This is why I started Danzan Ryu with the AJJF– John Pfund
It was December 1977. I was 10 years old, and it was Christmas break in Livermore, California. My best friend and I decided it was the perfect day to play one-on-one baseball at our school.
We walked about 15 minutes to the baseball diamonds. We’d been taking turns pitching and hitting for maybe 30 minutes when a gang of older kids rolled up on their bikes. They demanded we leave our equipment and get lost so they could play. The language? Awful. The threats? Even worse.
I was a stubborn 10-year-old at the time. I was “big boned,” as my mom would say (which meant chubby), and pretty short. But I told them in no uncertain terms we weren’t going anywhere. There were plenty of empty fields they could use.
That didn’t sit well with them.
They approached us like a pack of wolves. They grabbed my friend and shoved him against the fence, holding him there. Looking back, I think they did that because his older brothers were well-known athletes in our city, and they didn’t want that kind of trouble. But me? I was fair game.
I grabbed my baseball bat and held it up. Big mistake. One of them ripped it from my hands, and then they took turns on me. Punches to my face, my body. Kicks everywhere. It seemed to last forever, like everything was moving in slow motion.
Here’s something I learned that day, something I still teach my students: when you get punched by someone who isn’t a professional fighter, the punches don’t really hurt that much. It’s the shock you feel more than anything.
Eventually, they must have gotten tired because they stopped. My friend and I ran. We left everything behind and just bolted for home. They chased us on their bikes most of the way back.
When we finally looked over our shoulders, they were gone.
I stumbled into my house. My friend started across the street to his place. The moment my mom saw my face, she was loving, concerned, and furious all at once. She called the police immediately.
When the officer arrived, and I described the attackers, he actually figured out who they were. They lived just two blocks from my house.
I remember this part like it was yesterday. The officer had my mom and me get in the back of his police car, and we drove to their corner house. The kids came out and started screaming and cussing at my mom and the officer. He quickly got my mom back in the car and drove us home. After talking with the officer for a while, my mom said there was nothing he could do. Something about not witnessing it himself.
From that day forward, I had to walk past their house every single day to get to school.
Of course, I pretended to be sick for a while. But my mom eventually made me go, and that walk was terrifying.
Around this time, my friend and I had been watching Bruce Lee movies. We started thinking: maybe if we took karate, I could learn to defend myself against bullies.
That’s how this whole adventure started.
I asked my parents, who agreed to let me try. I called several studios around town, but everything was traditional Japanese Karate or Kung Fu, and they were all expensive. Finally, I found Amador Judo and Jujitsu, taught by Rory Rebmann. It wasn’t too expensive, and in my 10-year-old brain, since everything else was “karate,” taking judo would be something different.
My best friend, my sister, and I all enrolled.
I’ll never forget my first day. Classes were held at Marylin Avenue School, not far from my house. Patricia Rebmann greeted us and had us join the junior class. That first session was brutally hard for someone with my body type—chubby and not exactly athletic.
I got a card that day. After learning each technique, you’d go to another junior student who would mark a partial X on your card, showing you’d practiced it at least 10 times. The other kids were incredibly motivating, even though I wasn’t very good at the techniques due to my size.
At the end of class, we did sumo wrestling, which was super fun. Then Sensei Rebmann did an amazing demonstration of throwing arts, grappling, and aikido-style techniques.
I remember walking out thinking, “I want to be like him.”
The years rolled by. I was there almost every day. I earned my pink belt—the first junior belt in our system—along with my sister and best friend. My sister stopped shortly after that. My friend’s family said they couldn’t afford it anymore, so he stopped too.
But I stayed.
I loved it because it was a place where I had friends. I had a hunger for learning. I grew up on those mats.
I always thought of Rory and Patricia as second parents. They taught me about persistence, confidence, self-esteem, and self-respect.
Now here’s the amazing part.
Years later, when I was in middle school, I walked into a bathroom and couldn’t believe my eyes. The same kids who had beaten me up on that baseball field were sitting on the sink and garbage can. I recognized them instantly, but they didn’t recognize me.
I didn’t feel scared. I felt empowered.
I knew that if they tried to hurt me, I’d defend myself the best I could. But they were all bark that day. They threatened me, called me names, and made loud noises. I did my business and walked right out.
It was one of the best days of my life.
I walked away without feeling hurt by their threats or name-calling. When I went to the office to report them, they’d already left. But I felt amazing.
That’s what I think Danzan Ryu is all about. And that’s what I teach my students—not just the techniques, but how to become the best version of themselves.
I’ve continued to train and teach for just shy of 50 years now. To this day, in everything I do, I try to give my students, friends, and anyone who will listen the tools they need to become their best selves.
Because that’s what judo gave me. Not just the ability to defend myself, but the confidence to walk through life without fear.
John Pfund
