The British samurai who aimed for the Tokyo Olympics, and wound up King of the Ring

Japan’s 50th anniversary celebration of the Tokyo Olympics will doubtless include misty-eyed reflections on the local heroes who made history there. But as the gloss is applied with the gusto of Sunset on Third Street, we risk painting over the intriguing stories of those who dreamed of gracing the Games, but never quite made it there.

One such athlete can be found meditating amid the delightful greenery of the English Midland countryside, the expansive grounds of his palatial residence dotted with self-carved torii gates. A prodigious sporting talent since early childhood, this relentlessly determined man took up judo in his teens under the tutelage of legendary eighth-dan Kenshiro Abe. While still a teenager, he earned his first-dan certificate with sufficient distinction to ensure Abe took the rare step of penning the document himself in his finest hand. But in 1962, as preparations for the Games intensified, tragedy struck. The promising protégé would lose his finger in an undisclosed accident, depriving him of a judoka’s most basic tool: his ability to grip.

The Olympic dream cruelly wrenched from him, the autumn of 1964 would take this powerfully-built man not to the Land of the Rising Sun, but to the land of the sweltering spotlights within dimly-lit surroundings. Rather than tread barefoot on the judo mat, he would come heavily booted-up for the pro-wrestling variant. Crucially, his face would be masked in a striped fabric, providing a constant source of intimidation for opponents and a constant trigger of fan speculation as to his real identity. Poignantly, his first professional opponent would have a Japanese connection. Jim Hussey was the father of Mark Rocco, who would later become the original Black Tiger in New Japan Pro-Wrestling.

What, then, was the iconic name bestowed upon this marvelous masked judoka? After years of entertaining combat images in his sleep, and following lengthy discussion of their meaning with Abe, this man concluded that his past life must have encompassed a samurai element. A resultant trawl through numerous books drew him to the 1333 Siege of Kamakura, and the presence there of a defeated warrior and swordsman who bore particular resemblance to him: Shin’uemon Nagasaki. At this point, his mind was set. From henceforth he would embrace “The Way of the Sword” and be known as Kendo Nagasaki, the mysterious masked warrior who entered the ring fully-clad in resplendent samurai gear, including sheathed sword. It would become the most instantly-identifiable image in British wrestling history.

Having boldly challenged and conquered that which even seasoned professionals shied away from, namely the notoriously grueling mat-training at Billy Riley’s Wigan-based gym, the man known as Nagasaki justifiably set his sights on the very top wherever he travelled. Carrying on the fine British tradition of invincible masked wrestlers, he remained unbeaten throughout his career, dishing out brutal defeats to both bruisers of the Mike Marino mold and behemoths of the Big Daddy/ Giant Haystacks breed. He could also nullify the most genial of technicians such as Billy Robinson, who began tussling with him in Riley’s gym and later became one of the major names in Japanese pro wrestling.

Nagasaki eventually made it to Tokyo in 1968, four years later than planned, taking part in the highly-eventful Japan Series and defeating many a Japanese foe in the process. Due to sensitivities surrounding the Nagasaki name in Japan, he reluctantly ended up wrestling under the moniker of Mr Guillotine. His presence was no less diminished however. Wrestling magazines were immediately drawn to his awesomely-chiseled physique, the result of having lifted weights to international standard. Indeed, a black-and-white magazine picture capturing the masked muscle-man in all his Heraclean splendor hangs proudly on his reception-room wall today.

With Japan conquered, he returned to England and a spate of bloody matches filled with unforgiving hip-throws and thunderous throat jabs, each deemed too rough for the prime-time TV of the day. Eventually, in 1971, the suits allowed him on the air in full samurai regalia, free to infuriate the crowd with elaborate pre-match rituals including the sumo-style throwing of salt. An additional incendiary role was played by vociferous manager “Gorgeous” George Gillette, who – after snatching the microphone from the MC – launched into Muhammad Ali-style diatribes against opponents and fans alike. His role was as outrageous as it was imperative for the Nagasaki character, betrothed to action over words, never spoke himself. On the occasions when George became Nagasaki’s actual tag team partner, freely opening himself up to the wrath of opponents, the atmosphere was electric.

Either side of a brief interval spent in Canada, and a championship-belt-winning performance in Stu Hart’s Stampede Wrestling, Nagasaki and George became one of the most famous double-acts on British TV, with fans baying for their blood – and a Nagasaki unmasking – on a weekly basis. But they also attracted a cult following who continued to be impressed by Nagasaki’s deft movement and raw strength. It seemed that no matter how bulky the opponent, Nagasaki could always subdue them with his Kamikaze Crash, a move which required the masked maestro to lift his foe like an Olympic barbell before completing a forward roll with them.

Nagasaki would continue wrestling in both masked – and briefly unmasked – form until 2008, when he still showed himself easily capable of lifting and slamming his much younger opponents. For the record, he ended his illustrious ring career as British Tag Team Champion.

Fusing East and West

But to speak of Kendo Nagasaki merely as a wrestler is to misunderstand the man greatly. Nagasaki’s entire philosophy revolves around the concept of fusing East and West. Thus does the outside of his house resemble the grounds of a Shinto shrine, with a shishi-odoshi-fed carp pond nearby for good measure. The inside of his residence, meanwhile, is brimful of Japanese artifacts including some quite magnificent kendo gear and swords that even most Japanese have never laid eyes upon. He has become an accomplished player of the singing bowls (rei or rin) to the point where he can offer 20-minute concerts and conduct meditation sessions based on their beauteous sounds. Furthermore, his recent round of fan-events have included both kanji calligraphy exercises and modified Shinto and Buddhist ceremonies.

So fascinating is he to Japanese wrestling fans that a popular Tokyo publication, G-Spirits, flew its staff over to England for a 10-page interview and photo shoot last year. Nagasaki’s words, on that occasion, were spoken by his eloquent present-day oracle, Atlantis Chronos Goth.

“Nagasaki would love to visit Japan again someday,” she told me at his event of July 2014. “Despite all his success as a wrestler and faith healer, there is still part of him which wonders what might have been had he entered the 1964 Olympics as a judoka.”

It seems the ever-pensive man behind Nagasaki’s mask is keen to experience the next Tokyo Olympics live and in the flesh. And who knows? Perhaps in another of his past lives, he really does have an Olympic medal gleaming across his imposing chest.

© Japan Today