Hock Hochheim's 2006 Blog

HOCK'S DAILY BLOG

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TRAINING MISSION FIVE-The Book

"Finally, the 5th book in the 10 TM series is finished! Took a long time because we had several mishaps (my hand surgery caught me at significant photo shoot time and my main stuntman Randy Roberson had hip problems...well, many delays. Getting these 10 books and DVD sets done are my life's work. I take them very, very seriously."

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See ya' in July!!!!

 

30 June 2006: The Undocumented Punch: The Low Straight Punch

In the common boxing vernacular of punching, there are the Five Big Punches:

 

Jab

Cross

Hook

Uppercut

Overhand

I like to instruct these big five punches from both a right and left shoulders lead, as a person should be able to punch from both sides. In strict military and survival training nomenclature, there is no official jab or cross, rather there is simply a "straight punch."

The straight punch is a straight right or left, delivered from where ever or however a combatant stands. And, while I truly believe in this primal concept, I still also orchestrate workouts from a right and left lead, which does create the jab and cross situations. I think there are dynamics in either lead worthy of defining and experimenting with. But, your troops need the time to experiment! And many of our soldiers and police are not afforded such time.

The straight punch is thrown like a jab or a cross. There is however a straight punch done by all and rarely identified or defined in many boxing, Thai and modern systems! Undocumented if you will. It is simply - the low straight punch.

Lets outline this in a list off of a right lead.

 

1) Right lead jab.

........Straight from the shoulder-body erect- strike to a high target

........Straight from the shoulder-body bent at the knees-strike to the torso

........Low fist straight into the torso-body erect

 

2) Left cross

........Straight from the shoulder-body erect- strike to a high target

........Straight from the shoulder-body bent at the knees-strike to the torso

........Low fist straight into the torso-body erect

Right or left lead, jab or cross. The low straight punch to the body! NOT an uppercut. NOT a hook. A straight low punch. Your arm is bent. The fist happens to start out low due to the events of the fight. It strikes into the torso.

You no doubt step up to a heavy bag and deliver a bunch of these body blows, but this straight, great, low punch rarely gets listed in the common workout lists. When was the last time you practiced this low punch with focus mitts? Think about it? Ever? Review your common focus mitt drills. Ever position one for such a shot?

In the Pacific Archipelago drills of Hubad or my generic Block, Pass and Pin Drills, few people work with and against this low straight, punch on the lower two corners of the four corner platform. (Most people do not know about the four low corners anyway!) It is so forgotten that when you actually have veteran fighters work on it, they cannot seem to throw the body punch?

You will find it in many classical systems like karate, but usually from the rear "cross" arm. But not practiced with focus mitts. One reason is, it is difficult to position a mitt for a such a body shot. If you don't spar some, or routinely hit a heavy bag, this punch may well vanish from your list!

If its not on your official list? It can be forgotten and not practiced.

(Taken from from Training Mission Five: The Book)

 

 

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26 June 2006: THE GREAT TRAIN STOPPERY

" ... this man says his car is stuck on the railroad tracks behind the motel,"

the dispatcher said. "We have a wrecker is in route."

 

"10-4," I replied, glad the tow truck was on its way. It was Saturday night, almost Sunday morning, circa 1977 or so, and we were too busy for me to be on a call like this for too long. The guy was probably drunk and lost control of his car. Dreading the thick paperwork of DWI, in a few moments I was driving through the motel parking lot to the field behind it, where the some railroad tracks ran.

 

Our squad cars have spot-lights mounted by the driver's door just above the side mirror, with a handle extending inside the car, so that we can aim the beam. I spot lighted the tracks. Low and behold, there sat a cream-colored car with its two left wheels between the rails of the tracks. The two front wheels were on the tracks. By one, I mean the right tire was on the right rail and the left tire was on the left rail. On!

After driving as close as I could, I got out and saw a thin fellow in ridiculous plaid red pants and a short sleeved shirt. He was near 30 with short blond hair. As he approached me, I could tell that he wasn't drunk and my curiosity was instantly aroused.

 

"How did this car get stuck?"

 

"You're gonna think I'm stupid," he said nervously, "but, I got my car stuck on those tracks. Ya' see, that's a company car, a new K-car and I heard they had the same wheelbase as a railroad track and, and ..."

 

"You wanted to see." I said.

 

"Yeah, to see if I could ride the tracks."

