Saturday, March 29, 2025

Dr. Ron Chapél on John Keehan aka Count Dante

(from a conversation on Facebook about John Keehan)

He did train at Mr. Parker's Pasadena dojo, so there is some ligitness to Count Dante. Not sure if he trained directly with Mr. Parker or just with some of the other students. (original post)

There are always enough tales and myths to go around about the "Count," but Mr. Parker told me "Anyone who underestimates John would be sorry. He is a real-deal fighter." 

Personally, I always felt anyone that flamboyant talking crap in Chicago and surviving must have something going on. Mr. Parker's endorsement was enough for me to take him seriously beyond his marketing strategy. - Ron Chapél

Man, You Come Right Out of a Comic Book


In the early 1970s, the full-page martial arts instruction ads of Count Dante captured the imagination of a generation of comic book readers. But then, just two years after the mysterious death of Bruce Lee in 1973, this controversial fighter would also turn up dead under equally mysterious circumstances.

(from pacotaylor.medium.com)

It was in the early 1960s, way back in the day, that the popularity of Asia’s martial arts began an infectious spread across America’s then still divided racial and cultural landscape. In Los Angeles in 1961, Master Ark Wong of the Wah Que Studio became one of the first teachers of the martial arts to break the long observed “kung-fu color line,” which barred the teaching of China’s sacred fighting arts to anyone not of Chinese ancestry. Around that same time, Wong’s bold action was being mirrored by an unknown martial artist named Bruce Lee, who had started teaching kung fu to non-Chinese pupils at his Oakland, California studio.

But interest in martial arts was on the rise nationwide, and it was at this same time that the soon-to-be infamous martial artist known as Count Dante began teaching the karate techniques of Japan to the young roughnecks of Chicago.

 

-Black Belt-

A former US Marine and Ranger, Count Dante (born John Keehan) began the study and practice of the martial arts in the mid to late 1950s, training under Robert Trias, a former colonel in the US Army C.I.D. Reserves. Trias, who was credited with opening America’s very first karate school in 1946, was author of Hand is My Sword (1956), recognized as the first martial arts book published in the US.

Though trained primarily under Trias, Dante claimed to have also trained for a time at Bruce Lee’s studio around 1961 or 1962. A 7th dan black belt in karate, Dante was said to have been proficient not only in the Japanese, Chinese, and Okinawan open-hand fighting styles but also in judo, aikido, and still other fighting systems.

Count Dante was also an undefeated champion of numerous national kumite or freestyle fighting competitions, the only exception being a disqualification from the North American Championships, held at New York’s Madison Square Garden.

As early as 1964, while serving as the head instructor of Trias’ US Karate Association (USKA), Dante was lauded as being one of the top karate instructors in the United States by America’s premiere martial arts publication Black Belt. But he soon abandoned his position at the Trias organization under a heavy cloud of speculation. The fighter would later allege in an interview with Black Belt that the split with USKA was prompted by Trias’ “prejudicial bias” against his African-American students.

“It’s no secret that I have a great many blacks in my school,” the fighter reported. “That was the reason behind my rift with Robert Trias and the USKA. At that time, the USKA didn’t have any blacks in the organization, except mine, and Trias didn’t like that one bit. He even told me that I had promoted the second black in his organization. And, according to him, the first was by mistake. He told me that if he had known this fellow he had named a black belt in the Philippines was black he wouldn’t have done it. He told me that he slipped…the USKA did not award black belts to blacks.”

Acrimoniously separated from Trias, Dante would move on to become one of the principal organizers of what was then The World Karate Championships, and to also found the Imperial Academy of Fighting Arts and the Midwest Karate Yudanshakai.

In August of 1967, the popular fighter also promoted what was to be this nation’s first “full contact” martial arts tournament. And by competition’s end, he himself would be declared “Worlds Deadliest Fighting Master” by the World Federation of Fighting Arts Committee, for his (allegedly) having bested some of the world’s foremost martial arts masters in the no-holds- barred judo, boxing, wrestling, kung-fu, karate and aikido “death matches.”

