contact
Contact Steve by phone at (707) 888-3269
Jujitsu Articles by and about Steve Brummé
SPIRIT OF JUJITSU
WITHOUT USE OF HIS LEGS, STEVE BRUMME SHOWS WHAT MARTIAL ART IS ALL ABOUT
Published on March 22, 2001 © 2001- The Press Democrat BYLINE: GEORGE LAUER THE PRESS DEMOCRAT
This would not be a good weekend to pick a fight in Santa Rosa.
He's been formally studying the discipline only five years, but for most of his life Steve Brumme has been living one of the main concepts of jujitsu:
Work with what you've got.
Brumme, 43, contracted polio before his first birthday and lost the use of both legs.
He didn't know it, but for 37 years growing up the son of a Lutheran minister, drawn like a magnet to art and painting and even working a decade as a wine merchant, Brumme was getting ready for jujitsu. Using crutches -- usually wooden ones he favors for their balance and heft -- Brumme earned a brown belt in the DanZan Ryu system of jujitsu. It took him five years, about the same amount of time it takes a fairly devoted student with legs.
He dabbles in other pursuits as well. He's done a little skydiving and he's working on mountain climbing. ``I'm not sure yet exactly how or by which route, but I plan to climb El Capitan (a 3,000-foot sheer face of rock in Yosemite) by 2005,'' Brumme says.
Jujitsu, however, is where his spirit is.
Designed by and for warriors who lost their weapons, jujitsu makes the most of what's available, including the aggression of your opponent.
Roughly translated from Japanese, ju is ``gentle, pliable, yielding'' and jitsu ``art'' or ``technique.'' The philosophy involves yielding, then reversing an opponent's energy to your advantage.
``And if you happen to have something handy that can be used as a weapon or for leverage, so much the better,'' Brumme says, swishing a crutch gently back and forth with a sly smile.
Brumme, who has used his techniques to ward off troublemakers on the street, has dozens of moves, often propelling himself with one crutch and wielding the other as a weapon.
Brumme will be a focal point two ways this weekend during the American Judo and Jujitsu Federation's 53rd annual national convention at the Flamingo Hotel in Santa Rosa. In addition to demonstrating some of his custom-designed moves, Brumme, an artist, will be center stage with his non-jujitsu life as well. His paintings, including ``The Sparrow and The Sword,'' which is the logo for the convention, are an integral part of the theme for this year's convention.
Each year, the national judo and jujitsu showcase is organized around a theme of some sort. One year it was Hen Ho, or preparation. Another year it was back to basics.
The theme this year is Ju Gen.
``The easy translation is `mysteries,''' says Jeff Penner, convention director and sensei (teacher) at Honshin Kan dojo in Santa Rosa. ``But there's a lot more to it than that. It stems from the first glimpses you get of understanding when you begin to study something. It's sort of the unfolding of mysteries that knowledge brings.
``And Steve's paintings fit perfectly,'' Penner says. ``You can take individual pieces of his work and concentrate on them before you take in the whole.''
For most martial artists, the spiritual and mental aspects of the discipline are as important as the physical. For Brumme, who lives in Sonoma and works in a Santa Rosa studio fashioned from a former horse barn, his first weapon in the gentle art was a paint brush. His work incorporates mystical, spiritual symbols, often with a surreal, other-worldly quality. They have multiple layers, much like the art of jujitsu.
``When something is meant to be, when you're destined to go in a certain direction, you know it when the time comes,'' Brumme says. His time for jujitsu came in 1995 when he walked into Honshin Kan dojo (martial arts school) in Santa Rosa looking for a kung fu class.
``I thought kung fu would be perfect for me,'' says Brumme, whose shoulders, arms and hands are well developed from years of carrying his body around. ``They call it the sticky hands technique where you plant yourself and pretty much use only your upper body. I was watching the kung fu lesson and in another room I kept hearing these wild cries and grunts from the jujitsu class. I looked in and saw these people throwing each other to the ground and somebody said come on in. I thought, `No way am I going to do that,' but I found myself sitting at the edge of the match watching."
``And then something that has changed me forever happened.''
The two senseis, Lisa Goldafas and Penner, invited Brumme onto the mat for a special, custom-designed session ``for someone with a body type like mine,'' Brumme says.
``I was honored.''
And he was hooked.
Article by Steve Brummé in the Kiai Echo, the official journal for the sport of jujitsu
Kiai Echo - Summer 2001
Learning the Art Through the Experience of Crutches
This is a story about someone who practices Jujitsu while walking on crutches. This is also a narrative about living in the world of possibility rather than resignation. My name is Steve. When I was less than a year old, I caught a little virus named polio, which rendered my legs mostly paralyzed. Five years ago, I started my journey in learning the art of Dan Zan Ryu Jujitsu. Now that I am approaching my Shodan, it has occurred to me that it might be useful for you, and entertaining for me, if I share a few words.