 

"Uh huh," I said with a wince. This was no normal dude. "You've tried ... ?" I waved my hand towards the K-car.

 

"Oh yes, yes, tried and tried. I just can't get over the rail ... you probably think I'm
stupid. I let some of the air out of tires to hug the rails better. "

 

I smiled.

 

 

"Listen, there isn't a train coming is there? I mean, they would fire me if this car was wrecked like this." he said, following me back to my squad car.

 

 

"Well, we are trying to call the railroad station now. A wrecker is on the way." I told him.

 

"I just hope a train doesn't come!" he shouted.

 

As I got back in my squad car I wondered how many times a day a train did come through? Four? Five? Surely the odds are with us.

 

"Dispatcher," I said on the radio, "are we getting through on the train phone call?"

 

"Be advised," she replied, "the Lieutenant is on the phone now." I knew that would be a complicated process, calling night personnel; identifying track routes, calling the train radio office, then calling the train itself.

 

In the meantime, I ran computer checks on oI' "Casey Jones" there, this salesman who dreamed of a night run down the railroad tracks in his K-car/train. He was "clear" of any priors, and Chrysler's unexpected answer to a locomotive was indeed registered to a business in Massachusetts.

 

In the distance, Casey was churning circles in the stones around the track, his car stuck to the rails like one of pauline's Perils. Since Pauline was a machine this time, only a mechanical hero could come to the rescue--the wrecker.

 

I recalled a time several years ago when Joe Waddell and I were dispatched to a body lying on some railroad tracks near there. When we arrived, we found a drunk stretched across the rails. He said he wanted to die and was waiting for a train. We hauled him off to jail. At least the drunk had a reason for being on the tracks-­suicide! What about Casey?

 

I finally saw the wrecker's headlights drive up the track's access road and Casey was overjoyed.They exchanged words and I can only imagine the conversation.
The wrecker began backing up on his narrow journey to the car. Getting into position was tricky as the track was on elevated ground.

 

I started writing my report when suddenly, an ominous roar disturbed our peace. I looked up. The wrecker stopped. Casey froze. Casey's worst nightmare had come true. A single, glaring light appeared around a turn of the tracks.

A train was coming, and it wasn't just coming, and I mean it was bearing down on us like a non-stop express line to Alaska and here we are in Texas! The wrecker spit gravel all the way back to the road, despite Casey's frantic pleas and stumbling chase.

 

Apparently, Casey had read the story about the two old women who had carried a huge piano down a burning flight of stairs thanks to adrenalin. He raced to the back of the car, bent down, grabbed the bumper, and hoping that nature's rules of physics and gravity might momentarily turn its back, with a huge groan, he tried to pick up the car. Alas, if he were expecting to turn into the Incredible Hulk, he was only stricken with a mild case of Bill Bixby.

The car rose only an inch off its shocks. Casey whimpered in desperation. Onward roared the giant, black, auto demolisher. I left the motel lot and drove down the access road, parking near, but a safe distance from, the tracks (I'm no fool). I flipped on the red lights and aimed my spotlight beam in the direction of the engine.

 

Casey ran to my car window, "Have you contacted the train yet?"

 

"I'm trying to now, get out of the beam!" I said while waving and flashing the spotlight. A new, deeper sense of futility filled Casey as he stared at the light.

 

He ran to the wrecker, now parked on the other side of the tracks with its emergency lights on. Casey begged the driver to rescue his car. No chance. Onward barrelled the one-eyed Chrysler Cruncher! It screamed, it roared, it wailed into the night's flatlands around us, then suddenly an ear-piercing, screech tore at our senses, followed by the bashing sounds of hundreds of boxcars. That train had discovered we were there, but was it too late?

 

With all the weight, speed and force of a run from Ft. Worth, it did everything it could to slow down. I envisioned every loose crate, every free object, each person thrown violently forward. still onward it came, slowing only in sparking fractions,
sliding closer and closer .

 

200 feet, 150 feet, 140 feet, Casey was in shock, 80 feet, 60. I was hypnotized, absorbed by this colossal struggle of brakes and momentum. 50 feet, 40, would the Chrysler be destroyed? Would mighty metal hit cheap plastic? Would there be a dramatic explosion? Casey fell to his knees. 30 feet, 20 ... a sense of control appeared, a calm, the iron horse's reins were pulled back, 19, 18, a blast of smoke, 17, 16, rolled to a stop hiss ... like a harnessed bull, it rested....only 30 feet or so from the car.