But then, shockingly, Dante retired from the ring in 1968 and refused to take on any challenger for the coveted title that he soon widely publicize.

During his career, Dante authored a number of articles published by the martial arts magazines of the day, and three booklets, among them the widely advertised World’s Deadliest Fighting Secrets (1968), for which he was best known. Ads for the slim publication were seen by many in the pages of Marvel comics in the mid-1970s, where Dante was billed as the “Supreme Grand Master of the Black Dragon Fighting Society” and the “Deadliest Man Alive.”

On that pulse-pounding ad page, Dante loomed as a badass karate master. Garbed in a black martial arts gi, the fighter’s chiseled arms slithered menacingly from dark nothingness. His fighting stance was punctuated with fierce, fang-like fingers coiled tightly into the dreaded dim mak (death touch). Empty eyes bled down from sharply arched eyebrows, and a black beard, edged sideburns and a pointed widow’s peak ascended into the rounded crown of a faux Afro.

 In early photographs that accompanied articles in martial arts magazines like Black Belt, Dante appeared with a much lighter and clean-cut visage than the dramatic image presented in ads for the Worlds Deadliest Fighting Secrets. Surprisingly handsome for a fighter, Dante’s face exuded a boyish, even innocent quality. But under that visage lurked a violent mind that proved Dante to be much more like a wolf in a sheep’s clothing than the guitless boy next door.

 

-Deadly Hands of Count Dante-

According to writer Massad Ayoob, Dante held an “obscene fascination” with the most brutal aspects of martial arts. From that interest came the fighting system he developed in the late 1960s called Kata Dante (“Dance of the Deadly Hands” or “Dance of Death”). The system, which Ayoob described as teaching more of a fighting attitude than an actual fighting technique, was designed for street combat, and advocated explosive attacks, or counter attacks that oozed with ruthlessness and brutality.

Eager to prove the effectiveness of his fighting system, Dante issued challenges to a number of well-known fighters of the day. On July 28th, 1968, word of one such challenge made the headlines of the gossip rag The National Informer. Bravely — or insanely — Dante showed up at the South Side Chicago home of Muhammad Ali (then Cassius Clay) to challenge the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion to an unanswered duel.

Dante’s macho posturing and aggressive taunts lead to several heated verbal altercations between his and various other martial arts schools in Chicago. They quickly escalated into the windows of a number of area institutions being broken out, and then students — as well as some of their instructors — being jumped and beaten.

In July of 1965, Dante and associate Douglas Dwyer, an instructor at the Tai-Jutso School of Judo, were arrested in a failed attempt to dynamite rival school, Judo and Karate Center. Detectives spotted the men while they were in the process of taping a 40-inch dynamite fuse and blasting cap to a window at the school. While running in the dark to evade capture, Dante and Dwyer sprinted blindly into a dead end alley and were soon apprehended.

Explaining the incident to news sources, Dante described the attempted bombing as a “drunken prank,” and claimed that neither he nor Dwyer had any intention of hurting anyone at the school. Dwyer said that he and his would-be partner-in-crime had been drinking at a party before the early morning caper and that the act was a “crazy and stupid stunt.”

Convicted of attempted arson, Count Dante was sentenced to two years probation. But a short time after the man’s probation ended, he was once again involved in another stupid stunt, one that would take a very tragic turn.

On the night of April 22nd, 1970, Dante was embroiled in another of Chicago’s infamous “dojo wars” with Black Cobra Hall of Kung Fu Kempo. The battle was instigated by Dante himself and several of his disciples from the House of Dante.

According to students at the Black Cobra Hall, six unknown assailants entered the school with their leader, who flashed a deputy sheriff’s badge and claimed that the students of the school were all being placed under arrest. Dante then then quickly struck Black Cobra Hall instructor Jose Gonzales with an unseen weapon that nearly caused Gonzales to lose his right eye, and a violent free-for-all ensued.