My first thought is to let you know how to protect yourself from the guy on crutches when he is uked up with you at some Jujitsu seminar. Since the statistical likelihood of such an event is far greater than winning any lottery, you might want to defend yourself from potential injury. Nowhere in any manual that I could find, thus far, does it tell you what to do in the event that you come face to face with a strong, ruggedly good looking guy with hidden steel bars up the sides of his legs and two wooden sticks that look remarkably similar to crutches carried at his sides. You might wonder if this should be a concern of yours? Personally, I encourage you not to worry at all about your well being. In fact, if we ever do face each other on the mat, I would prefer that you concern yourself primarily with my safety. But, I guess, if you were to ask any of my fellow martial artists who have had the dubious good fortune to be my ukes at the Honshin Kan dojo, the answer would be without hesitation, "Absolutely! Flying crutches and whirling steel hurt." I have heard them whine this and make other similar remarks on several occasions, as if forgetting that we are practicing a martial art. My thought is that if you understand that my crutches are weapons, flying at you while suteming from a Tomoe Nage, then it is a no-brainer. Just get out of the way. My Sensei, Jeff Penner, differs in his opinion and has, I think, even written in the dojo safety manual, that "there shall be no solid core, black anodized, jet aircraft tooled, aluminum crutches allowed on the mat." I am foresworn to only carry my soft, five ply, pine wood crutches into the dojo. None-the-less, my Sensei, still, with suspicious glances, watches the steel bars attached to my legs that sometime shine as I am flying through the air landing on top of one of his black belts and has suggested that we wrap them up in thick huggable foam. But alas, I digress. And this brings up the second reason for writing this narrative, to tell you my story.
How does one who walks, with canis lupis grace, on wooden sticks, perceive himself as a martial artist? When I was young, too small yet to walk, polio deprived meof the use of nearly all the muscles in my legs. Because I was so young I do not remember any of this. I was told this later after I developed the ability to communicate with words. All I remember is growing up with a body that was just perfect for me and two tools called crutches that I kept with me as frequently as others wear shoes. By "perfect" I mean that in my mind, since I had not yet learned the art of comparison, I was the way I should be. That was my first and most important martial art lesson. Perfection involves living in each moment like it is a way of life without comparison. As a child, I lived each day like one given a pass to a carnival. I explored all my capabilities. Most importantly, I could not help but sense that people, young and old, liked to be near me. And this made me happy.
Of course, my whole life was not that easy. At some point in my adult life, I somehow came to develop the belief that if I did not have two legs that worked like most others, then I was not going to be happy. I maintained this attitude up to four or five years ago. It was on my path of Dan Zan Ryu Jujitsu that I decided to develop a more empowering belief. To do this I used an analogy. I decided to compare myself to a highly advanced technological device. I asked myself a question. What would it cost to create a machine that had the power, beauty, sophisticated precision and brilliance of a normal, fully functioning human body? My mind went into major calculations, while it itemized all my abilities from my digestive system, sensory systems, logical systems, motor skills and on and on. Until, finally, in the face of my complete ignorance of what current technology is really capable of, I decided that in order for the most advanced technology company to recreate what one human person can perform on a given day it would cost one trillion dollars. Now, what would happen if I had discovered some wonderful morning that I had won the Lottery of lotteries and had been given free, one complete, fully functioning trillion-dollar body? What a great day that would be, I thought. But let's say, in the shipment of my prize from the factory to my house, the truck driver got into a road collision and my prize was damaged to half of its value.. A note, I thought, from the manufacturer, would surely arrive at my house saying, "sorry for the delay…minor troubles…would you accept a $500,000,000,000.00 prize? Please let us know soon."
My reply to this incredible possibility did not come from sheer will alone, but rather, from a place in my heart that has always been there, but hidden from me for a while. Lately, each morning when the sun begins to fade the dark night sky to gold and blue and my conciseness rises to the surface of my day my lips whisper the words, "I win…"
In March of 1995, I walked off the street and into the Honshin Kan dojo in Santa Rosa, not at all to inquire into the possibility of learning Jujitsu, because at the time I did not know what Jujitsu was. I came to study Wing Chun Kung Fu, which was being offered in the same building as the Jujitsu classes. I came to want to learn this art by taking Tae Kwon Do several years earlier. I was frustrated learning how to do kicks with my legs by relying mostly on flying pivots to create the momentum to get my legs to move. Not much street practicality, I thought, and after a year of promotions I left the dojang in pursuit of an art that would use my strengths. As Wing Chun employs mostly hand techniques, I came in search of a teacher. I arrived and sat to observe the class quietly as the students practiced sticky hand techniques, while in the larger room next door, students dressed in whitewere throwing themselves onto the mat and screaming like banshees. As I snuck a peek at these Jujitsu students, I concluded that I could not and would not ever do that to my body and went back to the Kung Fu class glad to see that these students had the good sense to keep their feet planted on the wooden floor. However, a black belt, Carl, saw me looking in the door, and came to persuade me to come and join the Jujitsu class. I tried to explain to him that such an art not only looked impractical for my body type but unsafe as well. He was not persuaded and told me the story of Laurie Santiago, who, though nearly 80% paralyzed and maneuvered from a wheelchair, was an Ikyu. I was impressed. And then, something happened that has changed me forever. I found myself going over to the Jujitsu class, to sit and watch…until both Sensei, Jeff Penner and Lisa Goloftas came over to me and honored me by suggesting that it would be a privilege to let them teach someone with my body type do an art never designed for someone like me. I was touched and found myself smiling as I signed all the necessary forms, and gave them my word I would be at the next class ready for a workout. Shaking my head in dismay, I walked out smiling, still trying to pronounce the name of this art.
