Past, Present and Future
By Liese Klein

You remember the scene: A grueling walk up flights of stairs to a gym crowded with hundreds of people. And at the center of the frenzy and fun of the New York Aikikai 30th Anniversary Summer Camp--a slight young man with a shock of gray hair, solemn and regal, then known as Dojo-cho.

To a young shodan from Seattle, Moriteru Ueshiba Sensei seemed as remote and inaccessible as the pictures of O-Sensei at the front of the dojo. For me, seeing Doshu Moriteru Ueshiba again this year at the most recent Eastern Region summer camp was a completely different experience. I've been back from Japan for more than a year now, but seeing him triggered a flood of memories. My body rebelling against iriminage in the middle the winter in one of the admittedly few morning classes I attended at Hombu Dojo. Doshu's sense of humor and energy even on the coldest morning or most stifling summer afternoons. Doshu and his family in black at the funeral of the previous Doshu.

Of course, my language skills again came to the fore as I chatted with him, telling him I was sorry, but I had not remembered all of my Japanese, "You mean forgot your Japanese?", He replied. "Uh, yeah. That's right." We both had a laugh. But I was still pleased that he remembered me, and remembered my sincere fondness for all the unmarried uchideshi.

It was also a surprise to see Fujimaki Sensei, a young teacher at Hombu who took ukemi for Doshu, on the schedule to teach at summer camp. I have a great photograph of Fujimaki Sensei outside of Hombu Dojo making a face with his face and hands covered in mochi, looking about 10 years old. Of course, having embarrassing pictures of Aikido teachers is nothing unusual. I have some of Peter Bernath Sensei! Well, let's just say he'll never run for office.

But having some context with which to appreciate the Japanese teachers is I think the greatest gift I took home from Japan. There are a lot of funny stories, but also some sense of the sacrifices these teachers have made and the heavy burden of tradition and responsibility that falls on their shoulders. Now I have experiences to go with the faces in the Aikido history books and videos. Memories of getting my wrists wrenched by Arikawa Sensei, my spine straightened by Endo Sensei and Miyamoto Sensei saying "jishin!" (earthquake), every time I took a hard fall.

Actually, come to think of it, I don't miss Japan much at all. Seriously, it seems every Hombu old-timer speaks of some mythical "golden age," when the teachers were at their fiercest, the foreigners were few and the training was at an all-time peak. Of course, this "golden age" passed just after the person speaking arrived and inevitably long before I got there.

But I can't help feel, looking back, that my time at Hombu was a golden age, at least for me. With all of my heart, I thank the many people in Japan who made it possible.