 

Railroad men and engineers poured off the train, each with their own individual style of anger. Flashlights shook violently in the dark. The wrecker hooked the car up and yanked it free. As I backed away, I could hear ol' Casey Jones explaining to the
crew, "Well, you're gonna' think I'm stupid but..."

 

Well Case, wherever you are, I never had the chance to tell you this but - Yes, I think you were very stupid.

 

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24 June 2006: Ol' U.S. Army Adage

"If you're in a fair fight? You just didn't prepare well enough!"

 

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22 June, 2006: The Tireless Chase! Roll Over Beethoven!

"We were in hot pursuit, flying through the streets at incredible

speeds of 15 or maybe 17 miles per hour."

Crickets and gnats were all I saw or heard. A rampaging car reeking havoc through this neighborhood? Smashing lawn furniture, knocking down mail boxes, tearing up fences and yards? Where?

I got out of the squad car and walked out onto the wide streets of the residential intersection. 4 a.m. has it's own kind of quiet. Surely I would hear something! The dispatcher had received too many calls for this not to be true.

Then I did hear something, though it wasn't at all like a car, it was more like a grinding hum, a high-pitched, cutting whine, and getting louder by the second. The noise was coming from the east, a street that went uphill then curved out of my sight toward the north.

"Is this some kind of new street sweeper, or garbage truck?" I thought.

Ah, but it wasn't. I saw its sparks first, as it sliced around the curve tearing asphalt as it came. It was a car, only it did not have a right front tire. Nor did it have even a wheel, just a drum ripping a scar on the street like a skater on fresh ice. I started out for the center of the street, intent on flagging him down, until the lights of the street corner revealed his ashen gray face. Two wide, white eyes glowed from behind white knuckles that were wrestling the steering wheel out of the turn. He glared straight at me but I could tell he didn't see me.

The guy was nuts. I jumped out of his way and he never once looked back, just swung wide and wild down the street in a flurry of sparks. Needless to add, he ran a stop sign.

"I'm in pursuit, southbound on Nottingham," I told the dispatcher the details, "he's now turning east on Archer."

Ron Atkins was my backup, racing to intercept this vehicle, no doubt envisioning me whipping through the streets, sliding around corners, etc., etc.

"62, what's your location?" Atkins asked, needing to know where I was now.

"Still on Archer, approaching .. " I replied.

Still? We had been on Archer for some few minutes, you see we were only going about 12 or 14 mph I coasted up beside this knucklehead, blowing my horn and veering at him hoping he'd pullover. No way.

I aimed my spotlight on his profile and his wild curly hair made him resemble that famous bust of Beethoven. Shoot his tires out? Hal Do you think that would stop him. He was already cruising along on three tires. I was feeling lucky that he hadn't crashed into any parked cars, private property or me, although he came close with all three.

"What's your 20 now?" asked Ron.

"Still eastbound on Archer!" I told him.

Suddenly Beethoven yanked the wheel hard to the right, pulling into a dirt alley between the backyards of houses. Before I could radio in the change, Atkin's red lights magically appeared at the alley's only exit. With no place to turn and me in the cloud of dust behind the car, Ron was sure we had him trapped. I wasn't. I had seen his eyes. Apparently, Ron did too and seconds before the sedan would have bashed into Ron's car, Atkins kicked the gas pedal and bolted clear of a head-on collision into a drive-way. Even at 12 MPH…who wants a head-on collision?

Then we were back on the streets in hot pursuit, racing at the incredible speed of 15 and 17 miles per hour. I drove up beside the ol' boy one more time and again inched him over to the sidewalk. Closer and closer came my right rear door to his left bumper.

There were parked cars ahead, if only I could…he hit his brakes. A car door slammed . Beethoven's gone!

I jumped out of my car and saw him running at Ron's squad car. Atkins was half out of his car when Beethoven cut to the left and dashed to the sidewalk.

I ran around the front of my car, Ron the back of his, thinking that either way this fellow would go we had a head start. He came my way, cutting across a front lawn for the backyard, but I had swung wide enough to block his path. He turned and charged for a tall row of hedges, cleared them in one bound, landed on all fours like Spiderman and dug out for the next yard with me and Ron behind him. Ron took the sideway.

