The Mind's Eye

Remembering Sensei David Jainchill, "The Real Zatoichi"

By Jonathan Lowell (The Iron Sensei)

Most martial artists know the fictional blind swordsman Zatoichi. I had the privilege of knowing the real one.

His name was Sensei David Jainchill.

This is not the story of a blind man.

It is the story of a karateka.

To understand David, you first have to understand the karate world I grew up in.

There was an incredible Goju-Ryu karate scene in New York during the 1960s and 1970s. Peter Urban had his famous Chinatown dojo, where many outstanding martial artists got their start. As happens in every generation, students eventually went in different directions. Some remained loyal to Urban's USA Goju. Some stayed with Yamaguchi and the Goju Kai. Others formed organizations of their own.

One of the most respected was Frank Ruiz, founder of Nisei Goju, literally "Second Generation Goju." Ruiz produced some of the finest fighters in America. Louis Delgado immediately comes to mind. During the 1970s, Delgado was ranked the number one fighter in America by Black Belt Magazine and even defeated Chuck Norris in competition. Although Ruiz built his own organization, he always respected Peter Urban.

Eventually Ruiz moved to Miami, while the legendary Wifredo Roldan continued leading Nisei Goju in New York. One of Ruiz's senior students, John Giordano, also moved to Miami and opened a dojo in Miami Beach. Giordano was a tournament champion, a superb instructor, and one tough karate man. His dojo produced many outstanding black belts.

One of them became my Senpai and one of my closest friends for more than thirty years—Sensei John Tronolone.

John was a multiple Florida champion in kata and kumite. Like me, he eventually wanted to explore the traditional Okinawan roots of Goju-Ryu and began training with Morio Higaonna Sensei.

I first met John at a Matayoshi Kobudo seminar in Miami in 1993. Shinpo Matayoshi was teaching, assisted by one of his senior students, Kimo Wall. We hit it off immediately, became close friends, and eventually I became John's assistant instructor in his Miami dojo.

One afternoon we stopped for fresh Cuban juice at a little comida Latina restaurant. John smiled and said,

"I want you to meet somebody."

We drove to a small efficiency apartment in Miami Beach.

That's where I met David Jainchill.

David was completely blind.

Before losing his eyesight to retinitis pigmentosa, he had worked as a hairdresser in the Catskills. When most people would have accepted that life had changed forever, David did something remarkable.

He started karate.

Completely blind.

John Giordano accepted him as a student, and David's determination quickly earned everyone's respect. Eventually, David became Giordano's assistant instructor and taught my Senpai, John Tronolone, from white belt all the way through black belt.

Think about that for a moment.

A completely blind man teaching karate.

And not just teaching...

Competing.

David entered tournaments in kata and kumite. He won many of them. John told me about one tournament where David defeated a man in kumite, and his opponent never even realized David was blind.

David wasn't cautious.

He loved to fight.

He trained like a boxer. Skipping rope was his trademark. He could perform trick after trick with incredible rhythm and precision. His hands were lightning fast, his combinations sharp, and he was constantly circling to find angles. Even without sight, his movement reflected classic Goju-Ryu principles—circles and straight lines flowing together.

His trademark technique was a jumping spinning back kick. He developed such sensitivity that he could feel an opponent's movement and timing. When an arm extended into range, David could launch that kick with astonishing accuracy.

His apartment reflected who he was.

It wasn't fancy.

In one corner hung a small double-end striking bag suspended on elastic cords. It bounced and danced after every punch or kick, yet David struck it with ease. Watching him train was fascinating. He didn't need to see the target.

He knew where it was.

David also taught karate and yoga at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach.

How Miami is that?

His daily routine never changed.

Coffee.

A Camel cigarette.

Then, with that unmistakable Catskills Jewish sense of humor, he'd joke in Yiddish:

"Ess un gadank!"

"Eat and shit."

Then came an hour of yoga.

Then an hour of karate.

Every day.

David loved women, and believe it or not, he had plenty of girlfriends. One would often bring him food. He loved music, conversation, and philosophy. Because he couldn't read, John would read Alan Watts to him. David was Jewish, deeply spiritual, and had a quiet Zen-like outlook on life that I always appreciated.

Peter Urban loved David. And gave him the nickname "Zatoichi"

David would call Urban often, and the two spoke regularly. Urban respected him immensely and eventually promoted him to 7th Dan. After David's passing, he was posthumously awarded 9th Dan.

As John continued studying Okinawan Goju-Ryu, he patiently taught David every Okinawan kata. Together they worked through them all. Eventually, we brought David to train with Morio Higaonna Sensei, who was genuinely impressed and spent time working with him.

I also remember bringing David to gasshuku.

John would guide him with his white cane and place him in line.

Then the cane was quietly set aside.

Training began.

David bowed with everyone else.

Worked out with everyone else.

Sweated with everyone else.

He wasn't "the blind student."

He was simply another karateka.

David passed away in 2010 from lung cancer.

The cigarettes eventually caught up with him.

But that isn't how I remember my Senpai.

I remember his laughter.

His Catskills humor.

The sound of the jump rope.

The little striking bag.

The coffee.

The Camel.

The yoga.

The lightning-fast hands.

The incredible spinning back kick.

His friendship with Urban.

His trust in John.

His determination to keep walking the Way no matter what life took from him.

Most people know the fictional blind swordsman Zatoichi.

I had the privilege of knowing the real one.

David eventually lost his eyesight.

But he never lost his vision.

Perhaps that is what the old masters meant by Shingan (心眼)—

The Mind's Eye.

Osu, Senpai.

About the Author

Jonathan Lowell, known as The Iron Sensei, has trained in Goju-Ryu Karate-Do for more than five decades. A student of Peter Urban and Morio Higaonna, he has competed, taught thousands of students, and operated his own dojo for over twenty years. He is also a licensed massage therapist, author of The Hallandale Diet, and founder of Iron Rebuild, helping adults over 40 reclaim their health, strength, and confidence. Through The Iron Sensei Journal, he preserves the history, philosophy, and living traditions of karate while sharing lessons from a lifetime on the Way.

This article is dedicated to the memory of Sensei David Jainchill, whose example reminds us that true vision comes not only from the eyes, but from the spirit.

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