The Fencing Masters
Fencing is one of those sports you can continue to do well into an advanced age. Often times a newer, inexperienced fencer who has advantages in terms of flexibility, reach, and speed, will lose to a slower, stiffer, more experienced fencer. In my high school fencing years, I had the honor of knowing some wise old Fencing Masters who passed on this experience.
Freddy Marshall was probably the Fencing Master under whom I studied the most. He was a diminutive little man with a Yiddish accent, and always had pearls of wisdom to give me, some of them totally unrelated to fencing. I remember him saying to me when I was 16: “I wish I could be your age again, Elaine, but only if I knew then what I know now.” He did not fence with us but helped us improve our technique. “Ya gotta make better lunges,” he would always tell me. I cannot convey in the written word his accent. After our lessons were over, he would swim four lengths of the pool in the Buffalo Jewish Community Center. He was pretty darn spry for an old guy.
Then there was Steve Hilbert. Steve ran a fencing club in the Buffalo Area called Les Amis. Steve considered himself a classical fencing instructor, and as such I did not take his instruction seriously – I was more interested in fencing in the newer, competitive style. I can’t remember getting all that much instruction from him, rather from the others in the group who were more interested in competitive fencing. But I did fence Steve in practice bouts many many times. Steve’s trademark was a power move that would force the weapon out of your hand, by kind of twisting his blade around yours with a downward thrust. I eventually learned to see this coming and to evade it, but I don’t think I beat him often, if ever. Steve had wavy blonde hair parted on the side, and I believe a blonde mustache. He looked like a blonde Musketeer, and the Les Amis fencers used a special salute, in the old style, when they began their bouts. I learned from a friend that Steve passed away a couple of years ago.
Don Cleaversley was a Fencing Master with Freddy at the Buffalo JCC. I loved to learn from this guy, he was a wealth of knowledge. Funny thing is, I can’t remember a thing he taught me. I just remember the feeling of learning from someone who really knew what he was talking about, and who could explain it in an effective manner. He was frail and had a metal hospital cane to assist him with walking. I remember perceiving him as very elderly, but when I read his obituary and counted backwards, I learned that he had only been in his 60s when I studied under him. He had to stop teaching us, because in is deteriorating city neighborhood, the thugs had discovered he was out of the house at a regular time, and began burglarizing it regularly. I looked up his obituary, and he had died in the middle 1990s. I discovered he had a science background in addition to his fencing expertise.
Art Plouffe was not a fencing instructor, he was a fencer in the Master’s division at many competitions I attended. He had a degenerative muscle disease in his legs, so his fencing game did not consist of many backward and forward movements or lunges. But the guy had amazing hand work. He would preface his attacks by yelling “Allez! Allez! Allez!” at the top of his lungs, the yells echoing through the entire gymnasium. He drank from a thermos of coffee between bouts, and we always suspected that it was spiked with hootch. He was actually a very difficult personality but we loved his moxie for competing despite his ever weakening legs.
I am out of competitive fencing for several decades at this point. But the indelible etching of the vivid personalities of each of these men remains with me to this day.
Freddy Marshall was probably the Fencing Master under whom I studied the most. He was a diminutive little man with a Yiddish accent, and always had pearls of wisdom to give me, some of them totally unrelated to fencing. I remember him saying to me when I was 16: “I wish I could be your age again, Elaine, but only if I knew then what I know now.” He did not fence with us but helped us improve our technique. “Ya gotta make better lunges,” he would always tell me. I cannot convey in the written word his accent. After our lessons were over, he would swim four lengths of the pool in the Buffalo Jewish Community Center. He was pretty darn spry for an old guy.
Then there was Steve Hilbert. Steve ran a fencing club in the Buffalo Area called Les Amis. Steve considered himself a classical fencing instructor, and as such I did not take his instruction seriously – I was more interested in fencing in the newer, competitive style. I can’t remember getting all that much instruction from him, rather from the others in the group who were more interested in competitive fencing. But I did fence Steve in practice bouts many many times. Steve’s trademark was a power move that would force the weapon out of your hand, by kind of twisting his blade around yours with a downward thrust. I eventually learned to see this coming and to evade it, but I don’t think I beat him often, if ever. Steve had wavy blonde hair parted on the side, and I believe a blonde mustache. He looked like a blonde Musketeer, and the Les Amis fencers used a special salute, in the old style, when they began their bouts. I learned from a friend that Steve passed away a couple of years ago.
Don Cleaversley was a Fencing Master with Freddy at the Buffalo JCC. I loved to learn from this guy, he was a wealth of knowledge. Funny thing is, I can’t remember a thing he taught me. I just remember the feeling of learning from someone who really knew what he was talking about, and who could explain it in an effective manner. He was frail and had a metal hospital cane to assist him with walking. I remember perceiving him as very elderly, but when I read his obituary and counted backwards, I learned that he had only been in his 60s when I studied under him. He had to stop teaching us, because in is deteriorating city neighborhood, the thugs had discovered he was out of the house at a regular time, and began burglarizing it regularly. I looked up his obituary, and he had died in the middle 1990s. I discovered he had a science background in addition to his fencing expertise.
Art Plouffe was not a fencing instructor, he was a fencer in the Master’s division at many competitions I attended. He had a degenerative muscle disease in his legs, so his fencing game did not consist of many backward and forward movements or lunges. But the guy had amazing hand work. He would preface his attacks by yelling “Allez! Allez! Allez!” at the top of his lungs, the yells echoing through the entire gymnasium. He drank from a thermos of coffee between bouts, and we always suspected that it was spiked with hootch. He was actually a very difficult personality but we loved his moxie for competing despite his ever weakening legs.
I am out of competitive fencing for several decades at this point. But the indelible etching of the vivid personalities of each of these men remains with me to this day.
posted by EMLB at 3:55 PM
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