Me? I made for the hedges and jumped. Knucklehead did it! Why shouldn't I? There is a insider "foot chase" rule in policing, every officer should know. The escaping suspect has more of an emotional motive to escape, that the pursuing officer has to catch him. This makes the escapee jump a little higher and run a littler faster and further than first anticipated.

This age-old mandate came through once again. As I leapt, just a few inches worth of hedge raked my ankle. Hedges will give way, but you know? Chain link won't, and that's what was buried in this leafy hedge. A chain-link fence. While the suspect had landed on all fours, I made a fabulous one-point landing right on my face. Spitting out grass, I had to roll up and off again. To "the game afoot" I went.

Beethoven was gaining a lead, running far faster than his car seemed to go. Ron had one last ace to play. Just before Beethoven stepped completely got out of his reach in this foot chase, I saw Ron go airborne into a diving tackle, but all he could do was barely get a light touch of his hand, just a fingertip really, on the small of this fellow's back. This magic contact however, pitched Beethoven off balance and he flew completely airborne himself. Ron hit the grass sliding to the left, while "Bee?" Bee flew some five feet more! And, with an alarming, sickly thud, slammed into a short, brick garden wall…head first!

He collapsed to the ground motionless. I thought for sure he was dead. He had to be dead. No human could have survived such a blow. No one. Ron scrambled to his feet and Beethoven flipped over! He came up fighting at me! Wild man, hooking punches from left and right hands.

Duck, cover and I punched his body back. He wasn't feeling much. We clinched from the mutual charge. Ron scooped an arm and peeled it off of the clinch. I got the other arm wrapped and together we dropped him heavy on his back. He was kicking and screaming. I couldn't help but search his head, looking for that caved-in, brick wall injury. None. We restrained him rather easily, cuffed him and checked him out further.

“Should we call an ambulance?” I wondered, sitting on Bee's back as he kicked and screamed.

“I don't know. Looks OK to me,” Ron said, lighting up his customary, post-arrest cigarette.

We were both already thinking about the DWI paperwork. Ron's magic, takedown touch qualified him as the "first-box" on the arrest report, arresting officer, so the health and well-being of this idiot was really his to decide. I would be in the "second box" and could dodge some flak with..."Well, Ron said...!" And I had been left with picking up the pieces in the neighborhood. Rather than face possible negligent homicide or brain-damage charges, I opted for the broken lawn chair and mail box crimes reports.

Some drunks are invincible and Bee was no exception. His head or at least his skull anyway, was fine. He was, we learned later, wasted on a precise mixture of drugs and booze. When this wore off, he would be very sore. While Ron took him to the station, I checked out his lopsided, three-wheel car. He owned the vehicle and it was impounded.

The rest of the night didn't take a Tom Brown tracking course to re-create. The guy had cut about an inch path into the street with his blown wheel. Several of us followed his carved, asphalt trail through the neighborhood, filling out crime reports for each singular act of damage until it all quieted down to just the crickets and gnats, 7-11 coffee and summer sunrise.

Why the three-wheel, 4 a.m. joyride? Your guess is as good as mine. When Beethoven rolled over in his jail bed the next morning, he couldn't remember anything.

(P.S. Ol' Bee eventually went into Rehab. He is currently a preacher with a small church in north Texas. Classic! Amazing what a severe blow to the head will do!)

 

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20 June 2006: Words of "Moore" Wisdom

"I had two dreams when I was a young fella. I wanted to be a policeman and a cowboy. " - Clayton Moore

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18 June 2006: Why We Naturally Make a Fist

I cannot find any solid, information on the startle and flinch response research that says people will flinch the arms up and also make a fist. In fact research either ignores the hand positions or describes the hands as open, to offer more instinctive coverage space against incoming attacks. I have seen many photos of people startled and I cannot tell you of any where the people are balling up their fists.

Their arms are up or split to one arm up and one down down, as shown in the photos on this blog page.

Many doctors teaching and writing on this subject do not care about the hand positions, as only people like us in the fighting business want to know these precise answers.

It is common knowledge in the startle/flinch field that people with training, often startle right into their fighting stance. A karate fighter may have a stance with closed fists. A jujitsu fighter may have an open-handed stance. If a stance is, as the psych PHDs say, "overlearned" via muscle memory, then you can be startled into talking a fighting stance. So you can learn to make a fist and be started into a closed fist position, otherwise I would not count on it happening.

