“I've always believed that a child who develops a strong sense of self-worth will have the inner strength to resist peer pressure, including drug and alcohol abuse, as well as involvement in gangs,” I said. “Martial arts training raises self-esteem and instills the type of discipline and respect that so many kids are lacking nowadays. In other words, it builds strong, positive character and will help our youth resist drug-related peer pressure that is certainly a major concern for our country.” I stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing that I was practically preaching to the President! I needn't have worried, though.
The President listened carefully and then asked me how I would implement such a program in the public schools. I said that I felt martial arts classes could be offered as an elective, as an alternative to regular physical education classes. “If we taught thirty kids in each class, with five classes a day, we could teach one-hundred-fifty kids a day in each school. In my opinion the program would have some positive results with these kids,” I suggested to President Bush.
Although the idea for such a program had been in the back of my mind for over twenty years, I was literally developing it more clearly as I described the possibilities to the President of the United States.
“That's a great idea!” he said.
Just then Mrs. Bush walked in. “What's a great idea?” she asked.
I repeated the whole story, but this time I was getting an even better picture of what I wanted to do. The entire “Kick Drugs Out of America” program began to take shape as we talked.
President Bush said, “Let's get this program going. What city do you want to start with?”
“I don't know. I really haven't thought about it.”
“How about Houston?”
“That sounds fine to me,” I said, “but are you sure the school system will go for it?”
“I think I can convince them,” President Bush said with a smile. “But you'll need someone to help you run the program. I'd like to recommend Lloyd Hatcher.”
“What does he do?” I asked.
President Bush chuckled and said, “First, it isn't a he; Lloyd is a female. She's a close friend of my son Marvin and my daughter-in-law Margaret. Also she's a graduate of the University of North Carolina and extremely bright.”
The President also recommended Brad O'Leary, a well-known lobbyist and businessman in Washington, D.C. to help me. Kick Drugs Out of America, the martial arts program in public schools, was founded with Lloyd Hatcher, Brad O'Leary, my manager Myron Emery, and me. We estimated it would cost about $50,000 to fund a school martial arts program for a year, which would pay for the instructor, uniforms and belts for the students, plus a salary for Lloyd, and other basic business expenses. My job was to raise the money to start the program.
I contacted various business leaders in Houston, but no one would come on board to finance the program or even part of it. Frustrated, I told Lloyd I'd just pay for it myself.
“That will be fine for one school,” Lloyd said, “but our goal is not to have just one but hundreds of schools. Do you intend to pay for them all?”
I said, “I get your point.”
Soon after that conversation I attended a charity event in Houston and met Jim McIngvale, owner of Gallery Furniture, one of the most successful furniture businesses in Texas. I had just started pitching my Foundation plans to him when his wife Linda joined us. I told the McIngvales what I wanted to do and said I was looking for people to get financially involved. Mac and Linda listened to my plans and agreed to meet with me to discuss them further the following day.
At that meeting I told the McIngvales more about the program. Linda took a checkbook out of her purse and started to write out a check. I was thinking, How much is she going to donate? Maybe $5,000. My jaw dropped when I saw the check was for $50,000, enough to pay for an entire year at a middle school. With the McIngvale's contribution, the Kick Drugs Out of America program was officially underway in 1990.
Thanks to Mac and Linda's continuing support, we were able to find other people to come on board. Mac, who is an incredible public speaker, began to talk up the power of our program, and word about KDOA soon started getting out in Houston.
The Houston Independent School District agreed to a trial run for one year at the M. C. Williams Middle School. I hired Roy White, one of my black belts, to teach there. I knew it was going to be a real challenge for Roy, because M. C. Williams had a reputation of being a tough, inner-city school.
Our program is designed to help all children believe that they can lead productive lives and that they can achieve their goals and dreams. The choice is theirs. We teach our students, “If you believe you can, you will. If you believe you cannot, you will not.”
Two weeks after we started the program, I was in Los Angeles preparing to leave for Israel to make a film, when I got a telephone call from Roy. “I've never worked with such undisciplined children in my life!” he said. “These kids have called me every name in the book, and none of them are nice. I don't know if this is going to work.”
I thought for a few seconds, then said, “Can you hang in there until I get back from Israel?”
“How long will that be?” Roy asked.
“Four months.”
After a long pause, Roy said, “Well, I'll try.”
“Good,” I said, “As soon as I get back, I'll come to Houston, and we'll evaluate the program.”
Roy laughed. “OK, I'll look forward to seeing you … if I'm still alive.”
When I returned home from Israel, I flew directly to Houston and went to the M. C. Williams School. The principal greeted me and escorted me through the school to the gym where he said the students were waiting. As we were walking to the gym, some kids in the classrooms saw me, ran to the windows, and starting yelling my name and waving. As I was waving back, one of the kids shouted at the principal, “My dad's going to kill you!”
Whoa, I thought. And this is only a middle school.
