This article is entitled "Uncle Bud," and not "Professor Estes" as he was known to anyone reading
this, because I am his nephew, Burl Estes, and that is how I knew him. Tenth Degree Black Belt Francis Merlin Estes
was, and always will be, simply Uncle Bud to me.
Uncle Bud was very formal and insisted on following protocol in judo classes or seminars. You did not carry on
conversations with your neighbor, wander around or take breaks whenever you wished. You listened, learned and spoke
only when asked to. Although I've attended his classes in Chico, California, this formal man is not the one I remember.
In fact, Uncle Bud was a very outgoing man with a great sense of humor. If a student was having difficulties in
class, all he or she had to do was pick up the telephone and Uncle Bud was more than willing to help them on a
relaxed, informal basis. His interest was in promoting judo and the American Judo Jujitsu Federation.
Uncle Bud was born in Jackson Hole in 1909. In 1918 the family moved to Miles City, Montana, where Grandpa Estes
had a brother who had a ranch. Uncle Bud would have been 9 years old then and dad
would have been 3 years old. They stayed and worked there until 1920 when the family moved again to Sheridan, Wyoming.
While life in rural America was pretty primitive and rough in the early part of this century, Sheridan was probably
a pivotal point in the forces that shaped Uncle Bud and his outlook on life. Grandpa Estes intended to work in
Sheridan for "a while," but the family was snowed in and they spent the winter there in a tent. Dad,
just 6 years old, recalls going to school in a horse drawn wagon until he and his brothers came home with frostbite.
Uncle Bud was then 11 years old and that was the end of school for the year for him and his brothers (Auntie Pat
was too young to be in school) and they spent their time lying around in a tent trying not to freeze to death.
Uncle Bud has never mentioned this time in his life to me, but I suspect that is one of the reasons he loved the
Hawaiian Islands so much and made numerous trips there.
In 1922 the family moved to Grand Prairie, Canada, where Grandpa Estes worked at odd jobs. Every morning in school
the students would stand and sing "God Save the Queen." However, Uncle Bud, Uncle Ivan and dad would
sing the American version of the song, "America." Needless to say, the Canadian students did not find
this especially amusing and dad reported that there were frequent fights in the school yard with the elder Uncle
Bud trying to protect his two younger brothers.
The year 1923 turned out to be another pivotal experience for Uncle Bud. In that year the family traveled to Los
Angeles by train and discovered that jobs were scarce. In 1924 they started "following the fruit." In
other words, they became migrant workers, traveling up and down the Central Valley of California.
Can anyone imagine what it must have been like for a family of six to travel up and down the state, living in tents
and picking crops carrying all their worldly possessions in a Model T Ford?.
Uncle Bud was 15 then and it must have been devastating to him. Dad was six years younger, but still recalls the
hardships. The family constantly moved and Uncle Bud and his brothers just as often changed schools. They had no
permanent, long time friends and everyone worked to support the family. It was a transient existence and it is
no wonder that Uncle Bud dropped out of school when he was 15 years old. Until that time he had been a good student
and had been getting good grades, but the constant moves were just too much.
The date is unclear, but at some point during the Model T days while they were teenagers, Uncle Bud and Uncle Ivan
went bird hunting. I've heard at least three versions of what happened, but Uncle Bud took a shotgun blast in his
right forearm that almost shattered the bones. He had a lengthy hospitalization, but recovered. If you examine
photos of him, you will note he always had a piece of
wood held in place on his forearm with an ace bandage. It was needed to support his injured arm.
Uncle Bud also suffered from respiratory problems that were also probably attributable to the family life style.
For as long as I can remember, he carried a nasal inhaler in his shirt pocket and frequently used it. Neither of
his medical problems seemed to affect him while engaged in judo.
In 1929 Uncle Bud enrolled in the Salvation Army Training School in San Francisco. In 1931 or 1932 Uncle Bud was
sent to the Hawaiian Islands to serve with the Salvation Army. On Oahu, Uncle Bud met Henry Okazaki and took up
judo with a passion. He also met Rick Rickerts and studied with him at the Army-Navy Club. Rickerts was a yeoman
in the Coast Guard at the time.
Contrary to what is printed in his obituary, dad does not recall Uncle Bud ever practicing judo in Los Angeles
prior to going to the Hawaiian Islands. Dad said they wintered in Los Angeles when there were no crops to be picked
and that he and Uncle Bud went to the Brookland School and Humphries School.
In 1939 dad and Uncle Bud returned to Chico. Uncle Bud opened a dojo on the front lawn of his house and started
teaching judo there. Uncle Bud and dad traveled around to local schools putting on judo demonstrations to get young
people interested in the sport.
Dad continued working out and eventually reached Brown Belt rank before marrying, working full time and going to
college. It was the end of his judo career.
Around 1948 Uncle Bud married Auntie Luke. They were a couple born for each other. Making a number of trips to
the Hawaiian Islands (I still have a wooden ukulele they brought back for me) they revisited the place where Uncle
Bud was probably the happiest in his life.
In 1958 Uncle Bud and three others founded the American Judo and Jujitsu Federation, an organization that is still
going strong today.
Uncle Bud died doing what he loved to do. On June 7, 1981, he collapsed and died while giving a judo demonstration
in Corning, New York. He was 71 years old. His body was returned to Chico and was buried with an honor guard of
his students and black belts. Uncle Ivan and Sensei Lamar Fisher assisted in the funeral services.
I miss Uncle Bud and Auntie Luke and fondly remember them driving me around Chico in the cramped back seat of their
Nash Metropolitan, the canoe they kept in their garage for camping trips, the workouts in their dojo, Uncle Bud's
sense of humor, and Auntie Luke's seemingly permanent smile. I've never known anyone to smile so much and be so
happy when they were together.
They may be Black Belts and Professors in Judo to the rest of the world, but they'll always be Uncle Bud and Auntie
Luke to me. |
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