The balling of the hands, seems to come from the physiology of the adrenaline burst, not the startle reflex, as contracting muscles is one response of the adrenaline burst.

I am looking for more research on this subject. Why does man naturally ball up his fists. Is this a misnomer? Is it really learned behavior-one of these subtle, subliminal things passed on from a cultural perspective? A proven researched truth? A presumption? Do monkeys and apes ball their fists up in fights? Please respond on the talk forum!

 

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15 June 2006: The Cult of Personality

 

 

 

 

 

Researchers have concluded that the personality of an individual has a direct relationship to their physical performance, heart rate and adrenaline management.

Introverted, nervous and quiet people are more quickly excited and peak out faster than extroverted people. Now, we have all had this gut feeling about people and many military and police managers have guessed this for decades (and centuries?). But, Dr. Daniel Landers and Dr. Stephen Boutcher have written professional articles and textbooks on the subject that have surpassed peer review. These publications have extensive research and sources.

This sports-based adrenaline/arousal study can easily be extrapolated into military, police and citizen based training issues, as they recommend. When you have a student that exhibits these traits, part of their training must concern these issues, as well as when you select special personnel for special units and assignments.

Consider next how an introvert's problems with what is their most-often, first-line of defense? Verbal skills and verbal de-escalation! How does an introvert handle this form of method acting? Instructors need to understand these problems.

Also, I worry when an introverted person is bombarded with presentations on how BAD adrenaline is, (see prior June and May blogs) and how the ogre will rob you of your senses and dump you on the street. This builds even more obstacles for the introvert. They become bewildered, experience a loss of control, become more anxious and more frightened. This relates directly to their future, adrenaline mismanagement. It is a vicious, vicious cycle.

Also, think about how this relates to classic "shoot/don't shoot " situations.

If an instructor is in a "Mr. Meogi/Karate Kid relationship," that is - very close, daily and personal - these issues can be addressed, but when you see a student once a week? Or, as when I see them only in a seminar? I can only preach guidance and awareness of the issues. The hard work, is truly in the trenches with the regular, hands-on instructor.

Through each extreme end - introverted or extraverted - and all the levels in between, the moderately adrenalized/aroused person is performing at their peek. How do we best regulate ourselves to work in this parameter? Physical conditioning coupled with the most realistic, crisis-rehearsal training, confidence building, inoculations of real experience and full-blown real experience are great preparation methods to prepare students and cadets. I'll repeat-

- Physical conditioning (includes breathing management)

- The most realistic, crisis-rehearsal, force-on-force training,

- confidence building methods,

- inoculations of real experience

- full-blown real experience

Interesting how these are the generic issues are taught by the way, in old school, military basic training, at least in theory, isn't it? Basic training at its best. Toughening, scary, abuse with push-the-envelope, goal-setting.

So well...introverted personalities? Maybe those after-hour, school and academy parties aren't such a bad idea, after all? But seriously, leadership must be aware of these issues.

(and, I just must add, charts like the ones above are often ripped off by new reality instructors, and some old instructors too, totally disrespecting the hard work of numerous credible researchers. I use to get a kick out of seeing these same charts from old textbooks and see the "new" addition in the chart's corner "Copyright Willie Dynamite Defense." I use to get a kick. Now it makes me mad to see the these GED types pretending to be innovative PHDs. This abuse also leads to the "cult of personality," because Willie wants you to think he's THE MAN!)

 

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12 June 2006: On the Subject of Adrenaline...My scariest Moment Ever! Dumped! Almost out of a Chopper!

We all can remember that Indiana Jones is an amazing hero, seemingly fearless yet has a horrible phobia for...SNAKES! It is funny, but so true, that we all experience personal bravery and cowardice, depending upon the situation. I have done many things as a cop, high risk raids and arrests, been shot at, attacked by a man with an axe, and really consider it all in day's work. Yet, put me in a World War 1, European muddy, wet trench with thousands of .50 caliber machine gun rounds skimming the ground, and order me to stand up and charge forward into it all? I am freaking out. I think the skill and knowledge of good leadership understands this duality in their troops and in individual humans.

What I am about to tell you is the scariest moment in my life. It has scarred me and gives me the "willie nelsons" to this day...

