During lunch one day, I watched as Bob lay stripped to the waist, soaking up the sun's rays. It was hot and I was enjoying any shade I could find. As Bob began doing sit-ups, I questioned him about his ambition. He quite frankly told me that he felt he had an obligation to his fans to stay in condition. I too, was concerned about my condition and at that moment, my big concern was avoiding a heart attack watching the strain he was putting on his stomach muscles.

As the other stuntmen began gathering around, we began talking about the show and eventually about the karate Bob used. There was no question about Bob's agility and experience in the manly art of karate but, I for one, had a different opinion of the "art." I say "art" because that's what I believe it is. In my opinion, it is not a sport. It is an "art" that true students absorb with thorough dedication.

I knew a man from Taiwan who, in the course of a conversation about boxing, informed me that he was a professional "fighter." Since he was from the Orient, I assumed he was referring to karate and I asked him if this is what he meant. He looked at me in surprise and, as he shook his head and waved his hands in a gesture to mean I was definitely mistaken, he informed me that he meant boxing. He explained that he was "JUST a student and still learning karate." My friend was in his early or perhaps mid-thirties, so I asked how long he had been "learning" karate.

"Seventeen years," was his unpretentious answer.

To me, the average man who claims to know karate, knows just enough to get himself a good ass-kickin' in a street fight. A dedicated karate student becomes a part of the art and the art a part of him. There's about as much chance of an experienced karate fighter getting into a street fight as there is expecting snow in Palm Springs on the 4th of July. A man experienced in karate would have too much self-confidence to allow himself to be lured into a street fight. I say this knowing there is always an exception to the rule.

These were my feelings as this experienced group of athletes sat about in the sun discussing the wonderful advantages of karate, the primary method of defense used by Robert Conrad, alias James West on THE WlLD WILD WEST. As an alternative, I prefer the basic method used since the first man looked across at another and decided he was going to take or do something the other man objected to. Under such circumstances, I believe it is quite proper for the offended party to place four well-aimed knuckles forcibly on the chin of the ignorant s.o.b. who offends you; and I sure as hell wasn't getting any objections from Bob Conrad regarding that way of thinking.

As the group talked about the pros and cons of boxing vs. karate, the Italian blood in me wouldn't allow me to pass up the opportunity to make these men an offer they couldn't refuse. I was older than most of those standing there, definitely overweight and out of condition. Nevertheless, despite these drawbacks, I said that I would put boxing gloves on with any one of them and not one of them could hit me before they were too tired to throw another punch. Then, to add insult to injury, I told them they could have the added confidence of knowing I would not throw one punch back at them. This brought a look of concern from everyone as they apparently believed I had been in the sun too long or had some kind of trick up my sleeve.

"We're going to put the gloves on... you're going to let us throw punches at you... and you're saying we can't hit you?" came a disbelieving rebut from one of the men.

Curious about Bob, I watched for his reaction as he laid there in the sun listening. When my challenge was repeated, I answered affirmatively and further reminded them that I would only defend myself and not throw one punch back at them. I added one simple request; that they didn't charge me flailing their arms or I would be forced to stick out a jab to fend them off.

That did it. Bob was on his feet and calling for the prop man to bring us some boxing gloves. As would happen on more than one occasion, the show became secondary to Bob's first love... action.

As I said, 'never play an unfamiliar game in another man's 'house,' under his rules, if you expect to win." Each of the men I was preparing to box with was about to do just that. I would not have dared challenge any one of them in a stunt and even today, I recognize most of those men have forgotten more about stunts than I'll ever know. I am NOT a good stuntman. I performed the work of a stuntman and was good at what I did only because Whitey Hughes and Robert Conrad had me do stunts they knew were in the range of my capabilities. Many of the better stuntman have abilities I can only dream about, but AS A TEACHER OF BOXING, I AM THE BEST.

As we waited for the prop man to bring the gloves, we cleared an area to box in. When the gloves were brought, Bob helped tie the gloves on me and my opponent. Then, one by one, this overweight body of mine slipped the punches of each man as he circled me, moving in and out like an animal circling his prey and waiting to strike. Each man did the same as the one before him until each was unable to lift his arms or throw another punch. Between the punches of my adversaries, I caught glimpses of Bob who had the good sense to "wait and see" before taking his shot... and I was as certain of him getting his shot at me as I was that God created man.

As Bob watched, you could see the enthusiasm build in his eyes and in the subtle body movements he made. I was sure he would have liked to be the first to knock my cocky head off, but Bob's mom didn't raise a stupid kid. I was sure he was watching for tricks or mistakes that either I or my opponent might be making that he could capitalize on. When I ran out of challengers and Bob saw that only ability and no tricks were being utilized, he KNEW he could do what the stuntmen were unable to do.

As I watched the gloves being tied on Bob's hands, I don't know who was more anxious. I wanted very much to prove to Bob I was capable of doing more than just standing in for him and was being given the opportunity. I raised my hands as Bob's handlers stepped away from their fighter.

Bob was a little more cautious. He didn't just throw punches as the others had done, he watched for the opening I would deliberately leave and then throw. He had his strategy all planned out... until he missed the first dozen punches he threw. Then, though he kept his cool, the punches came harder and faster. Now it was my turn.

The challenge I made to the stuntmen wasn't that spectacular and it was easy for somebody with ring experience. Street fighters, like the men I had just worked with, think only of hitting their opponent. They have no plan of action or method other than to throw punches at their target. All I needed to do was stand in one spot, turn slowly and dodge punches. I didn't have to tire them out, they would tire themselves out trying to hit me.

As I stood in one small two to three foot area turning slowly and breathing normally, my opponents were suckered into turning with me in the same manner as the outside of a wheel turns with the hub, but with their movements in and out as they tried to hit me, they had to be covering an area seventy-five to a hundred feet. Add this to the fact that it takes twice as much energy to stop a missed punch as it does to throw it, so with each punch they threw, they were exerting energy equal to three.

In addition, each was forever bobbing and weaving to feint a punch or dodge the punch that never came. Add the wasted punches and the foot race to the adrenaline flowing through their veins and simple logic allows us to understand why each man was getting tired after less than a three minute round would have been completed, while I wasn't even breathing hard. My rest period came as each man transferred his gloves to the next man and I was fresh as a daisy when that man began his grueling attempt to hit me. I was just as fresh and just as confident that Bob would be no different.

I hadn't been in the ring since I demonstrated my abilities for Mickey Golden seven years earlier but, the sharpness began to return. The instincts to move and do once again the things that age makes impossible, began to stir within me. That feeling of competitiveness began flowing through my veins as I slipped the punches Bob threw, trying his damnedest to knock my head off. Here was a very physical actor, the star of a television show, unable to accomplish any more than his friends had and yet, rather than get upset, he was enjoying it. I couldn't help but respect his attitude and admire him for it.

As we boxed, I decided to take the lesson one step further. I told Bob I was going to "hit" him under the heart with a right hand. He obviously reasoned that if I could avoid his punches so easily, he could avoid mine. He motioned for me to try. I feinted with a high left and when he lifted his hands to protect himself; I reached out and touched him under the heart with my right. He gave me a look of surprise, not of the accomplishment but of the ease used in that accomplishment, and he loved it. Then I told him I was going to "hit" him with a left jab on the forehead. A casual feint to his midsection and a change of direction accomplished that goal.

The next few minutes continued with the same effect. Bob would throw, miss, and I would reach out to 'hit" him where I said I would and he would look at me frustrated and bewildered. He had seen enough to convince him. His face was one big smile as he started to remove his gloves.

"Teach me!"