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  The closest thing that I could find to ancient Olympic Pankration, and to what I aspired to create for Wisdom Imports, was vale tudo. Literally translated from Portuguese to English as “everything goes,” vale tudo wasn’t so much a fighting style as a meeting place for fighting styles. Popularized in the 1920s in Brazil, vale tudo often took place at circuses across the country, where two fighters would meet in a bout with no or very few rules. Sometimes the contests would be pre-arraigned and advertised, other times they came as the result of an open challenge to the audience by the travelling circus “champion.” It was very similar conceptually to what was occurring in the same era at circuses throughout the U.S., although those bouts were often referred to as catch-as-catch-can or no-holds-barred, and were usually grappling based.

  The thing about vale tudo though was that it was never organized on a larger scale. There was no set of rules universally agreed upon, no universally recognized champions. There was never an official vale tudo sanctioning body, governing agency, or wide scale promotion. Vale tudo could take place under a circus tent, in a boxing ring at a huge stadium, on a mat in a martial arts school or beneath the sun on a sandy Brazilian beach.

  Sometimes vale tudo fights were massive events, with thousands of tickets sold, and millions watching on Brazilian television. Other times, they were held quietly in private, by invitation only. In essence, they were fights based upon the agreement and willingness of the two participants. My style against your style to see who is the better man.

  Having just read up on vale tudo, and its place in Brazil, my secretary Joy gave me an article that she’d recently found, which was from the September 1989 issue of Playboy magazine. Written by Pat Jordan and entitled “Bad,” it detailed the first family of jiu-jitsu, the Gracies, how they had perfected their own brand of martial arts in their native Brazil, and then brought it to Southern California. According to Jordan, they were absolutely unbeatable, or so the Gracies claimed.

  What really caught my attention in the article was the open challenge that the Gracie family had issued to the entire martial arts community. Your style against our style, your $100,000 against ours—winner take all. A real fight and we’ll kick your ass every time. Or, we’ll choke you out or torque the hell out of your limbs until you quit. This challenge seemed to be rooted in vale tudo from their native Brazil, and I quickly discovered that family patriarch Hélio was a huge part of that history, having participated in a number of classic fights.

  The focal point of the article was not Hélio though, but his oldest son, 37-year-old Rorion. He was the first of the family to come to the U.S. from Brazil, and the one who seemed the most responsible for advocating Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in his new country. Jordan wrote that “the toughest man in the United States” lived “in a modest ranch house on a tidy little street of similar homes in Torrance, California.” I knew that South Bay LA suburb well, as it wasn’t too terribly far from my office.

  Now this Gracie Challenge vale tudo thing was exactly what I wanted to do, except instead of holding this type of fighting in private at a gym or dojo like the Gracies were apparently doing, I’d stage this as a public spectacle writ large, with Wisdom Imports footing the bill, on behalf of the Tecate beer brand. National television, big arena, huge crowd. And I didn’t want many rules, other than some basic safety things like no groin strikes, no eye gouging–shit like that.

  I had no trouble tracking down the Gracie Jiu-Jitsu phone number, as it was listed in the Yellow Pages. It turned out to be Rorion Gracie’s home and I spoke to his wife, Suzanne. She said he wasn’t in, but she would have him call me when he returned. Suzanne seemed to think that I was some sort of Hollywood producer, even though I told her I worked in marketing. But no return call ever came.

  I decided on the “World’s Best Fighter,” for the working title, wrote a basic outline and executive summary, and submitted my pitch to Wisdom Imports in February 1990. My premise was simple: just let them fight, and see what happens. It absolutely couldn’t miss.

  But to my utter dismay, all of the hours and effort over the past three months that I’d put into creating this no-holds-barred, mixed match fighting event suddenly seemed like a colossal waste of time. Wisdom passed. It just wasn’t right for them, was what they told Jim Plumb and me without further explanation. Maybe the idea of taking on this huge project was more than they had wanted. Perhaps it was just too violent for their tastes. Whatever, as it really didn’t matter at that point. I was definitely disappointed. But in the ad game, I knew that rejection was standard operating procedure. It just wasn’t their thing.