My first class. I sat on the side of the mat and watched as the Sensei, Lisa Goldafas, was instructing three rows of perhaps 20 standing students the arts of Yawara. Since my hands were busy holding my crutches, while standing, I decided to sit on the mat to make my hands available for this lesson. Lisa came over to where my uke and I were practicing and observed that our nearness to the ground created new possibilities for this art. For instance, Katate Hazushi Ni required that the Tori's escaping arm move more horizontally rather than diagonally down in order to avoid the floor. She smiled at our solution, bowed and stood, asking that all the students sit to perform this Yawara in this way in order that all could enjoy the new problems and way to escape them. As I watched all twenty students perform this technique at my eye level, I smiled at my new teacher and her method of welcoming me. In my heart, I realized that I had found a home.
That was five years ago. Fumbling for an escape to a handhold while quietly wondering how in the world I was going to learn to roll, tumble and fall. Later that question was voiced when a good friend and fellow student asked me point blank why I had chosen this art. The answer came from some place in my being, call it my heart, mind, spirit…perhaps God in me, who knows…"This is my home." Then I told him what little I knew about this art. That it was first designed over a thousand years ago by warriors who had lost weapons while in battle, while their opponents still came at them with swords, knives and armor force…it was designed for the outnumbered, weaponless, courageous underdog. Seishiro Okazaki, the founder, came to his first Judo dojo convinced that he was going to die soon from TB…in essence came with nothing but a few days to live and the desire to learn. The bottom line, I explained, is that it was created by people like me. My friend smiled and continued to instruct me in rolls, tumbles and falls.
I also came with two powerful beliefs. The first I have already mentioned. My body is a 500 billion dollar machine and can truly do mind blowing things if it is given a direction, a plan, and time to conduct the practice. The second is that I am, as a birthright, a warrior. My definition of Warrior comes from the early American Plains Indians…In their society there was a type of warrior called the Wolf Men. These were a class of brave men who were recognized for their actions of courage under fire or acts of valor in extreme conditions, like protecting the village from enemy warriors, or saving the life of a lost child in a Dakota snow blizzard. Within this elite force was yet a higher distinction in courage. The Tethered Warrior. He was an individual with exceptional bravery even amongst the fearless and this honor usually fell on no more than one or two for each village. It was self-appointed. This man would go into battle with a 15-foot leather rope with a stake tied to one end and the other end attached to his shoulder. If, at any point during the battle, his side started to loose, while the rest of his warriors were retreating he would stake himself to Mother Earth and pray to all his ancestors, his totems, and to the Earth Herself for the courage to fight until his life was over. Sometimes these Tethered Warriors would fight with so much power and supernatural capability that the opposing warriors would refuse to end the life of such a gift to the world and would let the warrior go back to his village alive. More often, he would die with a death song of his fathers on his lips. Regardless of his outcome, a very important thing would happen to his village that night around the community fire. Rather than tell stories of resignation and retreat into limitations or despair, the warriors would tell the story of one man's impossible bravery against all odds. That story would inspire each member of the community to believe that they were part of a truly great family. The level of what is possible would raise one large notch. Around those campfires, the retreating warriors would tell the story of victory and the village would live as though they were unconquerable.
Sometimes I smile at the affect that my presence has on others. Someone who does not know me yet will start sharing problems that they are experiencing with a landlord, a sore foot, a rainy day, how unfair the world is and, in my turn, after I empathize with their troubles, I will share what my Jujitsu class taught me the night before. The response is always the same. Their eyes narrow into a suspicion that I am telling them a joke with no punch-line, then pure disbelief, and then I see their eyes open with gradual awareness that my descriptions of how I perform the Circle Throw or Tomoe Nage is actually what happened to me. At that moment something happens to them. Their face takes on the blank astonished expression of an actor who forgets his lines while on stage. My guess is that whatever problem they were faced with suddenly gets very small compared to the difficulty of performing the Tomoe Nage while standing on crutches. I have heard that my name gets brought up more often than not in circles of friends and family. I am convinced that while the stories are being told of my adventures, what is being quietly said by everyone listening is "all my excuses that keep me from doing what I want just vanished."
The most satisfying experience I have known in life is feeling my fear turn into excitement and confidence. The second most enriching experience I know is to share in someone else's transformation. This is what a warrior who walks on crutches feels when he enters a dojo. Domo.