“There is no such thing as a ‘self-made’ man. We are made up of thousands of others. Everyone who has ever done a kind deed or spoken one word of encour-agement to us, has entered into the make-up of our character and of our thoughts as well as our success.” —George Adams, philosopher

How Stirling Silliphant, One Of The 20th Century’s Greatest Writers, Became My Mentor

Chapter 8/Finale Connected at the Hip Forever!

By John Corcoran

I moved from L.A. to Tampa/St. Petersburg in central Florida from 1983-90, initially to work on a motion-picture opportunity that ultimately fizzled out. As fate would have it, while there I ended up editing yet another martial arts magazine, “Fighter International,” the first full-color publication ever produced in Ameri-can martial arts. During this seven-year period, I was mainly in touch with Stirling’s lovely wife, the glo-betrotting Tiana Alexandra-Silliphant, whose acting career was taking off, and I wrote some newspieces about her activities.

We Got a Fair Maiden Tied to the Railroad Tracks! Where the Hell’s the Hero, Hollywood?

After those seven career-challenging years in Florida, I moved back to L.A. in January 1991. Stirling and Tiana had already relocated to Bangkok, Thailand in July 1988, where he had semi-retired, and we were completely out of touch until I re-established contact with Tiana after Stirling’s death. On April 26, 1996, Stirling, at age 78, died of prostate cancer in Bangkok. His estate was left in turmoil and complicated legal entanglements and Tiana, who had returned to L.A., was overwhelmed with the complex problems of try-ing to put it in order.

Nat Segaloff, author of Stirling’s 2014 quintessen-tial biography, “The Fingers of God,” and I stepped forward for some four years to help her — and Nat more so than anybody else. This is when I met and got to know him. In an industry abounding with liars,

cutthroats and thieves, Nat stands out as the antithesis: A person of high character and a dependable man of his word. Nat had done one of the last elaborate Q&A interviews with Stirling, via countless fax exchanges with him between Bangkok and L.A. Nat and I had nothing to gain by coming to the widow’s rescue. We did it out of our mutual respect for Stirling.

Conversely, many people who had benefited profes-sionally, some magnificently so, from their connection with and to Stirling during his life were conspicu-ous by their absence! As Tiana remarked to me many times, “Where are all the people that Stirling made millionaires of now that his widow needs help?”

Adding to Tiana’s existing financial crisis was the sud-den, mysterious suspension of royalties/residuals for Stirling’s past work. Payments flow from a project’s commercial life after its first broadcast and can con-tinue to generate revenue, on a descending scale, for decades. Depending on how many runs in how many small markets, this can amount to a great deal or a great nothing. In the case of international sales, royalty checks may depend upon the veracity of the distributor.

With an astonishing output of 200 TV and movie cred-its, as both a writer and a producer, Stirling’s estate should have had a constant stream of residuals still coming in from some of them. Furthermore, produc-ers get the lion’s share of residuals. After his death, it was estimated that Stirling’s projects collectively had earned over $1-billion!

Tiana’s letter inviting me to meet her and SS in Miami.

On the other hand, toward the end of his life when he needed cash, Stirling may have sold back his screen-play share of some projects to their producers, al-though the paperwork was not forthcoming. Because of this, Tiana was convinced she was being cheated out of residuals owed to the estate. In dire straits and with the IRS pursuing her for a massive unpaid back-tax debt, at one point she found herself practically homeless.

The harsh reality of Tiana’s struggles and lack of sup-port from Stirling’s network of friends and colleagues led to my own disenchantment with Hollywood in general and screenwriting in particular. Another reason was because of something that happened at the 1997 Oscars®. Of all organizations, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences misspelled his name!

Each year at the televised Oscars©, the Academy runs a brief clip and/or picture, along with their names, of all of the Academy Award© winners who died in the previous year. When Stirling’s visual was presented, some idiot spelled his name “Sterling” Silliphant.

I was outraged. My immediate thought was, ”They oughtta fire the guy who made that error! Besides be-ing an Oscar©-winner, here’s an industry giant whose canon of TV and filmwork was probably unprecedent-ed in his era and they can’t even spell his name right!” I called Tiana right after the broadcast and we vented together over that error.

