“If you come to my dojo you will never be promoted to any rank. You will always remain a white belt. But, I expect that you will be like all other Americans that came to my class, and quit. I am much too strict, much too tough for Americans. But if you want to learn and learn the right way, come back and I will teach you.†Mr. Takeshi Miyagi directed those words to me on a rainy November night in 1963. The following night fellow Marine, Len Neidert and I returned, and were served our first of many doses of humble pie. The very first lesson taught in Miyagi’s dojo was that of humility. He handed me a straw broom while telling Len and I that our first duty was sweeping the classroom floor. And, as it turned out, the classroom floor was the hardened dirt outside of Mr. Miyagi’s house. It would be our nightly chore to sweep away the small pebbles that somehow gathered on the “floor†between classes. Next, we would have to lower a bucket into the well, fill a metal teapot and put out drinking glasses so the students would have water to drink. We snapped out a hearty "Yes, sir" and began our chores. When our tasks were completed, we anxiously waited for our fellow students to arrive. One by one they arrived, and we offered each a polite greeting, which they coldly ignored. Over the next several months, in a place where we were not welcomed with open arms, we struggled to win the trust and confidence of Mr. Miyagi and his students. We saw a long, difficult journey ahead of us, and the road was paved with aches and pains, and countless bumps and bruises.