Tipped-off by an anonymous source just minutes after the fight began, police officers arrived just in time to apprehend Dante and his fellow assailants as they were attempting to flee the scene. But officers would also find Dante’s close friend and student, James Koncevic, lying bloodied in a doorway, dead from a knife wound.

Jerome Greenwald, the Black Cobra Hall student charged with Koncevic’s death, told police that, while being pummeled by Koncevic, he grabbed a knife from the wall — one of several weapons on display — and jabbed the blade into his assailant’s abdomen. The Judge proceeding over Greenwald’s trial would rule the life-ending act to be one committed in self-defense.

Count Dante, identified as the man responsible for engineering the invasion, was charged with impersonating an officer, criminal damage to property, and aggravated battery. The incident would leave him branded as a dangerous shit starter for the rest of his career.

 

-Exit the Dragon-

On July 20th, 1973, both the martial arts and the entertainment worlds were rocked as reports emerged that kung fu superstar Bruce Lee had died in Hong Kong under a shroud of mysterious circumstance. Lee, suffering with an intense headache, had taken equagesic tablets (aspirin compound), a prescription painkiller given to him by Betty Ting Pei, the actress slated to costar with Lee in the unfinished film Game of Death. Lee lied down for a nap in Pei’s apartment, slipped into a coma and passed away in the night.

The coroner who conducted the autopsy ruled the Lee’s tragic demise as “death by misadventure,” and concluded that Lee had suffered severe cerebral edema, or brain swelling, in a strange reaction to one of the ingredients in the prescription painkiller.

Despite that ruling, throughout Lee’s adoring fan base , reeling from shock and unwilling to accept his tragic death as accidental ,a writhing hydra of speculation arose.

One popular rumor suggested that his death had been orchestrated by the Chinese crime organization known as the Triads in retribution for Bruce’s refusal to indulge them “protection fees.” Another suggested that Lee had been involved in a street challenge and was killed by an opponent’s use of dim mak, a mystical technique involving strategic blows to the body of an opponent, engineered to cause sickness, unconsciousness and eventually death.

On August 15th, 1973, nearly one month after his passing, Enter the Dragon, the film that Lee completed in April of that year, was released to US theaters. Boosted by the star’s even greater posthumous notoriety, the film earned a worldwide box-office take of more than $90 million and ignited rabid international interest in the martial arts.

Feverishly, film studios on both sides of the Pacific Ocean began searching for another martial artist who could fill the ravenous void left in Bruce Lee’s wake. Count Dante was said to have been tapped by Counselor Films to appear in a screen test, and flown to Hollywood for casting consideration.

According to Kata Dante disciple William Aguilar, however, Counselor’s attempts to capture his controversial mentor on film would prove “futile.” The man claimed that the cameras used by the studio somehow failed to capture Dante’s “brutal, lightning fast hand techniques.”

An additional claim is also made that the company’s insurance coverage was canceled after the Dante shoot — which actually seems to explains where the failure in the screen test occurred.

Apparently, the “World’s Deadliest Man” refused to pull any of his punches and kicks for the screen test, resulting in injuries to several of the martial artists hired by the studio for his shoot. And again, as it had so many times before, the brutality employed by Dante against others wound up working just as effectively against the man himself.

 

-Death Match-

Aside from his martial arts teaching, Dante also apparently dabbled in a curious assortment of career pursuits. He worked as the director of a wig and hairpiece firm, as a hair stylist and even as a beauty consultant. He also managed several car lots on Chicago’s South Side; one of two jobs that hinted a connection between Count Dante and the Chicago-based mafia.

By March of 1975, a year and a half after his almost brush with film stardom, Dante was hustling for bucks as an adult book dealer (another seeming mob connection), while also making guest appearances on the Massachusetts “Ku-Fu Death Match” tournament and exhibition circuit.

