Was there a pivotal moment for you in understanding judo?

Yes, the early 1950s, particularly the year 1952. That was when three key individuals arrived in France: Jean Beaujean, Ichiro Abe, and Tokio Hirano. The year 1952 was very fruitful for judo.

What did these individuals contribute?

Beaujean had spent two years in Japan and returned with a different style of judo. His mobility and technique revolutionised the judo of that time, which, under Kawaishi, had been quite static. I was thrilled by this. Beaujean had trained at the Kodokan and worked with Kano’s disciples. Everyone in France knew him; he was one of the veterans. I had known him before he left. My instructor, Mr. Philippe, had been one of his students. So when he returned, I was very interested. He bought a space near the Moulin Rouge, which had been an artist’s studio, and he converted it into a dojo. I helped him a lot with setting it up, and I attended his classes. I went there twice a week, in the mornings. I trained with all the top judoka of the time there: Courtine, Piquemal… they all came to Beaujean’s dojo. I met many people there that I wouldn’t have otherwise met because they didn’t come to the College of Black Belts, and many of them became friends. Beaujean’s place was a meeting point.

What characterised his judo? What did he bring back from Japan?

It wasn’t as obvious as I’m explaining now, but it was his mobility. It was mainly his way of attacking hip movements, both in movement and in uchi-komi. It was nothing like Mr. Kawaishi’s technique. With Kawaishi, we would take three preparatory steps before turning into the movement. But with Beaujean, you would turn immediately and only then place your leg behind, just as I teach you now. It was new at the time; no one was doing that. Beaujean contributed a lot. He had the technique and the explanation.

He had the intelligence of the practice…

Yes, he understood the fundamentals of judo. But he was heavily criticised, he was attacked, and after a while, he decided to leave. He went to Canada just as he had gone to Japan. Beaujean was someone with a strong character.

Does he still teach?

No, he can no longer practise, but in thought, he continues. We meet when he comes to France. We spend a few hours here at the dojo, talking judo, then we go out to eat, and talk judo for another two hours. We disagree on some points, but we always align on the core ideas. He’s a friend.

Ichiro Abe also arrived that year?

Yes, the Lassère brothers brought him over. They ran a club in Toulouse. They asked the Kodokan in Tokyo to send a Japanese instructor to teach at their club. News of his arrival spread quickly, and everyone went to Toulouse to train with him.

Did you go too?

I couldn’t go immediately because I had financial problems. I could only afford to go later, in July. So I took my scooter without checking ahead and went to Toulouse. But I only made a round trip: the club was closed for the summer. I never had the chance to train with Mr. Abe afterward. I regret it because it would have been very interesting. He was an excellent judoka, an excellent technician, and also a stylist.

What do you mean by a stylist?

His judo was very smooth and fluid. In some ways, it resembled aikido. It was broad; there was a great range of movement. There was a lot of mobility. It was beautiful, and it appealed to many people. He created his own federation, the Union Judo Kodokan, headquartered in the 15th arrondissement of Paris. Abe would give lessons on Rue Vigée-Lebrun at Lucien Levannier’s dojo. I had great friends at the College who were from the Kodokan. I often practised with them. Today, fewer instructors leave a distinct mark on their students, but back then, you could tell by someone’s manner of working who their teacher was. And Kodokan people immediately recognised each other; they had Mr. Abe’s movements. Unfortunately, many people copied Mr. Abe’s style rather than interpreting his technique.

And was his technique effective?

Yes, it was effective because he used his body well. But his effectiveness didn’t match that of Hirano.

Who was Hirano?

Hirano was a Japanese judoka whose arrival I learned about from Yves Klein, one of my students. A family friend of Klein’s parents named Mr. Edwards—a wealthy American oilman who spent his life travelling—met Hirano during a trip to Japan. He fell in love with Hirano’s judo and invited him to come to France with him. One day, Klein informed me, “Mr. Corréa, an extraordinary Japanese judoka has arrived in France; he’ll be at the College of Black Belts soon.” So I went. I was still a brown belt—this was probably a month before I earned my black belt—so I couldn’t step onto the tatami. I saw Hirano arrive with his little bundle. I watched as he stopped at Kawaishi’s desk, then went to the changing room, and finally stepped onto the tatami.

