This is my blog. Most of what I write here can be fairly personal, as it is how I prefer to deal with things that happen in my life. What is written below is a result of my brain coming to terms with the end of an era.
It appears that the drama is finally over between myself, fencing, and O’Fallon. It all happened so quickly that I wasn’t even able to give it the goodbye it deserved.
There are a lot of details regarding how this whole thing disassembled. Some I feel comfortable posting here, and some, out of respect for those involved, I will not comment on. Nor will I be naming names like crazy. This isn’t a blame game. This is just me trying to talk this out with myself and learn to reason with the fallout.
I first noticed the dominoes falling about three years ago. Our fencing school, The Jack of Swords, had blossomed into a thriving group filled with many colorful and friendly characters. To tell the truth (like I lie at all, especially here, but that goes without saying), getting together with my friends at fencing was the thing I looked forward to most during the week. At this particular time, I was still learning how to teach students. I was confident in my abilities as a fencer, and I was working towards holding that same confidence with my instructional abilities. I knew it would be a long trek, but I knew I could count on my instructor and a few other people in the group to help me along the way.
During this time, there were strong signs of the group splitting into two groups. These groups were more or less defined by the methods in which they chose to fence. The group I normally resided with included my instructor, the students, and anybody who wanted to learn and practice what we went over during class time. The second group consisted of those who integrated more colorful methods of swordplay into their “fencing” from various aspects of their different martial arts training and whatever they may have picked up either by happenstance or YouTube binges.
While I enjoyed this second group’s company, I didn’t feel comfortable with training with them because of multiple reasons. The first and foremost was safety. Never had I seen so many swords break or bruises and scratches attained in the many years I had been fencing before as I had with that group in just one year. One thing I had learned from my instructor’s teachings, as well as many texts I had studied about the art of fencing, was that if someone was hurt during a fencing bout, the fencer who did the “hurting” wasn’t looked highly upon in the least bit. While this may seem somewhat snooty to an outsider, especially with this being a contact sport, safety was and still is the number one concern regarding fencing, as it is with most any other activity, professional or otherwise. It was because of this that I didn’t want my reputation as an instructor tarnished by the actions that this group performed outside of class. I wanted to feel guilty, but becoming a fencing instructor was something that I was placing much importance on, and I couldn’t take a risk that would jeopardize that future for me. If I wanted to be taken seriously as an instructor, I had to take what I was teaching seriously as well, and I didn’t want my students to see otherwise. Some will most certainly call that brown-nosing, but those people can kiss my derriere; it was hard enough trying to teach the students while they looked away from what myself and the head instructor were teaching them, towards the mayhem that was taking place outside, constantly asking us when they would get to “pommel people’s masks in” or “wrestle.” It was hard enough when one minute I was telling the students how the fencing swords hardly break, and when used right the sword can last for years, and a fellow “veteran” comes in from outside not five minutes later and their sword is broken.
Every week.
I didn’t believe that it was my place to tell these swordplayers to stop what they were doing. They were having fun, and they were doing it outside the classroom building (for the most part). But what I don’t think they realize is that some students looked at them as examples, and the examples that they gave were contradictory to what we taught them during their classes. Some students wanted nothing more than to go Conan the Barbarian on their opponent, and some students didn’t trust the veterans at all. It was unnerving when one student came up to me one morning and told me, after fighting someone from this group, that if this is what we all turned into, then he didn’t “want anything to do with it.” I tried to convince him otherwise, but alas, actions speak louder than words. The bruise this student had the following week was quite the testimony.
Again, an outsider will say, “You’re playing with swords, you’re learning how to fight. Of course there’s going to be bruises.” On the contrary. Most of the swords we use are built to absorb the hit on the opponent: they bend on impact. The jackets, masks, and gloves we wear are built to protect against any sort of bruise or damage that the sword may inflict on the victim. If you get past those defenses, something has gone horribly wrong. At our school, one of the primary things we taught was control. If you can’t control yourself with this art, or hobby, or whatever it means to you, then you are a danger to everyone involved. That’s not my opinion, that’s fact.
What unnerved me the most was how the head instructor at the school was dealing with this issue, or should I say, the lack thereof. I’m certain he saw the same thing I was seeing, and like I mentioned before, I didn’t feel comfortable with telling this group of people to knock it off, and discuss with them my fears that someone was going to be seriously hurt with the way they were fighting. I was in no way an instructor, I didn’t feel like I had earned any sort of authority yet. But it almost got to a breaking point with me, with seeing the students come walking back from a bout that I had hoped they had learned something positive from, but learning that fear had only resided in their minds.
It’s like I have always told the people I have met at fencing, students and fellow classmates alike. If it isn’t fun, then you shouldn’t be doing it.
Which is exactly what the head instructor reminded me of a little over a year ago when he told me that he was stepping away from the organization, which was either going to be permanent, or just until the fall.
