The History of AKSD, Parts I and II:
Provenance and Destiny

By Ray Bennett

Part I

It was 1979. The Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini returns to Iran; a nuclear power plant accident at Three Mile Island, Pennsylvania, releases radiation; and the Pittsburgh Steelers defeat the Dallas Cowboys 35-31 in Super Bowl XIII. But in Dallas Texas, on a warm summer day, a young man named Raymon Gomez was driving down Garland Road on his Harley Davidson Panhead 48 when something caught his eye. "Karate." It wasn't an earth shattering revelation. Just a word written on a sign casually sitting off the edge of the road. But it was just enough to get this young man who had watched "chop-sokey" movies all his life to make a u-turn into an unknown future.

The building he pulled up to was fairly non-descript. Concrete block wall, glass storefront, and a sign. That was really all there was to it. When young Raymon opened the door to that bland building, he got something he didn't quite expect. First off was the smell. Sweat, dirt, stale bread, and "Old Spice" did their best to mingle into a menacing odor that was more like a dying hippopotamus than a fighting tiger. Through the haze and yellowed lighting the other senses didn't find any more friendly circumstances. Old carpet lay on the floors. Peeling paint and cracked mirrors on the walls. Those ceiling tiles that weren't missing were tattered and torn as though they had been used for board breaking. Perhaps the most disturbing was the sound. Off in a far corner could be heard the sounds of a body flailing itself against a punching bag. It was a solitary sound that couldn't help but give an ominous pall over the place.

After a quick inventory of the surroundings, Raymon quietly backed up as to not disturb the delicate balance between woe and moral ambivalence and walked out the door. But timing is everything...

Part II

It was 1981. Ronald Reagan succeeds Jimmy Carter, becoming the 40th President of the United States; the first De Lorean DMC-12 automobile rolls off the production line in Dunmurry, Northern Ireland; and the Oakland Raiders win Super Bowl XV, defeating the Philadelphia Eagles 27-10. But in Mansfield Texas, a young man by the name of Raymon Gomez had finally found a mentor in the world renowned Troy Dorsey. What had started as a curious fascination became a profound obsession. In fact the bitter memories of some derelict place on Garland Road was almost forgotten until Mr. Dorsey approached Raymon about opening a new school. It was closer to Raymon's home and had all the romantic prospects of a new beginning.

The address... 10918 Garland Road. Like a voice from the past, it slowly crept into Raymon's thoughts. It was the same place. That lonely, desolate, desperate building Raymon had walked into on a whim two years ago was to be his new home.

Taking a deep breath (mainly to brace against any breath-stealing aroma), he walked back into the past and into a place more disturbing than he had even remembered it. This time he had reinforcements though. His lovely bride, Mary, and Mr. Dorsey walked a few feet behind him, though it was mainly out of disbelief than any sense of reverence.

Yes it was the same place. But it wouldn't be for long. The crew quickly dug in, literally; for the carpet was so deteriorated it could only be shoveled off the concrete slab. Mary Gomez came from somewhere in the back, stoic but pale, repeating the words "dead rats." Ceiling tiles were replaced (or added as the case may be). New mirrors were installed with the kind that didn't make you look like a circus freak. Then there was the mat. Mary took it upon herself to clean the brown-leathered surface. Every time she got an area washed down it would dry and turn white with a dusty residue. It was as if the dirt was putting up a greater fight than any man who had ever sparred on that brown mat. And when it was all done, that mat was in fact red.

Weeks of sweat and toil finally defeated the rancid atmosphere of a simple karate school and created a home for legends. With names like Raymond McCallum, Demetrius Havanas, Tim Kirby, and countless others, that sad little building on Garland Road became something much more than itself. And today many future legends walk this hall of giants. All in a place that had an unknown past and an even more unknown future. Sometimes, as one of his wide-eyed white belt gazes at the signatures on a remnant of the old red mat hanging on the wall, Mr. Gomez (as he his called today) will wistfully say; "I guess I was destined to be here."