The Organization Pt I: 8250

So before this exercise in exorcism begins, I would like to note that this may not be of interest to a lot of people. Their is going to be drawn out stories, references to people they don't know and terms and allusions that, out of context, make no sense at all. This series entitled The Organization, is really only going to appeal to a niche audience. Well, two niche audiences really. The first is going to be people that have first hand knowledge and experience with the Organization (The Organization, by the way is the first reference that only the people who have experienced it will understand...In fact, they already know what this is going to be about). The second niche group is going to be people who know me, and maybe do not understand some of my subtle idiosyncratic ways. No kidding it really is that powerful. The Organization shaped a good part of my life (and by good, I mean significant, or at least lengthy), both by the length of time that it involved me, and the period that I was in fact involved. Disclaimers aside, I know I have already lost some of you, so lets move on.
Actually, back to disclaimers. This work is going to involve real people. Some of whom, if they were to read this, would not be real happy with how they think they are being portrayed. Here is the thing about that, and this is important for both reader and character to understand: This is not who these people really are! The way the characters are portrayed is the point of view of the central character: ME. I make no assertions that my scope of some of these people is somewhat limited, and fogged by their participation in the Organization.
The other dilemma, is that one of the primary shapers of the story, who is not always going to appear in the most flattering light, past away recently. This is someone that in many ways I respect tremendously, and was actually a pall bearer at his funeral. His part in the Shaping is, in part, a realization of clay feet. Much like the human frailty of the Greek gods, observations of this man and their somewhat negative slant at times, stem from the contrast to an early reverence, and not from a latter day disrespect. That being said, I intend to offer my honest recollection of my involvement in this story.

The Organization Pt I: 8250

Austin. Austin was an interesting guy. I first met Austin in 7th grade, and we eventually became very good friends throughout Jr. High and high school. Austin from day one was what in Jr. High was considered wired. He was on the short side, got great grades, long and heavily hairsprayed bangs, braces, and a polite if not somewhat stiff mannerism. Polite even for an adult, but for a 13 year old appeared downright odd. I remember finding it refreshing to meet someone at Carson Middle School who had apparently been instilled in his upbringing with the same courtesies that I had. Austin occasionally said and did things that made me slink into the shadows and hope that the other middle-schoolers understood that I was simply the friend, that we did not in fact share a mind. Not so much in high school, but in middle school I remember not acting in the most loyal way toward Austin. He was one of my two best friends and yet I could not always find a way to support him through my own embarrassment at his public displays of honesty and congruence of image and identity. Austin grew up into one of the most eccentric, creative, and hardworking people that I have ever known. He grew into a artistic elitist, with a blue collar sensibility. With his art and writing being accentuated by the cooling and heating business that he owned and operated. By himself.
Austins part in the shaping was that of inadvertent messenger. Like many Jr. High age kids, the culmination of a hard week of school and trying to not be noticed, was for me, staying the night at a friends house. The tradition of staying up too late, eating poorly, and sneaking out to do ridiculously 12 year old things was alive and well in our lives. One of the first times I stayed over at Austin's house, he informed me that he had to go to class in the morning. Class...On a Saturday. Austin went on to tell me his big secret.
"I have a purple belt in Kenpo"
"Kenpo?"
"Kenpo."
Austin went on to explain to me exactly what Kenpo was. A system of martial arts that had its origins in China-Okinawa-Hawaii-California and beyond.
"Oh, Karate". I stated matter of factly.
"NO...Kenpo"
"Kenpo"
I realized throughout my eventual interaction with many practitioners of many different martial disciplines, that very few of them want their particular styles referred to as "Karate". I mean, sure they will put it on the signs outside of thei businesses because of the name recognition, but if you ask them it is always, "Chuan-Fa" or "Shorin-Ryu", or "Rick-Fu" or whatever. It would be like telling an Army helicopter pilot that they fly a helicopter..."Helicopter?" would be the inevitable response, "That sir, is an AH-64D Apache Longbow, with a millimeter-wave Fire Control Radar (FCR) target acquisition system, the fire-and-forget Longbow Hellfire air-to-ground missile, updated T700-GE-701C engines, and a fully-integrated cockpit. In addition, the aircraft receives improved survivability, communications, and navigation capabilities. Does that sound like a helo to you, sir?". Karate people are much the same way, but not always for the same reason.
So there I sat, on a cold hardwood floor spending my Saturday morning, the first of many entranced by the staff and students of the Chinese Martial Arts Association on Speedway. I decided that I wanted to do this. I wanted to be a bad-ass. I needed this. I was 13.
It was not until I was 15 that I actually moved on that impulse. Several things kept me from my destiny. First off was fear. Fear I would learn later, keeps many people from entering a karate school for the first time. Ironically enough it is also fear that keeps some from leaving it for the last time as well, but we will get to that later. The other thing was Vince and Rita. My parents were always supportive of what me and my sister Jennifer wanted to do in terms of extra-curricular activity. The problem was more me. You see, Vince and Rita had been burned more than once by my lack of followthrough with some of these activities. Ok, all of these activities. From soccer to guitar, my childhood was wrought with things that I did not stick to, although in my defense I did do guitar for two years and soccer for five, but often at gunpoint. So for my parents the thought of committing to driving all the way across town to take classes that I would likely not be interested in for more than the next month or so did not seem like a real sound parenting choice. So I bided my time and waited.
The end of my freshman year in highschool, a new strip mall was built near St. Francis De Sales Church, the Church that my family attended. We drove by the site frequently and as it neared completion, I would stare at it as we drove by wondering what sort of boring east Tucson retail garbage was going to go in it. Straining to see the "Coming soon" signs was when I saw it

8250 E. 22nd st. #123
COMING SOON
American Kenpo Kara...

"MOM! Pull in here!"
Kenpo! On my side of town. All sorts of scenarios began to go through my mind. I could be one of the first students. The teacher will surely recognize my potential. I will be one of the Senior ranking students! I will be a fixture here. This will be my true calling...There is an expression in Italian that goes something like “Quando dio, ole castigarci ci manda, quello che desideriamo.”...When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.

I got home animmediatelyly called to ask about classes and signed up shortly after. It turns out I did not have to wait until the grand opening to make my big debut; the school it would seem, had been around for several years it was just moving down the street a couple of blocks to a new location. I was duped. The strange thing was that I was not duped by some unscrupulous business practice or false advertising. No, I was duped by my own expectations. It was my first experience with unrealistic expectations in regard to The Organization. It would not be the last.
The next several years were wrought with them...Expectations of myself, of other people, of the Kenpo as a whole. So maybe there is our first lesson in this. Those expectations served me in a way. My expectations first of myself made me stretch to try and meet them, than later as a teacher I would at times expect somewhat unrealistic things out of others, thus streching them some.
So there it is. My first lesson.

v.