One sunny afternoon in South Korean I was summoned to our headquarters for an assignment. I was given a briefcase which was handcuffed to my wrist and told that a helicopter was going to fly me and said attached baggage to Camp Red Cloud. Now, I did not know what was in the briefcase. It could have been plans to attack North Korea or the football pot gambling money from last Sunday's games! I don't know.

Mid-way up a nearby mountain, was our landing pad and some admin guy drove me in a jump to the site. If you give me a few minutes I'll recall the nomenclature of the chopper. Standard Vietnam era, but not the usual double, open-bay doors style. Hit me a cattle prod and I'll remember, or I'll think of it tomorrow when I am doing the dishes. The pilot, a cool-breeze looking, vet gave me a two finger salute of hello (he's a warrant officer and I am a mere mortal, Spec-4, military policeman) and I climbed in the one open-bay door side on the right side.

You couldn't see through this model to the other side. Inside was a long metal corrugated wall and long bench seat and I sat on this flat metal seat. It faced the doorway and about three to four feet from the open door. This is not my first helicopter ride, but they have been in the double door, open-bay style. And I have time in whirlybirds. But, I have never sat on a bench like this, inside this model chopper. I was considerably far from the door, and I was unfamiliar with the protocol to ride in this baby with such a bench seat.

The pilot got in up front and in between the walls, I could see a space in the cockpit. His head filled the opening. He smiled and said, "better buckle up," real calmly. Then he dropped from the opening. I looked around and sure enough there was a canvas shoulder strap, seat belts available, but these were rolled up and pushed to the corners of the bench seat. As the engine moaned, as the blades started turning I figured out how to strap myself into the harness.

Next, the chopper lifted off. Straight up at first. Then it peeled to the right. HARD! Did I say hard? HARD. This thing got some height, then blasted off almost sideways!

My ass and back completely left the metal bench and I hung in the air in that shoulder strap. The handcuffed briefcase hung straight downward. Without the cuffs, I would have lost it for sure. I looked straight down to the side of our mountain headquarters. Nothing between me and ground but the harness, that I almost did not put on. I hung there about six weeks...to me, but was probably only 6 seconds? The chopper did this banking turn, straightened up and off we went to Red Cloud. I was placed right back onto the bench thanks to mother gravity.

If not for that casual remark from the pilot, that after-thought on his part to peek in on me and tell me to buckle up, I would have slipped off that bench and fall 200 feet down a rocky mountain-side. I was that close. Close.

I think about that very second over 30 years ago, every now and again. Did he do that on purpose? Did he laugh at the officer's club over a beer, talking about almost dumping a stupid kid?

When I think about that second, I still get a burn in my upper chest or lower throat. I feel like I am, like I am drowning in a way. When I think about the guy who tried to hit me in the head with the axe? Or my other crazy cop escapades, I don't have that bad feeling at all. In fact, I think its cool. But the near sideways, chopper ride gives me some heart increase, heibby-jebbie, willie nelsons. It has something to do with being out of control. And dieing for a stupid mistake. All these issues fester up.

I have been in choppers since and always buckle up. I attended the short Jungle and Adventure school in Korea and on the repelling course section, the last scheduled event was repelling from a chopper. But it was too windy that day, and that part was canceled. I would have done it, as required. No phobia problem. If a mission called for a skydive? I'd go. But I have no desire to skydive just for the fun of it. Just something I don't care to do, like driving a race car or something like that.

My old friend, Beret Buffalo Nickels is a loose-cannon, basket-case SF vet who likes to look down upon my Army time. "If you ain't Airborne? You ain't shit!" he likes to remind me. (He is also the first guy who ever shot at me! But that was just for fun and that is another story.)

But I really was almost airborne...without a chute! Whew!

Oh, oh...note to Lt. Col. Grossman...note to Lt. Col. Grossman...I did not shit in my pants or pee in my pants, and I would admit so if I had. In fact, it would make for a better story if I had...but sorry, scare of my life! And I stayed dry.

 

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8 June 2006: The Echo Chamber

I overheard a great political debate the other day and one of the speakers used the term "echo chamber," for the way and amount that political parties repeat the same old jargon and stances. The words become hollow and tinny.

Isn't that just the same for so many martial arts instructors, especially this new breed of tactical and/or adrenaline and startle reflex instructors? Look at some of the quotes listed on this page and last month's blog. These half-baked remarks, repeating and echoing and re-echoing some other adrenaline-based lecture or startle reflex they heard? Or re-quoting some gun-god?