My Adventures/Misadventures as a Sideline Screenwriter

In terms of our mentor-protégé relationship, I would never become a Stirling Silliphant — and we both, of course, knew that. Compared to the King, I’m not even a vassal! He clearly recognized my passion and talent for martial arts writing. Screenwriting was just a professional sideline for me and I’ve taken a few serious shots at it over the years. Here’s a summary, starting with my first writer-producer meeting, one that would take a shocking, unforeseen turn!

In 1981, I had been in contact with Priscilla McDon-ald, a strikingly beautiful and very competent execu-tive at Cannon Films. Cannon would become a pro-digious producer of very profitable B-movies in the martial arts/ninja genre and a key player in the grow-

ing “Ninjamania” trend. Later, it produced bigger-budget mainstream films, but continued cranking out martial arts pictures.

The company was already in production on its first martial arts film, “Enter the Ninja” (released in Octo-ber 1981) when I established contact with Priscilla. I had sent her a copy of the May 1981 issue of “Kick Il-lustrated,” the magazine I was editing at the time. The cover story, which I wrote, focused on the retirement from competition of Atlanta’s Keith Vitali, America’s number-one-ranked fighter. She was apparently im-pressed by his movie-star good looks and ended up signing him to a multi-picture deal, which launched his post-competition film career.

Apparently, Priscilla liked my writing style, too. She called me one day in July 1981 to set up a meeting with me to discuss the potential of my writing a ninja-themed script for Cannon. Even before that phone call, she had sent me a script to read that was personally delivered by my old acquaintance, actor Sho Kosugi, who disliked that script and implored me to get the job to rewrite it. (Sho would go on to become the most prolific star of films in the ninja genre, playing count-less roles as both hero and villain).

There was one big problem with Cannon Films, though, and everyone in Hollywood was aware of it. The company was notorious for reputedly stiffing writers and the casts and crews that worked on its many movies. Reportedly, veteran actress Shelly Win-ters once kept an expensive diamond ring she wore while working on a Cannon-produced film as a means to force Cannon to pay her for her work. When Chuck Norris signed a multi-picture contract with Cannon, he reportedly told his stunt crew that normally worked with him that he could not guarantee any payments owed to them by Cannon.

With Priscilla’s permission, I brought an acquaintance with me named Bob Easter, a big, burly Vietnam veteran whose nickname was “Bear.” Bob was an established screenwriter with produced credits. I had no credits yet, so I knew teaming up with him could be the key to finessing the deal.

Everything commenced calmly and professionally dur-ing our pitch meeting. Then, about five minutes into it, Bob suddenly leaped out of his chair and — all kid-

My letter to Cannon Films’ Priscilla McDonald after reading a script she sent to me.

ding aside — threw a fit! He launched into a bellowing tirade about Cannon’s bad rep for not paying writers it hired and said he wasn’t about to be screwed by them on a writing gig! He was so angry I thought he was gonna turn violent and bust up the office, and I knew he was scaring the hell out of Priscilla.

After I recovered from my momentary speechless shock, I calmed him down and Priscilla quietly ad-journed the meeting. I was terribly embarrassed since I was the one who had brought Bob there. Upon leav-ing, I apologized to her profusely and did so again by phone later that day. In my cursory discussions with Bob prior to that meeting, he gave me no indication at all that he would erupt into such an ugly outburst. Understandably, that ended my potential deal on the ninja film before it could even get started!

During my “dry spell” in Florida, I wrote two tele-plays on “speculation” (which means you hope to sell them), for “Moonlighting” and for “The Twilight Zone,” neither of which sold. But, of the more than 100 rejection letters I’ve received over my writing career (mostly from mainstream magazines), the un-usual one from “The Twilight Zone” exec producer is my favorite (see attached letter). Framed, it occupies a prominent position on my office wall today.

My First and Only Screenplay Credit

Finally, in 1992 I got my first — and only — produced screenplay credit. As fate would have it, too, it was a martial arts film and, just as strange, it was a Cannon Films production. Entitled “American Samurai,” it is best known for having launched co-star Mark Dacas-cos’ (“Hawaii 5-0”) long acting career which contin-ues to this day.