When we got to the gym, I was shocked! I saw about one-hundred-fifty kids in karate uniforms, standing at attention. As I walked in, they shouted in unison, “Mr. Norris, it's a pleasure to have you here, sir.” I went by and shook hands with each of the students who introduced themselves to me. We had a question and answer period, and then they presented a martial arts demonstration.
As they were leaving, I asked Roy, “What happened? Four months ago you were ready to give up.”
“It wasn't easy,” he said. “I just kept chipping away at their negative attitudes with positive affirmations every day, and slowly they started responding. The turning point came when I was teaching class, and one of the students who happens to be the toughest kid in school, an eighth grader who weighed one hundred eighty pounds, asked to spar with me.”
Roy said, “I told him, ‘A student never challenges an instructor. That is disrespectful.’ When the class ended, I had all the students leave, and told him to stay. ‘Do you still want to spar?’ I asked him.
“‘Yeah, I do,’ he said.
“I sparred with him, and tapped him around the face with kicks and showed him that I was in total control of the situation.
“Then he said, ‘Actually I'm a better wrestler.’
“‘Oh, so now you want to wrestle?’ I got him in choke holds and arm bars. After it was over, he said, ‘Thank you, Mr. White. Thank you very much, Sir! ’
“He left, and told all the kids, ‘Don't mess with Mr. White.’ The toughest kid in school became my strongest advocate, and suddenly things started falling into place.”
By the end of that first year, M. C. Williams was totally sold on the program. Within a couple of years, it became apparent from independent evaluations that the impact of KDOA was much more than helping youngsters resist drugs. Their grades improved, and there were fewer disciplinary problems with our youngsters.
As we raised more money, we began developing and expanding the program to other middle schools in Houston. By our fifth year we were in eight sc
hools and were teaching twelve hundred kids. In our eighth year we expanded the program to Dallas. By our tenth year we were teaching thirty-nine hundred youngsters in twenty-six schools. Our program now enrolls more than six thousand youngsters every year, and the number is growing! Six thousand kids may not seem like a lot to some people, but each of those kids has a sphere of influence. Besides, it only takes one person to change the world, either positively or negatively.
Today our foundation has been recognized as a character-building, life-skills program with the fundamental purpose of giving a young person the tools to strengthen his or her self-image. We recently realized that our original name, Kick Drugs Out of America, implies too narrow a focus for all that we were accomplishing. We decided on a name that more accurately describes our mission: KICKSTART— building strong moral character in our youth through the martial arts.
It's still my job to raise the money to keep the program going and expanding. When I am trying to get individuals or corporations to become sponsors of KICKSTART, I am often asked if our program really works.
I reply that thousands of kids have graduated from the program, and many of them are now enrolled in college, and some have already earned their degrees. Six students who started with us in the sixth grade have returned after graduating from college and are now instructors in the program.
One of the many success stories to emerge from the program is that of Gerardo Esparza. Gerardo joined KDOA shortly after its inception. Gerardo used the principles and discipline of the program to motivate himself toward academic success, a journey he recently completed with his graduation from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) with a degree in finance and economics.
Angeline Beltran is another of our successful graduates. After three years in the program, Angeline became the first person in her family to graduate from high school. She graduated first in her class, was the valedictorian, and earned a college scholarship. Angeline spoke at one of our fund-raisers and said that she looked forward to being the first in her family to break the welfare chain.
A few years ago the world watched in horror as newscasters recounted the events taking place at a high school in Colorado, where two disgruntled students caused untold pain in the lives of so many families. I couldn't help but ponder, If the two young men who shot their schoolmates at Columbine High School had been in our program, we might have been able to instill in them the sense of self-worth that they were apparently lacking. Many such youngsters are wounded spirits who need to be healed. Our KICKSTART program teaches youngsters to be a constructive rather than a destructive part of society.
I truly believe that if we can get KICKSTART instituted nationwide in every middle school, we will eventually see a tremendous reduction in gang activity, school violence, and even the need for welfare in our society.
It is my opinion that the advanced moral decay of today's youth began in 1962, when our nation's leaders began interpreting Thomas Jefferson's comments about the “separation of church and state” in a way our country's founding fathers never would have imagined. Prayer was taken out of public schools, and eventually not even the Pledge of Allegiance was required. “God and Country” became an unpopular concept in America's public schools. Added to that, the dress code in many schools was altered to allow students to wear whatever they wanted, no matter how offensive, risqué, or rebellious the outfit.
I believe that many American schools have been on a downhill slide for more than forty years, and it's time we returned to the basics. I'm a strong advocate of strict dress codes for students and teachers. I'm convinced that students do indeed perform better or worse, according to how they are dressed.
I'm even open to the idea of all students wearing uniforms or something similar. As a person who grew up in poverty and was extremely self-conscious about my “rummage sale” clothing, I can attest to the negative effects of never having what the other kids considered normal and acceptable outfits. Perhaps a standard uniform might help many students feel better about themselves. Moreover, wearing a uniform takes away one of the strongest weapons of gang members—their unique outfits. Our youngsters in KICKSTART wear uniforms when they train, and their sense of pride when they have their uniforms on is obvious.