Like a bad video copy of a copy of a copy, the remarks begin to degrade, huh? And you wind up with some of these winners we've quoted.

Beware the echo chamber. It is a a good idea to check this stuff out for yourself. Don't count on me or anyone. Just run some of the numbers yourself. That is your job! Do a little checking.

"Hello! hello...hello...hello!"

"Is there anybody down there? Down? Down there?"

 

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6 June 2006: How Big is your Platform?; Startle Reflex Part 3

"My point is this, these "Somatic Reflex Potentiations", "Unconditional Reflexes", "Flinch Responses" or whatever you want to call them, should be used as the "PLATFORM" from which survival motor skills are taught, utilizing realistic training and repetition. It is my opinion that using this model will allow officers to utilize the "Adrenaline/Fear Response" in a positive, rather than negative way."

Semi-famous instructor

Positive? I think it is a confusing way.

These are the words of fairly known instructor. And, it is yet another example of an over-emphasis on the startle or flinch reflex as a foundation for training. A platform. As Mike Gillette says, "you are only startled for so long." Then other bodily functions start happening. You cannot build a fighting system around the initial 20 millisecond flinch as a fighting platform.

Just how big is your fighting platform? From a doctrine perspective. Startling and flinching is one thing. Continued flinching against a series of incoming blows after the initial surprise and through the length of a fight is different from the initial startle of lifting your hands. And training circumstances dealing with the subsequent levels of adrenaline is yet again something else to study.

Get a bigger platform than startle and flinch. A 20 millisecond platform ain't gonna cut it in a hand and/or stick and/or knife and/or gun fight.

Coming soon?

The baby reflexes

The Zone Block is already found in many systems

The third response-the trained stance

 

Part 4 tomorrow..

 

 

Any comments? Continue the thread on the talk forum!

http://www.hockscombatforum.com

 

 

5 June 2006: We never block! In our System We Strike!; Startle Reflex Part 2

"We never block! In our System We Strike!"

That standard sounds all well and good and tough and all. And you hear that from certain karate schools. The - "all our blocks are strikes" - kind of thing. But really, when you look at the science of the flinch and startle reflex? People are quite likely to be surprised and simply protect their head or body with a...block. This no-block theme sets an unrealistic standard for students. It just doesn't match the science. I would never make such a proclamation.

Lets take this a little further. So much martial training exists in the myth of the duel - two participants standing before each other and striking a similar stance. No ambush startle involved here. The resulting exchange may include a series of trained or reflex responses (mid-fight finches if you will) that will block attacks. This mid-fight reflexes are not the original ambush startle. Your dukes are already up. Inside the fight? Maybe then almost all blocks are better prepared to be strikes? But such a standard exists inside the myth of the duel situation.

So you really have:

1) Ambush startles/flinches that last about 20 milliseconds.

2) Mid-fight flinches

Confusing the two, confuses both system doctrine and maximum training methods.

Coming soon?

The baby reflexes

The Zone Block is already found in many systems

The other two responses

 

Part 3 tomorrow..

 

Any comments? Continue the thread on the talk forum!

http://www.hockscombatforum.com

 

4 June 2006: Triple Starters: Startle Reflex Part 1

The concept of startle reflex in a fight is a very catchy sales pitch, engaging and thought-provoking, but is your startle chain being jerked? Is it all that the magazine ads say it is for you? There is much talk these days amongst the "reality-based" instructors on the startle reflex. In fact, on the surface to many uneducated and semi-educated instructors there is a distinct over-emphasis on only one of the initial, proven, startle reflex responses.

 

Researchers are still winning ground-breaking awards for studies in this subject. One major finding was just last March! But, is your RBSD guy still babbling on from outdated, 1980s' outlines? From what I hear? Probably.

 

In modern martial arts and systems, everyone is guided to think there is only one startle response, the hands flying up when shocked, but there are two more subjects to consider in a triple-set of startle reflex.

 

- One: The Surprise/startle shock

- Two: Mid-fight reflexes (Flinch response and others very loosely related to min-startles after the initial shock)

- Three: The Trained responses, a) the Fighting Stance and b), Cultural Responses

 

This day we will start with the "The Surprise Startle Shock:

If you are ambushed, shocked or surprised, your body has an inclination to react by

 

-a flinch of the eyes,

 

-an unpredictable jerk of the head (some doctors say jaw and head drop down, some say the head jolts back),

 

-a jump or movement back, two arms coming up, or one arm up and one arm down.

