournaments in the early stages of my career had been just as exciting as winning the World Professional Championship. More and more I was coming to realize that the rewarding part of life is the journey, not the destination.

At the height of the Vietnam war, both of my brothers, Wieland and Aaron, enlisted in the US Army. As a veteran myself, I understood their desire to serve, and I concurred with their decision to enlist. Aaron was stationed in Korea, and Wieland was sent to Vietnam. As Wieland headed off to Nam, I hugged and kissed my brother and said, “I'm going to miss you. Be careful.”

In 1970, I was refereeing a tournament in California when I heard an announcement over the loudspeaker, “Chuck Norris, you have an urgent call.” I hustled over to the phone.

I recognized the muffled voice of my mother-in-law, and she was crying. “What's wrong, Evelyn?” I asked her.

“Your brother, Wieland, has been killed in Vietnam.”

If I had been kicked in the stomach by a dozen karate champions at the same time, it could not have impacted me more. I staggered back away from the phone as though that would somehow make Evelyn's words untrue. It didn't.

I hung up the phone, moving in what felt like slow motion. For a long time I couldn't function; I simply sat in shock, thinking about my little brother, Wieland, my best friend whom I would never see again in this life. Right there, in front of anyone who cared to see, I wept uncontrollably.

When Wieland had been twelve years old, he'd once had a premonition that he would not live to be twenty-eight. Wieland died on June 3, 1970, one month before his twenty-eighth birthday. I learned later that Wieland had been killed while leading his squad through dangerous enemy territory. He had spotted an enemy patrol laying a trap and was trying to warn his men when the Vietcong cut him down.

Our youngest brother, Aaron, received an emergency leave from the Army, permitting him to come home from Korea, where he had been stationed. The US government also made arrangements for Wieland's body to be shipped home for the funeral. I tried to help my mom with all the details, supporting her through the horrible shock of knowing that her son was coming home, but she'd never again hear his voice, see his smile, or recognize the sparkle in his eyes that seemed to light up a room. Only someone who has lost a loved one in such a manner can know the pain that our family felt.

Although God has blessed me with a wonderful, large family, I still miss my brother terribly. I think of Wieland often and am comforted only by the certainty that one day I will be giving him a great big hug in heaven.

CHAPTER 11

MATERIAL WINS; EMOTIONAL LOSSES

B
ob Wall and I had formed a partnership in 1967 to operate my martial arts schools. With me as the chief instructor and with Bob's organizational skills, we soon had three prosperous martial arts schools. By 1970, we were doing so well that a large corporation offered to acquire our business and open hundreds of other Chuck Norris Studios nationwide. Bob and I discussed our options and decided to sell. We figured that 2 percent of hundreds of studios was better than 100 percent of three studios.

Bob and I received $60,000 apiece for our studios and a $3,000-per-month salary. I was to continue running the instructional program, and Bob was to head the sales program. It was the ideal situation. We could still be involved with the students while somebody else handled the business and paid us to do what we loved.

When Dianne and I received our check, one of the first things we did was to purchase a new home in Rolling Hills Estates, a secluded residential area of Los Angeles. I also bought a gold Cadillac. With a regular income and sixty grand in the bank at thirty years of age, I felt flush with cash! There's an old saying, “Easy come, easy go,” and I was about to discover exactly what that meant.

Most of us are tempted to think that when things are not going well in our personal relationships, material things will make up for the emotional lacking. But getting more or nicer stuff rarely improves a struggling relationship. I know it didn't for Dianne and me.

By 1972, Dianne and I had already begun to develop divergent interests, and it was becoming increasingly clear that our relationship was in trouble. We argued more frequently, and neither of us was happy with what we saw happening in our marriage. We separated, and Dianne took our boys with her. I was devastated at their departure and plunged into a depression. Nothing I tried filled the void in my life. My family was gone, and God seemed a million miles away. I was lonely and miserable but determined to pick myself up and go on with life.

Four months later Bruce Lee telephoned me one morning. He said that two pictures he had made in Hong Kong were big box-office successes. He wanted me to be in his next film,
Return of the Dragon
, which he was also going to direct. “I want you to be my opponent. We'll have a fight in the Coliseum in Rome,” he crowed with excitement. “Two gladiators in a fight to the death! Best of all, we can choreograph it ourselves. I promise you the fight will be the highlight of the film.”

“Great,” I said. “Who wins?”

“I do,” Bruce said with a laugh. “I'm the star!”

“Oh, you're going to beat up on the current world karate champion?”

“No,” said Bruce. “I'm going to
kill
the current world karate champ.”

I laughed and agreed to do the movie with Bruce.

I had never been to Europe before, so I asked Bob Wall, my good friend and karate school partner, to go with me. When we arrived at Leonardo da Vinci Airport in Rome, Bruce Lee was waiting with a camera crew to photograph us getting off the plane. Bruce wanted to use our arrival footage as an insert for the film. Since Bob had come with me, Bruce decided to use him in the film, too.

It had been two years since I had last seen Bruce, but he was as cordial as ever. He was not embarrassed by male affection, and he gave us each a warm hug before he led us to a waiting car.

For the scene in the Coliseum, Bruce wanted me to look more formidable as his opponent. I weighed about 162 pounds to his 145, and he wanted me to gain at least twenty pounds. Fortunately, I have a very slow metabolism and can put on seven pounds in less than a week if I cut back on my workouts and don't watch my diet. I said, “Hey this is great! I get to go on an eating binge at company expense!”

Bob and I spent two weeks sightseeing like typical tourists. We took daylong walks, visiting such shrines as Saint Peter's Basilica, the Vatican, the Trevi Fountain, and the beautiful gardens at the Villa Borghese.