 On March 16th, 1975, Dante made an appearance at the World Fighting Arts Expo held at the Roseland Ballroom in Taunton, MA. The appearance would be one of his last. On May 26th, 1975 — as with Bruce Lee before him — death came for Count Dante as he slept.

On his death certificate, coroners attributed his demise to natural causes: ulcerative colitis — bleeding ulcers, in laymen’s terms. Dante’s wife, however, would state publicly her doubts about that ruling, pointing out how in the autopsy report coroners wrote that her husband’s “whole insides” had been strangely eaten away as if by cancer. “But they didn’t put that down on the death certificate,” she claimed.

And despite the official coroner’s report, rumors suggesting other, more provocative alternatives that explained Dante’s demise were passed though the proverbial grapevine.

One that circulated around Chicago for years after his passing suggested that Dante had himself been on the receiving end of a deadly dose of dim mak, and dispatched in a late night duel at the hands of a now nameless sensei from a South Side dojo–one of the many area instructors he had challenged over the years.

Another suggested that Dante had died under an order issued by the mafia, and killed by way of a sub-dermal injection of “cancer cells,” similar to a claim that had been made by Jack Ruby, the mob connected killer of John F. Kennedy assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald. Now five decades later, the aura of mystery surrounding the death of Count Dante remains.

Whatever the actual means to his end, it was also speculated by some that Dante was fully aware that his time was near, in that he publicly pondered near the time of his passing how he would be remembered after he was gone.

In a statement made to Black Belt a short time before his death, the fighter reflected on how a great many in the martial arts world had resented and feared Bruce Lee while he was alive. According to Dante, they only honored Lee’s breathtaking legacy after he was gone, because it was only then that “they weren’t afraid of him anymore.”

And then, invoking the legend of the samurai Miyamoto Musashi, Dante declared, “Look up his history,” as if seeking validation for — or vindication from — his more than checkered past. “Musashi is the hero of Japan, yet he murdered innocent men, women and children for money. He was a stone killer. They despised him when he was alive and canonized him when he was dead.”

“Mark my words,” he said with a hint of warning. “That’s what they’ll do to me.”

Some five decades later, the jury may still be out on whether the controversial Count Dante will be up for canonization in any karate of fame. But the distinct vision of the martial arts that he once wove into the pop cultural fabric of this country is undisputed. More than fifty years after his mysterious death, that vision resonates still.

Under Count Dante’s instruction, an untold number of highly skilled martial artists have been trained in martial arts dojos throughout Chicago, and cities in Massachusetts. Today, many of those students, and even the students of those students, continue training highly skilled martial arts students of their own.

In an article published the fall of 1975 in Marvel’s hybrid comic book/martial arts mag Deadly Hands of Kung Fu, author Val Eads eulogized Count Dante saying:

“Although his talk about deadly and crippling techniques embarrassed and angered many martial artists, there are also many who defended his philosophy as being necessary in face of the realities of life. There are also many people who witnessed Dante live up to the image he made for himself. Although he was controversial, for every martial artist who remembers him as a crackpot there is another who remembers Count Dante as a gentleman and a fighter.”

And in the mind of this Generation X writer from Chicago, Count Dante, forever immortalized in the ads of old school comics and martial arts magazines as “The Deadliest Man Alive,” is fondly remembered that very same way: as a crackpot, as a gentleman, and as a fighter.

https://pacotaylor.medium.com/man-you-come-right-out-of-a-comic-book-the-unbelievable-life-death-of-count-dante-b41b5521bf99

Sunday, March 23, 2025

A story told by Mr. Sibora Chan

I remember when I was about 13 years old testing for my 2nd Class Brown Belt. It was a group of us from Flores Bros. where I originally studied Kenpo under Sifu Jesus and Sifu Refugio Flores and a group of Mr. Rick Avery’s students. 

The belt test was held at a park on top of a mountain in Goleta, California in the middle of June! Hot!!  A 100 degree plus! We’re in black heavyweight gi. The test was tough and long! It always was! 