It was a strange twist of fate because I just happened to be working with my friend, veteran screenwriter George Goldsmith, at his home on a spec science-fiction script at the time. We were halfway through it when Cannon called George out of nowhere in a panic urgently requesting his help. They had commissioned four different scripts for “American Samurai” and none of them worked. Further, principal photography was set to begin in Israel in just two weeks! Even fur-ther, they had blown most of their screenplay budget on the unusable scripts and had only $12,500 left to pay him for a script that had to be written in just one

week! But at least, they already had the basic storyline cemented and could dictate most of what they wanted in the script.

George took the deal, brought me in on it, and we immediately leaped into action. As a Writer’s Guild member, union regulations prevented him from writ-ing a non-union, low-budget picture. So, he mentored me as I wrote it, giving me a updated crash course in screenwriting and earning me full screen credit.

I was very rusty at the craft of screenwriting at that time in 1991 (“American Samurai” was released the next year) and was trying to resurrect my film-writing career after it had practically languished during my seven years in Florida. George, kindly, advised me on the more complex work, but I had no trouble doing the action and fight scenes.

I was ecstatic! There I was, sitting outside in George’s yard with a laptop, basking under an umbrella in the L.A. sun, sipping an occasional cocktail, and making money to write a martial arts movie! (Yes, Cannon did pay!) The screenplay was finished in five days.

Apart from screenwriting, I had a ball playing a stunt-fighter in about ten martial arts films from 1991-97, mostly those starring my old friend Don “The Dragon” Wilson. My new friend at the time was fight coordina-tor/film director Art Camacho, who hired me for the majority of these movies.

Stirling’s name cropped up there, too. In 1991, I was visiting the set of Don Wilson’s “Bloodfist III: Forced to Fight” when I ran into Don’s co-star, Rich-ard Roundtree, during a break. Stirling had produced 1971’s “Shaft,” the role that made Richard famous, and exec-produced two sequels, 1972’s “Shaft’s Big Score” and 1973’s “Shaft in Africa.”

I mentioned to Richard that he and I had shaken hands at Stirling’s 1981 party. He stunned me by not only instantly remembering the party, but even the street, Kings Road, where it was held! We discussed Stirling for a while and Richard expressed his deep respect for him as a filmmaker and as a person. Stirling had always championed minorities. Richard and Bruce Lee are two fine examples.

I estimate I’ve received over 100 rejection letters throughout my writing career from magazine, book, TV and film mediums. Here’s my all-time favorite rejection letter, from the exec producer of “The Twilight Zone.” It actually says something extraordinary! Most rejection notices are photocopied and about two sentences long. Film insiders recently informed me that, today, you don’t even get a rejection slip; their queries go unanswered.

The Haunting “Silent Flute”/”Circle of Iron” Connection

There’s a long and very strange yet fascinating con-nection between “The Silent Flute” movie and me. Even though I was never involved in the actual pic-ture, it keeps mysteriously reentering my life over many decades.

I first read about it in October of 1969, when “Black Belt” published an article about Bruce Lee teaming up with Stirling and actor James Coburn on the dream project. Seeing the pictures of Bruce and Stirling together in that “BB” article sharpened my interest in Stirling. To me, he exuded charisma and confidence and looked every bit the part of what I perceived a rich and successful Hollywood writer should look like.

I was a 20-year-old karate brown belt living in my hometown of Pittsburgh, PA at the time and was already having aspirations, however naive, about becoming a writer someday. I did have the natural gift

for it. An opportunity arose to prove it to myself. In 1970, I switched karate styles and began training in a different system with a new instructor in downtown Pittsburgh. I was a student attending technical school for architectural drafting, working part time and, naturally, was flat broke. So I offered to write press releases about the new instructor for the local mediain return for my lessons, and he agreed. Subsequently, every time I sent out press releases on him, I got ink!

Further, all of “BB” magazine’s buzz about martial arts films underlined my personal reasons for eventu-ally moving to Los Angeles, the martial arts Mecca, in late 1972. My burning desire was to become a “real” professional writer. That dream came true for me in June of 1973 when I was hired by “Black Belt” maga-zine and its book-publishing branch, Ohara Publica-tions. As it turned out, I was the first black belt to work as an editor of “Black Belt.” Since then, I have written millions of words about the martial arts and built a global reputation in my field.