He didn’t know anyone?

No, but he didn’t make a mistake: the first person he greeted was Jean de Herdt, who had been the French champion for years. De Herdt was an athlete who relied heavily on his physical condition. Hirano greeted him and threw him three or four times while standing, then controlled him on the ground while laughing. De Herdt wasn’t happy! Then Hirano greeted Pariset. Pariset was also a champion; he wasn’t a very good judoka, but he was very stable on his feet and hard to throw. Hirano didn’t care; he scored three ippon standing, then did the same on the ground, where Pariset was reputed to be a specialist. At one point in the match, Hirano had him controlled, both arms in a lock, and he kissed him on the forehead. Hirano wasn’t serious—he laughed all the time! Pariset, on the other hand, was furious. Everyone was laughing, of course. It was remarkable: right away, without knowing them, Hirano went to work with all the top judoka.

So he impressed everyone?

Yes. Everyone was stunned to see it. I wanted to get to know him better, so I asked Klein to introduce me. I asked Hirano if he would come to teach a class at my club. The following Tuesday, he came to the ASPTT. It was extraordinary. Again, he first worked with the biggest and strongest.

He was quite small, wasn’t he?

Yes, he was about my height, a bit shorter than me. He would tell them not to fall, to be strong, to resist. His partners resisted, and he laughed while doing his demonstrations. It was very well done.

When he arrived at a dojo, did he immediately prove his effectiveness?

Yes, he did the same thing when he arrived in Paris. To make himself known and establish his reputation, he issued a challenge. He organised an event where he wanted to take on the twenty best French black belts in a line-up. Unfortunately, the best didn’t accept. He eventually found twenty, and the competition took place, but if he had managed to face the top judoka, it would have been so convincing that everyone would have followed him.

What was a class with Hirano like?

When he taught a class, he showed very expansive movements, with a lot of range in his gestures. His judo was light, joyful, but ultimately, it was very precise. It was lively. There wasn’t really amplitude, but there was a mobility that gave the sensation of amplitude. Visually, it seemed very long and large, but it was neither; it simply never stopped.

How could his movements seem large if they were actually small and precise?

He was like a magician; he would draw your attention to one side to do something on the other. It was a bit like that. It was a simulation of amplitude so people could understand. He wasn’t a teacher in the traditional sense. He didn’t explain; he did. His teaching method was about making you feel the technique. Nevertheless, Mr. Hirano was an exceptional judoka. His judo in practice was very straightforward, with extraordinary effectiveness.

Did very few people get to know him?

Very few. Hirano met relatively few people. His time here was very short, very fast; he didn’t have time to become well-known. I was very fortunate because I got to know him as soon as he arrived in France. When he moved to Belgium, to Antwerp, I visited him several times. I got to know and understand him and brought him over for seminars often. We became friends. We worked together a lot until his death. Those who worked with him at the College when he first arrived were also fortunate, but they experienced it as an episode. They didn’t continue what Hirano had shown.

So, like with Abe, his influence was limited?

Yes. Only a minority worked with them. Those who did were positively influenced, but there were few. At the time, it would have been ideal if the majority of the best judoka had worked with these three individuals. Judo would have exploded because their work was complementary. Hirano was an extremely agile man with great control and exceptional effectiveness. Beaujean was an excellent technician who understood the fundamentals of judo. And Mr. Abe had good technique and was an excellent stylist.

Did the three of them ever want to work together?

That’s difficult. They were separate groups of people who happened to follow them.

Could we say that a good judoka should combine the qualities that these three had individually? Is it fair to think that one should be a good technician, have strong effectiveness, and possess good style? The understanding of Beaujean, the application of Hirano, and the form of Ichiro Abe?

Mastering all three aspects is extremely difficult. But one could at least take something from all three.