He had his reasons, and they were legitimate. He quoted physical ailments, as well as a lack of fun with the whole activity, as his reasons for leaving. Although I do respect these reasons, I have to wonder if there was something else that he was stepping away from. I wonder that every day, especially since he had originally asked me if I wanted to take up the school and keep it going.
When I was asked that, I said yes without much hesitation. Any hesitation I may have had was caused by my gut telling me that I didn’t have the experience to run a school by myself, which was true. The decision to take on the fencing school as the head of operations came at a time in my life which was quite insane, to put it lightly. I was dealing with many personal issues at the time, and I wasn’t in a great emotional state to begin with. I had just gotten married, and believed that my wife and I were supposed to be happy at this time in our lives (which wasn’t but a month after our wedding) but we weren’t. No, I don’t need to get involved with the details of that, as I don’t believe it’s necessary to get into those here, but do know that my wife and I weren’t emotionally distressed with each other. My wife Claire has been totally supportive of me throughout the seven years we have known each other, and I praise God every day for that gift. When I told her that the head instructor would be stepping back, and I would be taking up the reins, we talked about it for quite some time. We got a whiteboard, we started making plans about the different classes I would be teaching, and started plotting out the many details that we would need in order to get the fencing group rebooted.
For a semester, this worked out, but then, the game changed again. Attendance had dropped rapidly before I took over the JOS, and I wasn’t able to teach classes on the Saturday mornings the students had become accustomed to because of work scheduling conflicts. So I made the switch to Thursday nights only, and had one beginner class during the week. The head instructor let me borrow his equipment, which I provided for the students, and got at least half of the class to come back for another semester. It all seemed like it was coming together, slowly but surely. I was fine by this, because I didn’t want to jump right into teaching twenty students per class; easing into it seemed like the best method for dealing with this sudden change.
It was around this time when I noticed that a lot of my friendships that I had within this fencing group were starting to fade away. I had started to notice it near the time after Claire and I had gotten married, but I figured that was just time moving too fast, and like I mentioned before, I had gone through a certain emotional crisis shortly after my “big day.” But it was at this time that I noticed that none of the fencers were meeting up anymore, and if they were, I wasn’t being told about it. Granted, I didn’t really have an interest in waging war, breaking swords, and boasting about bruises, but I wouldn’t have minded the invite, as I would have enjoyed actually fencing someone. The summer was long and hot, and there wasn’t a lot of time or energy to devote to fencing then, but it was different not hearing from the people I loved to talk to. I understand that conversation works both ways, and that I could have attempted to invite myself into whatever goings-on were going on, but that’s not me, that’s not my character. I am someone that will wait until I have a proper invite to attend to anything, and it didn’t help that I did feel like some of this was deliberate, so I kept what I considered a safe distance until the storm clouds blew over.
Shortly after the summer, I was informed from the past head instructor that he had decided that his stepping away would be permanent, and that he had officially retired from fencing. I was saddened to hear this, because I was looking forward to him coming back. I understood, however, that during this time away from fencing he would discover that he would have more free time to do things that he wanted to do which he couldn’t because of fencing/teaching duties. I was just praying that there would be a great reunion of sorts, and that things would go back to the way that they used to be.
I should know better by now that life hardly ever has a track record of going back to how things used to be.
He informed me that along with his retirement, he would be selling all of his equipment. His equipment, which he had generously provided to me as a rental of sorts, so I could bring more students into fencing. He gave me the option to buy his equipment, used as it was, but I couldn’t with good conscience buy the equipment from him for the price he was asking. He also, in a sense, requested that I not use the Jack of Swords name should I continue to pursue my teaching.
This was a blow to me. I do believe that I took some things for granted, such as the usage of the equipment he had, which truthfully wasn’t mine. I do like to believe that I was teaching what I was taught from him, giving good credence to the group’s name. However, I couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t and still may not be under that same mindset. I respect his decisions for bowing out when he felt he had to, but I was saddened at this new development, and I did take it personally. I was so many levels of confused I didn’t know what to do, and so many thoughts were running through my mind. Why would he want to keep the equipment and sell it if someone he knew and someone I believed he still trusted was using it to carry on what he started? Yes, it was his equipment, he has every right to do what he wants to do with it, and I understand that. But after 11 years learning and teaching with him, I thought that would have meant something. Call me selfish if you must, but I do think I worked hard to keep up the amount of renown that I believed the group to maintain, and to not even be given the chance to carry on the name, if I wanted to or not, still feels like a stab in the gut.
The city of O’Fallon, which I kept up to date regarding these situations, remained surprisingly supportive throughout everything. They helped me schedule classes around the timeframe I had, and even worked with me to better the communication regarding payment procedure with them. In all of the years I had known about the way they did business, it hadn’t been a better time, and it led me to think that maybe there wasn’t any good communication beforehand when I wasn’t running it. Regardless, after the email I received from the head instructor (no, this development wasn’t told to me in-person), I had to inform O’Fallon that I would not be able to teach anymore classes indefinitely. I told them that I was left with no equipment to provide to students, so I could not justify a class of maybe 4-5 students and make them pay for all of their equipment beforehand without even knowing if it’s something they want to continue doing. I also informed them that I would need time to reorganize and rebuild a fencing community that was as strong as it was before, and in doing that, I would need to work out details such as marketing, communication with students, saving up to buy equipment for said students, and a total rebranding of the group. The head of the recreational department heard me out, and told me if she could help at all to let her know, etc. It was nice to see that finally, at the end, there was a good line of communication with our supervisors.
