Meeting Bruce Lee



In October 2013, I was invited by Linda Lee, Bruce's wife, to present the keynote address at the grand opening of a Bruce Lee exhibit at the Wing Luke Museum in Seattle, Washington.

The topic of my address was, "Did you know Bruce Lee?" It was a strange question to ask an audience forty years after Bruce's passing. Did you know Bruce Lee? Many in the room hadn't even been born when he died. They knew Bruce through what his legacy had become, but they had never met him in person, never looked him in the eye, never had the chance to shake his hand.

Of course, I understood the underlying meaning of the question.

I must share the first time I saw Bruce. It was the afternoon of August 3rd, at an officials' rules meeting before the start of the elimination matches at the first International Karate Championships, in Long Beach, California, produced by Mr. Ed Parker. Bruce was introduced to a room filled with black belts from all corners of the world.

There was something Bruce said at that meeting that has burned inside me for over 60 years. He began his speech by telling everyone that what they had been learning was nonsense, not real martial arts, but merely a programmed, robotic, repetitive, and habitual way of learning and trying to emulate their instructor. This didn't go over well with those in attendance. Many considered him young, cocky, even arrogant. That was strange because that is precisely how some people perceived me when they saw me fight, which is why I got the nicknames 'The Animal' or 'Tiger Mike Stone.' 

Bruce said that what they were learning would not be effective in a real fight or self-defense situation on the street. As a result, he decided not to compete in tournaments, which, in Bruce's view, restricts what is practical and effective. 

As I sat there, absorbing his words, I instantly realized: these were my exact feelings and thoughts. I questioned myself. What did I learn in only six months? and would it be effective?

The very next day, I would be fighting in my first tournament as a black belt, with minimal training and no real experience. I would be going up against grown men who were bigger, stronger, faster, and more experienced. I wanted to know, to gauge myself against other fighters, and to compete. I chose to express myself that way. 

Bruce called it a game of tag, but people were being seriously injured during the "Blood and Guts" era of competition. Fighters were tagged unconscious.

I had been thinking and feeling the same way Bruce did, but I never dared to say it out loud. Instead, I stayed silent, protecting myself from criticism and rejection. I went along with the status quo, compliant, well-behaved, keeping my place. All those thoughts remained trapped in my head. But when Bruce spoke, something stirred in me. In that moment, I felt a quiet bond between us, like he had given voice to something I had long kept hidden. It's been long overdue; now is the time to speak out with dignity and respect for all other forms of expressing their ideas about martial arts, even if I disagree. 

After the finals and the conclusion of the event the following evening, it was I who had won both the Black Belt division and the Grand Championship of the event. Ed Parker invited Jhoon Rhee, Bruce, and me to a Chinese dinner to celebrate the success of the tournament and my victory.

It was during that dinner that Bruce and I formed a unique and special bond. Our relationship was never built on martial arts. It was built on two men—young, aggressive, and gifted—whose goals were the same: to be the very best versions of who we are, not just what we choose to do.

With us, it was never physical. It was always about mindset, spiritual balance, and harmony.

The most important lesson I learned many years ago was to tell the truth—to stop lying, especially to myself. To be honest in all my dealings and relationships. To accept 100% responsibility for my choices, their results, outcomes, and consequences. The values and principles of martial arts are real, and their benefits extend far beyond the dojos and training facilities into every aspect of our lives.

Everyone thinks and believes that Bruce and I shared countless training sessions. In complete truth, we only had one physical training session ever. The only physical things he ever taught me were a couple of his forms—or katas—so he could certify me in his system.

After sixty years, I've decided to tell My Time Bruce Lee, I will share stories about him no one has ever heard. They were funny, sad and serious. It will be released in the Spring of 2026.