  Soon after this, my headhunter came up with a job opportunity for me to go to work for a direct response advertising agency in Torrance. The position was director of client services for the Creative Direct Marketing Group, and it was a juicy offer. I took the gig, and rented a small apartment in Torrance’s downtown section. It was above commercial stores and the city was re-building the entire area. A big urban renewal thing.

  I became the manager of the apartments in return for reduced rent, and I took a second apartment, on the same floor, to serve as an office for any entrepreneurial projects that I might develop on my own. My apartment was on El Prado Avenue, but my office address was 1308 Sartori Avenue, as the building occupied the whole corner.

  My new job at Creative Direct Marketing Group (CDMG) was great, but it was also all encompassing. Ten hours a day, and then I was in my little entrepreneurial office on evenings and weekends more often than not. But despite my workload, I kept thinking about the World’s Best Fighter. I just couldn’t let this go. Late one night, I re-read the Playboy article about the unbeatable Gracies of Brazil, and vowed to get in touch with Rorion this time around.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL

  A RARE BIRD ON EARTH, COMPARABLE TO A BLACK SWAN.

  — DECIMUS JUNIUS JUVENAL SATIRES 16. VI, 165

  ON an uncharacteristically hot day in August 1990—uninvited and unannounced—I walked over to the Gracie Jiu-Jitsu Academy on Carson Street. It was located just a few blocks from my apartment and personal office, and I had already driven by it a number of times. I was on a fact-finding mission, to see if the Gracie family and their Brazilian jiu-jitsu could somehow factor into and revive my World’s Best Fighter idea. The worst that could happen was that they’d tell me to get lost.

  When I arrived, their school, the Gracie Academy looked pretty sharp. Inside a few workers were painting the trim. I recognized Hélio, the family patriarch from the article, but he didn’t speak a word of English. There was a quiet dignity to him, and he seemed to be a man who always commanded respect.

  I also observed a tall, lanky kid, who seemed very shy, and like he might still be a teen. He introduced himself to me as Royce, but didn’t say two words after that. I wasn’t sure from this meeting if he spoke much English, either. He too was quiet and unpretentious. My first venture into the den of the fearsome family of no-holds-barred fighters was pretty inconspicuous. Hélio and Royce were helping the construction workers put the finishing touches on the juice bar. I stayed a while and watched them work. Rorion wasn’t there, so I left my card.

  A couple of days later I finally got a call from the elusive Rorion Gracie. He was incredibly friendly on the phone. I pitched him very briefly about the event that I wanted to create—but something beyond the Gracie Challenge, the thing that I had read about in that Playboy article. Rorion was very non-committal, but invited me to come over and meet with him. We set an appointment and I trotted over there on my lunch break.

  Rorion made an immediate and powerful impression on me. There was no sense of menace about him. Instead, Rorion came across as personable, magnetic and quietly self-confident. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders, flashing dark eyes and a big, thick moustache. The overall impression was movie actor handsome, with the charisma to match. He had a strong handshake and was gracious, polite and engaging. But to my dismay, Rorion showed no real interest on
his part in discussing my proposal, as much as I tried. As soon as I started on about the World’s Best Fighter, he would shut me down. Instead, Rorion wanted to regale me with stories about the legendary Gracie family history, traditions and fights. Rorion also told me about his experiences as an actor, extra and fight advisor on Hollywood TV shows and movies, such as Lethal Weapon with Mel Gibson.

  Normally I’m a fast talker, and the one driving the conversation, but in that meeting, all I could do was listen.

  Grandmaster Hélio Gracie from Brazil and his eldest son, Rorion, who popularized his family’s jiu-jitsu in the U.S.

  “Arturo, Gracie Jiu-Jitsu, it’s not a style of martial arts. It’s a source of instruction for Brazilian jiu-jitsu. I trademarked the name. My father is the originator of all Brazilian jiu-jitsu, but not Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. Other people teach Brazilian jiu-jitsu or jiu-jitsu. I teach jiu-jitsu. I don’t teach Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. Gracie Jiu-Jitsu is just a source of instruction, a location, and a business.”

  I couldn’t help but think that this carefully stated pronouncement had some legal issues attached to it.