-some unique responses

Sometimes even a knee is raised. You are just as inclined to have one arm up or down as you would be to have two arms up. These reflexes are standard tests for an new born infant to see if the baby has a functioning, proper nervous system. Both arms up? One up? One down?

Someone is just as likely to startle into the zone block - one arm high, one arm low position, especially of there is any perception of a mid, or possibly low attack.

We respond to sudden sounds and vision of incoming objects. Experts say that a startle like this may take 20 milliseconds (there are 1,000 milliseconds in a second). That is fast moving. It does vary person to person, but reflex startle is usually very quick.

As my friend Mike Gillette likes to say, "you are only startled for so long." Then other body functions take over. So, building fighting systems so much around the initial startle is incomplete, misleading and not a sound strategy. In fact, many combat and criminal situations may have no startle events at all and people simply...fight on.

Coming soon?

The baby reflexes

The Zone Block is already found in many systems

The Flinch response and the other two responses

 

Part 2 tomorrow..

 

Any comments? Continue the thread on the talk forum!

http://www.hockscombatforum.com

 

 

 

3 June 2006: The Clemson Murder, the Crisis Media and Crime

I watch the news aghast with coverage on the Clemson college girl being strangled by her bikini top. I am aghast for several reasons.

1) The murder itself.

2) The fact that over the last few days, I will make an educated guess that quite a few women have been strangled, even murdered. No press for that. Shawanna Jackson's strangulation murder in Detroit makes the cutting, room floor. Cute, white girls with a "whole wonderful life ahead of them", do get the attention. Which leads me to number 3...

3) This intense news coverage. Now, I have worked numerous homicides of girls being strangled. The last one I worked was a college girl strangled by a wire hanger in her apartment. Jeff Wawro and I, in the middle of working another murder, solved that one in within 12 hours. A guy had just become a father and his wife and new baby were in a Lewisville, TX hospital. The day of the childbirth, he drove to his old girlfriend's apartment, killed her and returned to the hospital. Much later that day, Jeff and I arrested him in the ward. Interesting story to tell how we figured it out and his motive - but that is not the subject of this essay.

I pity the police working on this Clemson case, or any case like that, when the new, intense, 24-hour media sink their teeth into. I can only imagine what it is like these days to have your case cut up mid-stream, and nightly, by five quirky, experts on the Greta show, speculating upon speculating what has happened, what the police should do, and burping up every new tiny, tidbit of a lead (for the suspect to hear).

The other day, a famous child murder case had a routine pre-trial hearing. The defense attorney contested the killer's confession. Within hours, the talk shows were stacked with legal experts predicting doom and gloom and rehashing confession rules and blah-blah-blah. Fact is, folks? Confessions are ALWAYS contested, just like there will ALWAYS be a lunch break about mid-day. The judge usually decides the fate of the confession in the same time he selects what he'll have for lunch. But it is big news on need-a-crisis TV!

I guess you have to fill the news hour with something. It is tough when you have 24 of them to fill.

I hope they catch the Clemson killer. I hope they catch all killers. I would like to catch all killers. Once you do it? Nothin' like it. Nothing.

 

Any comments? Continue the thread on the talk forum!

http://www.hockscombatforum.com

 

 

1 June 2006: Colorado Rescue

This is from our "agent" in Colorado Steve Matorkowski...

"Our Civil Air Patrol GSAR Team (Ground Search and Rescue) was deployed to help with the search and rescue operations for the missing Evan Thompson.  I can honestly say it is a miracle he was found.  The GSAR Teams worked some of the most rugged country I have ever been in.  Lots of rattle snakes and other "less than friendly" wildlife.  When he was finally brought into Mission Base, the cheers and applause was incredible.  More than 17 teams deployed and we had over 90 people in the field searching for Evan. 

When he came in, he couldn't quite figure out what all the fuss was
about.  The first thing he asked for was Pizza. It was awesome to see all those teams, looking for one lost little boy. " - Steve

 

 

Helana Canyon, Colorado

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evan Thompson- rescued

after 3 days

 

 

 

 

 

 

Steve's team

(Steve is third from the left)

 

 

 

 

 

Any comments? Continue the thread on the talk forum!

http://www.hockscombatforum.com