A few weeks later, I read on the online edition of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch that the hall where I teach fencing, where we have been teaching since the beginning, is closing. An unstable roof is to be blamed, and they need to close the entire building indefinitely until it is safe to be in again.
There was no warning. There was no communication between myself and O’Fallon about this at all. This news comes halfway through my last fencing semester I’ll be having until who knows when. Needless to say, I was very angered by the lack of communication or notice about something like this. It wasn’t enough that about 90% of the core fencing group had split off and I was the only one left to pick up the pieces.
It’s safe to say that this is probably the last time I will be working with O’Fallon.
To be perfectly honest, though, this is the only way it could have ended. The track record of O’Fallon’s crazy communication started 11 years ago when I first signed up for an Intermediate Foil class, when I was told that the head instructor had “passed on.” Looking back on that, and all of the uncountable times O’Fallon has screwed our fencing group over with lack of communication, I have to laugh. It’s poetic, in a sense, that this building would literally be falling apart at the end of this mess.
It’s poetic knowing that I never even really got the chance to go out with a bang at that place. I had plans to, you better believe it. But my career at O’Fallon has ended with half of a fencing semester, a building closure, and no communication with O’Fallon, or my past fellow fencers (save for a few). Everything has fallen apart; some things in a literal sense. If I have an appreciation for anything, it has to be how it has all ended. I’m not sure even I could have written a better ending for it.
I’m working on moving my students to my church for the remaining classes that they had left in their semester. I’m aiming to finish up my teaching there, and start the reconstruction shortly after. It’s going to take some time, but I want this to continue. I want to give students what I was given from my instructor. Fencing changed my life for the better, even through all of this turmoil I have discussed. I lost weight doing this activity, and became a healthier person because of it. I have a lifetime of stories to tell people from my experiences on those memorable weekends. I even met my wife there; my favorite person in the world, someone that I didn’t believe that God would ever bless me with, but it happened. I would love to give someone else that chance, the chance to enjoy themselves at something, and meet friends in the process.
My time with O’Fallon and The Jack of Swords is a time that I will never forget. I have learned numerous invaluable lessons there that I couldn’t have learned anywhere else. More than a decade of my life was partially devoted to this art, and that’s not something I’m willing to throw away.
However, I am human. I hurt when I think about how the final moments of this time were handled. I hurt when I try to talk to the fencers I used to know online, and I get the feeling they no longer feel the need to talk to me like I meant anything to them just one year ago. Heck, I’ve even decided to sever communications with more than one person I have met through fencing because of the way they’ve treated myself and my wife in just the past few months. Do I understand it at all? Just one bit? No, I don’t. I have a feeling that I’ll never know exactly why this was handled the way it was. It is what it is, though, and the best will have to come of it.
I keep thinking of the forest analogy when it comes to situations like this. When a fire rushes through a forest and burns a good percentage of it, this isn’t a tragedy; this is nature’s course. Up from the ashes, new things are born. Balance is created. All things must end at some point, even if you don’t want them to. God has bigger plans for us all, and that’s something else that I won’t understand until I leave this world.
That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what I was given.
Thank you. Thanks to everyone who made this happen. Thanks to everyone involved with The Jack of Swords at some point in the past 11 years for being there for me even when you didn’t think you were: I learned from all of you. Thanks to the city of O’Fallon, MO, which above all else has taught me the importance of patience. Thanks to my parents for originally finding the JOS, and allowing me to participate in what I had always dreamed to do: fight with a sword. Not everyone gets to have their dreams fulfilled. The Jack of Swords helped me to accomplish that life goal which originally just started out with myself gawking over lightsabers.
I will miss this room, and everything that happened in it. I will miss the people, but will always wonder why it had to pan out the way it did. I’ll miss the creak of the floor, the movie soundtracks playing through the speakers during our tournaments, even the dancers who were patient with us “taking their room” (who also proved near the end that they weren’t as unreasonable as I had first thought them to be). It is impossible for me to forget my experiences I had in this room. I only wish the end hadn’t come so quickly so I would have time to give the building one last goodbye before they tear it apart, as cliché as that sounds.
If you’re still reading this, I applaud you and thank you as well. These words couldn’t have come from a more tender place in my heart. If you walk away with anything from reading these 3,500+ words, let it be this:
Even though an end may come sudden, or in a way that you don’t understand or appreciate, do realize what you were given in the time you had with whatever it was that ended. This isn’t the end of my fencing career, it’s just a pause in the action. An appel, if you like.
The forest may have burnt out, but I can’t wait to see what rises out of the ashes.