You had to do everything from White Belt all the way up to the rank you’re testing for. All your Basics, Forms, Sets, Techniques (both sides, in the air and on a body), Spontaneous or Reaction Drills and Fighting! The last portion is questions and answers. Which the boards get to ask you questions on Kenpo. And you would answer. 

Anyway, somewhere in there during the test Mr. Parker asked me to do Form 4. Which was my favorite form at the time and I’ve used it for competition successfully for many years. So I felt confident that I would do just fine in front of Mr. Parker even though I was so nervous and my knees were shaking the entire time!! LOL. So I did my salutations and blast out Form 4 as best as I could! Done and saluted out! And felt pretty good about my performance. So I thought! 

Mr. Parker leaned forward from his chair and said, ‘Sibora, that’s was a good form. Very good form. But that was ’Long Form 3’! I asked you to do Form 4! NOW DO THE RIGHT FORM!’!!! I JUST DIED!!!

- but I did go back and did Form 4. And Mr. Parker gave me two thumbs up.

Mr. Jack Autry on practicing the basics with Mr. Parker

"Mr. Parker, the second to the last day of his life he was teaching the advanced class at his West L.A. school, I was there, and guess what he taught us? Basics, up and down the mat for 1 and 1/2 hours. 

Do you think that Basics were important to him?"

Wednesday, March 19, 2025

March 19th, Mr. Parker's birthday

"Confronting the Dragon" - the highest technique in Mr. Parker's master's text.

Some fan art to celebrate what would have been Mr. Parker's 94th birthday.

Sunday, March 16, 2025

Wide Angle: Film, Fighting, and Philosophy: the Arts of Bruce Lee

(from dawn.com)

It is difficult to think of a person whose mannerisms, hair style, clothing, facial expressions, and even name have been copied to such a large extent as Bruce Lee (1940-1973). Arguably the most recognisable face of the past century, Lee is known primarily for his on-screen martial arts prowess. But Lee was much more than an entertainer; throughout his adult life and acting career he tried to impart something of the philosophies of the Far East, whether in his appearances on the American television show Longstreet (1971-1972), or in his last completed film Enter the Dragon (1973). It is the latter which introduced Lee to Western audiences on a wide scale, cemented his place in cinematic and cultural history, and changed action films forever.

Although Lee was born in the United States, he grew up in Hong Kong, and appeared in numerous films there as a youth. It was in Hong Kong that he began to study Wing Chun Gung Fu under the auspices of the master Yip Man, despite his fellow students demanding that he should not be taught because he was not pure Chinese (Lee had some European ancestry). Returning to the US in his late teens, he spent several years educating himself, developing Jeet Kune Do (his personal eclectic approach to combat), and teaching martial arts to Hollywood stars. He also sought to land significant parts in American film and television, but struggled to find meaningful roles in an industry that perpetuated stereotypical images of Chinese.

In the early 1970s, Lee decided to try acting in Hong Kong. The result was a trio of films which caused him to acquire immediate and massive renown in Asia: The Big Boss (1971), Fist of Fury (1972), and Way of the Dragon (1972), the last having been written and directed by Lee himself.

It was on the strength of this new-found fame that Hollywood took a more serious interest in Lee, and which led to Enter, the plot of which is rather simple. Lee, a member of the Shaolin Monastery, is solicited by a British intelligence agent to take part in a martial arts tournament held by the drug smuggler Han, where he is supposed to observe and report any illicit activity upon which governments may act to shut down Han’s operations. Of course, Lee takes things much further and, by the end of the film, has used fists and feet to defeat Han and dozens of his bodyguards along the way.