  Rorion then asked me if I’d ever grappled. And the answer, of course, was no. I didn’t tell him about my one disastrous experience on the beach in Peconic Bay with the thick-necked wrestler. I said that I had done a little boxing when I was younger, and had taken some Muay Thai classes, but that was about it.

  “Come over tomorrow night and I’ll give you a free lesson. I’ll show you how to roll.”

  How could I turn that down? The next night, about 7 p.m., I walked over from my apartment, wearing a jogging suit and T-shirt. This experience was a revelation. Rorion showed me a couple of moves, and then got on top of me in the “mount position.” There was nothing, absolutely nothing that I could do to counter it. I was helpless on the mat, like a child. Or perhaps more appropriately, like one of the numerous victims of the Gracie Challenge.

  I came out of the little workout room very impressed. Rorion then brought me into his office, and told me that he had been teaching in his garage in Redondo Beach for a number of years. This new academy was the first commercial location that he’d ever leased. He was very proud and excited. I was truly impressed by our time on the mat and we continued to talk. It struck me how gifted Rorion was as an instructor. He knew how to communicate, both verbally and physically. He was a natural in every way—great social skills to go along with his obviously great jiu-jitsu skills.

  At one point, sitting behind his big, new desk like the guru/leader/teacher that he was, Rorion gestured at an array of blue cards.

  “These are the new membership cards for the academy. I’m going to be transferring my students from these cards,” he said pointing to a battered Rolodex on his desk, “to these new blue cards.”

  I nodded and said, “Well, sign me up!”

  I became student number 1, at the Gracie Academy. Rorion took a blank blue card off his desk and entered my name on card number 1. It was an accident of timing, as Rorion and his brothers already had more than 150 students who were relocating from the garage in Redondo Beach to the new academy in Torrance.

  As was the case previously, I never really got to discuss with Rorion why I had originally called him in the first place. When I mentioned my World’s Best Fighter idea again, I could tell from how he changed the subject that Rorion wasn’t too interested in discussing it. He had his “Gracie Challenge.” I knew this from the Playboy article. But he didn’t seem to want to discuss the challenge, my project or how the two might come together. With his brand-new academy, Rorion’s head was clearly full, so for the time being I decided to leave it alone. I was sure that I’d have plenty of opportunities to talk to him as student number 1.

  To understand Rorion, and to understand the Gracies, I was fully aware that I had to know their history. I dove in doing even more research, which seemed vital for me in recruiting Rorion and his family as my allies.

  Rorion had been born in Brazil in 1952, and had earned a bachelor’s degree in law from Federal University in Rio de Janeiro. But, he never practiced law. Instead, Rorion’s life work became promoting the Gracie name, and the type of instruction created by his father and uncle back in Brazil. He moved to Southern California in 1978, fully intent on popularizing Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in the U.S. He then served as the catalyst for the eventual emigration from Brazil of a number of his family members.

  I also realized that the key to really understanding Rorion was through Hélio, his father—the patriarch. Hélio was the heart and soul of the Gracies, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that his philosophy of life was imprinted on every one of his sons.

  Hélio was the youngest brother of Carlos, who had learned jiu-jitsu from Mitsuyo Maeda, a Japanese-born, naturalized Brazilian. Maeda had changed his name to Otávio Maeda in his new country. He was a judo expert with direct lineage to the sport’s founder (Kanō Jigorō) who had become a prizefighter in no-holds-barred competitions; he was sometimes known as Conde Koma (Count Combat), a nickname he picked up in Spain before World War I. Maeda pioneered judo in Brazil, as well as the United Kingdom and other Western countries; and supposedly won more than 2,000 professional fights in his career. His accomplishments led to him being called the “toughest man who ever lived” and being referred to as “the Father of Brazilian jiu-jitsu.”

  Here I am with the whole Gracie family. That’s Royce Gracie on the far left. Rickson is obscured behind him and then Rorion, Hélio, me, Relson, Royler and Rolker.