German-language “American Samurai” DVD box covers, showing my credit as screenwriter.

Here are the other major events in the odd, recurring chain of “Silent Flute” connections:

- Circa November 1978: Met Stirling for the first time in person at its pre-release screening. (Nine years after reading the “BB” article.)

- January 2007: Over 27 years after meeting Stirling (and post-“BB” 37+), I participated in a bonus audio featurette for “The Silent Flute’s” (a.k.a., “Cir-cle of Iron’s”) home-video DVD release. My instruc-tor, Joe Lewis, who had worked on the picture, was participating in a separate featurette and referred the production company to me. They wanted to republish my quintessential martial arts interview with Stirling from 1980. When I told them I still had the original re-cording tape from that interview and would grant them permission to use it at no cost to them, they were overjoyed!

- January 2014: Nat Segaloff’s definitive biog-raphy, “Stirling Silliphant: The Fingers of God,” was published (34+ years after meeting Stirling and 44+ years post-“BB” feature). He devoted an entire chapter to Bruce Lee, focusing primarily on Stirling’s “Silent Flute” collaboration with Bruce and actor James Co-burn. And Nat was kind enough to quote me at some length, not only in that chapter but also elsewhere in his meticulous book.

Summary

Stirling and I had the profession of writing in com-mon, but it was really our mutual love of the martial arts that forged the strong bond between us. Studying, in retrospect, all of my detailed interaction with him within these memoirs, I’ve come to an undeniable conclusion. My quintessential interview with him and our relationship that blossomed from it, I believe now, reignited his passion for the martial arts unlike anyone or anything else had since his earlier relationship with Bruce Lee.

As I write this finale in December 2016, I’ve spent 49.5 years in the martial arts since my first karate les-son in August of 1967, and 43.5 years writing about it. Throughout this lifelong involvement, I’ve often been told I have a passionate enthusiasm for the martial arts that’s quite contagious. I know it rubbed off on Stir-ling.

In essence, after a five-year absence following the dismal outcome of his “Killer Elite” picture, I brought him back full- throttle into the pastime he so much loved, and made him feel like “one of us” — a martial artist — again. Stirling was transferring the love he had had for “Silent Flute” to his new pet martial arts project, “The Masters,” and he was renewing old re-lationships and establishing new ones with prominent black belts and champions in our community.

My relationship with Stirling remains a personal and professional highlight of my life. I was truly blessed by his acceptance and mentorship. And I’m proud to have been instrumental in restoring his passion for the martial arts after a long lapse.

Fate is a very strange accomplice indeed. I am appar-ently forever connected at the hip with master sto-ryteller Stirling Silliphant, one of the 20th-century’s

Circle of Iron’s” (a.k.a., “The Silent Flute’s”) 2007 DVD box cover. My audio-taped interview with SS was professionally duplicated and used as one of the “extra” features to help sell the home video.

greatest writers. However odd, it can probably be summed up in this quote I like by film producer/direc-tor Arne Glimcher. “We create our own fate. Your life moves in patterns toward things, and things that we achieve finally are part of this mosaic.”

Book covers of author Nat Segaloff’s extraordinary SS biography, released in 2014, in which he liberally quoted me in general and, in particular, in the chapter “Enter, the Dragon.”

Author bio:

John Corcoran is a veteran black belt in karate who started his training in 1967. He launched his literary career in 1973 and has written millions of words about the martial arts in an acclaimed body of work encom-passing 12 books, one screenplay and the editorship of 24 magazines. In 2004, he was inducted into the Martial Arts History Museum Hall of Fame, receiv-ing its elite Funakoshi Award, named after the iconic “Father of Modern Karate.” His other main mentors are renowned Hollywood columnist and best-selling mainstream author Joe Hyams, who was also a substi-tute father figure, and World Heavyweight Karate and Kickboxing Champion Joe Lewis.

Letter from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (the Oscar® organization), accepting my memoirs for inclusion in its Stirling Silliphant Collection.