It is not important to recount the plot of Enter in detail, because it is largely irrelevant, and not as significant as the scenes featuring Lee’s explosive physicality. The film lends itself open to criticism on this point, but there is little difference between this action-serving plot and the similarly contrived narratives of innumerable musicals or westerns, in which the songs or climactic gunfights are the only memorable features. However, unlike most westerns or musicals, Enter is infused with philosophical ideas. For while Lee did not direct Enter, he was heavily involved in various aspects of production: the fight scenes were choreographed by him, he made script changes to include more accurate and more philosophical content, helped select certain cast members, and even chose the film’s title.

Lee’s involvement means that Enter is not easily dismissed as a mere action flick in the way that some of the James Bond films can be (screenwriter Michael Allin, who knew little of Gung Fu, wrote the original Enter script as a homage to Bond films). Granted, Enter does not evince the sort of craftsmanship that is traditionally associated with great cinema. But what is not in doubt is that the philosophy of Lee and his own inspirations are visible throughout the film, elevating it above the genre.

“Compared to a good kung fu film,” said the great German filmmaker Werner Herzog, “someone like Jean-Luc Godard is intellectual counterfeit money.” It is unclear if Herzog had a specific film in mind, but one could do much worse than Enter. The opening dialogue between Lee and a Shaolin monk reflects ancient Zen Buddhist doctrine. A scene in which Lee deflects a confrontation with an arrogant fighter is based on a 15th century samurai tale, signalling Lee’s disapproval of pointless violence. Lee was aware of his potential to “aestheticise violence”, as he put it, but he believed that cinema could be an educative force, and that art was a path to enlightenment and liberty.

But the martial demonstrations of Lee are philosophical in a way that a purely Western film could never be. Because Gung Fu and many other martial arts of the Far East incorporate Confucian, Taoist, and/or Buddhist principles in both theory and practice, they are philosophy made manifest. “Gung fu,” wrote Lee, “can be said to be the Chinese attempt to discover the mysteries of nature”. Thus, like the martial arts themselves, Lee’s films often exhibit both verbal and physical expositions of philosophical ideas. This would have been taken to new heights in Game of Death, which was to have been Lee’s second directorial effort, but he died before the project could be completed.

The unification of pen and sword has a long tradition in Far Eastern cultures, and it is not unusual to find historical figures linking thought and action. The 15/16th century Chinese thinker Wang Yang-Ming, for example, was both a military general and a philosopher. The 16th/17th century samurai warrior Miyamoto Musashi advocated that one train oneself in both the literary and martial arts. One can find analogous ideas in the lives and opinions of ancient Western thinkers, but Lee was well aware that modern Western philosophy was dominated by abstract thought. He had studied the subject (along with psychology) at university and was a voracious reader; his library contained more than 2,500 volumes, some of them quite rare. Indeed, so interested in books was he that at one time he considered becoming a secondhand bookseller.

Lee’s perspectives on filmmaking resembled his position on the martial arts. In both acting and in the martial arts, he strove for a combination of instinct and control: “natural unnaturalness or unnatural naturalness”, as he described it in an illuminating interview he gave for the Pierre Berton Show in 1971. In the martial arts he utilised whatever he thought would enhance unarmed combat: fencing techniques, the footwork of boxer Muhammad Ali, the exercises of the Pakistani wrestler Gama, and so on. In films he was influenced and inspired by numerous sources, from American comedian Jerry Lewis to Japanese actor Shintaro Katsu (of Zatoichi fame).

In the martial arts he devoured books on the subject, did not hesitate to criticise what went before, and pushed boundaries. In film he read books on cinematography and filmmaking, was critical of the cinema of both Hollywood and Hong Kong, and aspired to make films of higher quality than what had been produced in the past.

His first endeavour at direction was Way of the Dragon, an unusual production in that it was the first Hong Kong film to be shot in the West. Lee also commissioned a film score, an uncommon procedure at the time. And he was also the first Hong Kong director to view rushes in colour. Lee eschewed cinematic tricks which attempted to mask the fact that the actors were not experienced martial artists, and his martial feats are usually bereft of the magical or fantastical. He thus brought a new level of realism to the martial arts film. Of course, there is a difference between the more flamboyant and theatrical displays of Lee onscreen and his techniques off camera, but not so much that one cannot learn from watching him.