  Now, the father of Carlos and Hélio Gracie was a man named Gastão Gracie. He was a business partner of the American Circus in Belém, Brazil. In 1917, 14-year-old Carlos watched a demonstration by Maeda at the Da Paz Theatre and decided that he wanted to learn from him. Maeda accepted Carlos as a student, and the youngster went on to become a great exponent of the art, and ultimately, with his younger brother, Hélio, founded Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. The naturalized Brazilian Maeda was fundamental to the development of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, through his teaching of Carlos Gracie.

  In 1921, Gastão Gracie moved his family to Rio de Janeiro. Carlos, then 17, passed Maeda’s teachings on to his brothers Osvaldo, Gastão and Jorge. Hélio was too young and sick at that time to really learn the art and, due to his medical condition, was prohibited from taking part in the training sessions. He instead learned by watching his brothers.

  Hélio eventually overcame his health problems and the youngest, smallest and skinniest of the Gracie boys ultimately became the family’s champion, even though he weighed only 140 lb. He also became the father of Rorion, Relson, Rickson, Rolker, Royler, Royce, and Robin; and daughters Rerika and Ricci. For his part, Hélio’s brother, Carlos, fathered 21 children.

  In addition to Maeda and Carlos Gracie, I read about Oswaldo Baptista Fadda. He was perhaps best known for teaching students from the poorer areas of Rio de Janeiro, where jiu-jitsu was regarded as an upper-class sport. Despite being regarded by the Gracie family as an outcast, Fadda opened his own academy on the outskirts of Rio in 1950. He and his students began specializing in the use of foot locks, an often ignored part of the Brazilian jiu-jitsu curriculum. The following year, Fadda apparently felt confident that his school was ready for the next step, and issued a challenge to the Gracies through the media.

  “We wish to challenge the Gracies, we respect them as the formidable adversaries they are, but we do not fear them. We have 20 pupils ready for the challenge.”

  Hélio accepted the challenge and the two teams fought at Gracie’s academy. Fadda’s team emerged victorious, making good use of their knowledge of foot locks, in which the opposition was lacking. José Guimarães, one of Fadda’s pupils, actually choked Hélio unconscious. After the challenge, Fadda gave an interview in the Revista do Esporte. “We put an end to the Gracie taboo,” he was quoted as saying.

  The Gracies had previously derided foot locks as a “suburban technique,” but afterwards Hélio graciously acknowledged that Fadda’s win was a sign that jiu-jitsu was tru
ly for everyone. In an interview with the newspaper, Hélio said, “All you need is one Fadda to show that jiu-jitsu is not the Gracie’s privilege.”

  I thought that perhaps Rorion’s formal-sounding proclamation to me about Gracie Jiu-Jitsu during our first meeting was rooted in all of the claims and counterclaims as to the true “Father of Brazilian jiu-jitsu,” which were so important back in his native country. Mitsuyo Maeda had a valid claim that he created Brazilian jiu-jitsu. So too did Hélio’s oldest brother, Carlos. And Fadda seemed to fit somewhere in that mix.

  Regardless of who was first and who was best, it was undeniable that Hélio was a true pioneer, just not the only pioneer. But none of that mattered to me.

  As I started my weekly private lessons with Rorion at the Gracie Academy, I began to learn some of the philosophy that Hélio had imparted on his oldest son. The specter of “the old man,” as Rorion called him, was everywhere. Every time Hélio showed up at the academy, I was blown away. Though not a big man by any standard, he dominated the room. His voice was low, but when he raised it, the whole room got quiet. He carried himself with a dignity and a grace that belied his strength. I watched him on the mat, and was rendered speechless by how supple, fit and agile he was at age 77. When Rorion would bring me over to Hélio, the encounter was always a bit awkward, as neither of us could speak the other’s language. But his grip was firm, and I knew I was in the presence of someone truly unique.

  In addition to the jiu-jitsu, I quickly learned that Rorion, Hélio, and seemingly the entire Gracie family took tremendous pride in and fanatically followed the diet developed by Uncle Carlos back in Brazil. It was a food-combining regimen that emphasized which foods could be eaten with others, all done for health reasons. It became apparent to me that the Gracie Diet and Gracie Jiu-Jitsu were intrinsically linked, and you couldn’t be a real devotee of one, without being a disciple of the other.