When I ask you to think of a martial artist, what comes to mind? You may conjure up images of champion professional fighters such as Mike Tyson or Brock Lesnar. Perhaps you imagine the faces of legendary movie stuntmen like Bruce Lee. Heck, you might even think of purely fictional fighters, like Little Mac, The Undertaker, or Liu Kang. What you almost certainly do not think of is skinny Art History buffs pounding sandbags as if their lives depended on it. Yet, that was what I saw walking into the UNT Physical Fitness center on a cool Wednesday morning. Earlier that week, I had seen a poster advertising “Self Defense for Students of Liberal Arts”. Intrigued, I got in contact with Duncan Chapman, the club founder, and was invited to sit in on one of their weekly meetings.
As soon as I entered the Physical Fitness center, Duncan was there to greet me. A Philosophy Grad Student, Chapman, acclimated well to my presence and seemed eager to skip past the pleasantries. With startling immediacy, he (with no small amount of glee) sat me down and explained to me how he got the idea for Self Defense for Students of Liberal Arts.
“See, the summer of my freshman year, I was at a Walmart buying groceries for my folks. I was about to wrap up and leave when I saw two homeless dudes in the parking lot beating the brakes off each other over half a stale pretzel that was lying on the pavement. It made me realize, I’m a philosophy major, it’s going to be me out there one day. So I asked myself, when no one wants to hire me, and I have to fight to survive, will I have the strength to take that pretzel?” Duncan went on to explain how this formative moment led him down a path of constant, vigorous self-improvement. Chapman would spend the next two years training himself for urban survival. He would spend every afternoon after his classes working out until the late evening. He spent his weekends taking boxing and judo lessons, and when his grades started to slip, he asked his instructors to quiz him while sparring. Almost all of his effort and energy went towards these “preparations,” as he calls them. When his dorm began to pack with clutter, he paid his friend to clean it, leaving him with more time to do cardio. When his parents stopped paying for his boxing lessons, rather than giving up or moving gyms, he went to homeless shelters and rehab clinics and harassed the patrons until they attacked him.
“It was constant movement, I didn’t stop,” Duncan told me, laughing. “I was winning a lot of fights too, I thought I was ready, but then a bunch of Iraq War vets ganged up on me and left me beaten on the side of the road, that’s when I realized I couldn’t survive alone, I needed help,” and just like that, Duncan told me, the club was born.
After this interview, Duncan led me around the fitness center, taking the time to introduce me to each member of the club. It was an invigorating experience; almost all of the attendees shared the same overwhelming enthusiasm as Duncan. Numerous times, I had to pause our interviews and give myself time to take notes while these fledgling martial artists breathlessly sang of all their achievements. Julie, an aspiring actress, could barely stop herself as she told me,
“I’m learning so much from this club, Duncan taught me a move called the ‘Somnambulist’s Smackdown’, you use it to get people off the beds when a homeless shelter is at capacity”. I had to stifle a laugh as she demonstrated the move to me, where she laid a pillow over the face of a prone, unwary dummy and pummeled it with several energized haymakers. It looked like so much fun, I was about to go in for a few punches myself until Yusuf, an Egyptology major, pulled me aside to tell me what he had learned,
“For me, it’s not just the martial arts stuff; I already know how to slash a repo man’s tires, but the financial advice I’m getting is legendary. Did you know you can save four dollars on your water bill if you only shower once a month?” Every club member I talked to was similarly passionate, and all had a deep respect for Duncan. I heard numerous stories about how Chapman teaches valuable life skills, is genuinely dedicated to making sure they learn as much as possible, and that he changes his curriculum based on the needs of his members.
“I feel a lot of responsibility for my fellow club members. For me, it’s not about fighting or community; it’s about survival,” Duncan tells me, “If I don’t teach these kids right, they’ll get their livers eaten by fentanyl addicts. Kant can give you a moral framework, but he won’t help you dumpster dive.” Despite the grim pragmatism Duncan has surrounding the purpose of this club, he tells me he has a lot of hope for the future and its members. “Humans are pack animals; we survive best together, and with the amount of people in this club, no bank will ever be brave enough to repossess our stuff.”