As Matthew Polly perceptively notes in his useful biography Bruce Lee — A Life, the duel between Lee and Chuck Norris in Way of the Dragon is not a random assemblage of flailing fisticuffs, but a Jeet Kune Do tutorial.

Something similar could be said about a melee in Enter, where Lee moves effortlessly from barehanded combat to fighting with staff, sticks, and eventually the nunchaku, demonstrating the ultimate fighter’s ability to battle with whatever weapons are available to him. Lee’s fluidity and skill is visibly genuine, so much so that, rather than speed up his moves to suggest quickness, Enter director Robert Clouse had to speed up the camera to 32 frames per second (instead of the usual 24) in order to capture his movements.

Lee was not the first person to infuse philosophy into a martial arts film — King Hu’s meditative A Touch of Zen had been released in 1970-1971. Nor was Lee the first fighter who wished to strip combat of its inefficiencies — the 16th century Chinese general Qi Jiguang, for instance, also condemned flowery posturing that was useless in actual battle. But neither before nor since has there appeared such a charismatic figure who straddled continents and disciplines in the manner of Lee, and it was because of this, coupled with his indomitable convictions and unrelenting desire to succeed, that he was able to reach millions around the world.

At ease in both East and West despite experiencing racism in both Hong Kong and the US, studious of ancient Chinese wisdom and modern American self-help books alike, Lee’s attitudes to life mirrored his approach to both martial arts and cinematic art. His interviews and private letters are suffused with philosophy. He aspired to perfection, and was not satisfied with mediocrity. He looked to himself for inspiration, rather than others: “The sacred journey is taken alone. Each man must seek out realisation himself. No master can give it to him.” And Lee had little interest in commercialism or identity politics. He married a white American girl, took as his students Americans of different ethnicities, and transcended styles and races. He considered himself, above all, a human being. In Way of the Dragon one can find a Chinese character saying that he doesn’t want to learn foreign fighting styles, but Lee chides him, saying that it doesn’t matter where knowledge comes from so long as it is helpful.

Since Bruce Lee’s demise, a number of Chinese actors have come to the fore. Jackie Chan and Sammo Hung, both of whom had small roles in Enter, have achieved considerable popularity in the West, as have others such as Chow Yun-Fat, Donnie Yen and Jet Li. All of these are talented individuals who have appeared in some fine films, but one wonders if any of them would have achieved such success if Lee had not destroyed the derogatory stereotypes of orientals that pervaded Western cinema.

Lee once opined that he could not possibly become an idol for the white man, but in this he was quite wrong. Unfortunately, he did not live to see the release of Enter, or witness how his stature would go beyond cinema and race. In 1995, the city of Mostar, which had witnessed intense ethnic warfare during the Bosnian War, erected a statue of Lee to symbolise the overcoming of ethnic divisions. “We will always be Muslims, Serbs or Croats,” said one of the originators of the idea, “But one thing we all have in common is Bruce Lee.” Boxers such as Sugar Ray Leonard have studied him. Film directors such as John Woo have been influenced by him. Bodybuilders such as Arnold Schwarzenegger have admired him.

Countless people have taken up the martial arts after being inspired by him; mixed martial artists often speak of Lee as the godfather of the Ultimate Fighting Championship. His likeness has appeared in video games and comic books — Marvel legend Stan Lee referred to him as a superhero without a costume. This wide-ranging influence is akin to that of religious figures. Not for nothing did the musician RZA say that, for him, Lee was a minor prophet.

It is therefore not a simple matter to categorise Lee as a martial artist, an actor, a film director, or a teacher. In the 2nd century AD, the Stoic philosopher Epictetus wrote that “the subject-matter of the art of living is each person’s own life.” Thus, in line with the title of a book about Lee, it would not be inappropriate to describe him as an Artist of Life.