As I was writing this chapter, my thoughts flashed back to Lee Atwater, who was one of the most remarkable men I have ever known. During President Bush's second run for the presidency, Lee was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. His head swelled to the size of a pumpkin. Only certain people were allowed to see him, and I was one of the fortunate ones. I visited him in the hospital just before he passed away. I was standing at the foot of his bed with three other people, when Lee motioned for me to come closer. I stepped to the head of the bed. Lee motioned for me to bend down because he could barely speak. I put my ear to his mouth and heard Lee whisper, “Trust in the Lord, Chuck … I love you!”
I kissed him on the forehead and I quickly left his hospital room, desperately struggling to hold back the tears. I made it as far as the car before I burst out crying; I sat behind the wheel and just wept and wept.
It was a sad day for America when Lee Atwater passed away. I believe Lee would have helped make this world a better place. I also believe that had Lee lived and led the charge for President Bush's reelection, the outcome might have been quite different.
For me personally, Lee's passing was not simply the death of a dear friend; it was also a wake-up call in my own spiritual life. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. It hit me that if a person such as Lee, so vibrantly alive, vigorously ripping through life, could be decimated so quickly, perhaps I was not invincible, either. I thought, I gotta get back on track in regard to my faith and commitment to God. If it could happen to Lee, it could happen to anyone; and you better be right with the Lord when it does.
CHAPTER 20
DANGEROUS MOVES
I was divorced from Dianne, my wife of thirty years, in 1989. Why our marriage ended after being together that long is a difficult question to answer. Our relationship had survived several rocky periods over the three decades we had stayed together. Now our sons, Mike and Eric, were both grown up and on their own, and one day Dianne and I looked across the table at each other and wondered, Who is that person? We had both gone different directions for so long. Although we were on parallel tracks, our lives never seemed to intersect anymore.
I was working constantly, and Dianne had opened a restaurant in Newport Beach, California, that demanded a considerable amount of her time. Her business responsibilities prevented her from traveling with me to my film locations. She ran the restaurant successfully for five years and then decided to sell it. A bright woman with good business sense, Dianne soon started a music production company that demanded even more of her time.
An old saying purports, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I don't believe it. The more I was gone, or the more often Dianne's and my business ventures separated us physically, the further we grew apart emotionally. The dissolution of our marriage was not the loud, violent blowout that many couples experience but more like a slow leak that eventually causes a balloon to lose its shape, beauty, and attraction. By the time we realized what was happening, there was nothing left. Dianne was and is an incredible woman, and even though we are no longer married, we remain friends to this day.
Divorce was a shock to my system. Besides the emotional issues of dealing with a sense of failure, I was suddenly thrown into a whole new lifestyle, one I wasn't particularly sure I was going to enjoy. All my life I had been accustomed to being taken care of and nurtured by strong, wonderful women, first by my mom and Granny, and then by my wife, Dianne. I have to admit that I was more than a little scared about being single and alone in Hollywood. Nevertheless, the thought of being available to the women of Hollywood seemed intriguing. So, I dated … and I dated … and I dated for about eight months. That's as long as the thrill lasted.
I was making one to three films every y
ear, and by the time each movie was completed, I was drained emotionally, physically, and spiritually. To counter my workaholic tendencies, I recognized that I needed some time away from work for rest and relaxation. Not the type of guy to sit around for long, I wanted to find some activity that would fill the void in my life yet transport my heart and mind away from the workplace for a while.
I remembered Steve McQueen telling me that his favorite form of relaxation was racing a car or a motorcycle since racing required his mind to be totally focused and completely centered on the task at hand rather than on his latest movie. When the race was over, he relaxed thoroughly, mostly from exhaustion! Steve's method sounded like something that might work for me.
Being competitive by nature, I entered a celebrity truck race behind the wheel of a souped-up Nissan in the Frontier 100 Mile Off-Road Race held in Las Vegas, competing against other celebrity drivers, many of whom had been racing for years. Amazingly, I placed first! Not surprisingly, after winning that race, I was hooked.
Soon after that first win, I entered another celebrity off-road race with my son Eric—then nineteen years old—as my codriver. We were in the lead until I rolled the truck over three times. Fortunately, we weren't hurt, but the wreck left Eric and me stranded in the desert for hours!
I had entered and won several more celebrity races when the Vegas race promoters told me they had a ringer to race against me in the Mint 400 in Las Vegas. The night of the pre-race party, a man walked in wearing a racing helmet that covered his face. I stared at him, trying to figure out who he might be. He walked up to me and took off his helmet. To my surprise, it was my brother Aaron!
Aaron is as competitive as I am and had been a stunt driver in many films, so I knew I was in for a real challenge. The following morning, when the race began, Aaron immediately took the lead with me following behind, a close second.
During off-road races there are designated stops where drivers are given beads to prove they have not taken illegal shortcuts. Every time I came to a stop, I'd ask, “How far is Aaron ahead of me?”
Against All Odds: My Story Page 15
