Issue 068
October 2010
He’s the grizzled fight pioneer who sculpted ‘The Iceman’. Fighters Only rode by John Hackleman’s notoriously Spartan training facility ‘The Pit’ to talk old-school dojo feuds, punching trees and raising a champion.
John Hackleman should’ve been on TV before TUF 11. Viewers immediately warmed to a veteran one forum poster described as “a cross between your favorite grandparent and one of those Sons of Anarchy guys.” But here’s 50-year-old John in his own words:
“I’m a combination of Miyagi, Richard Simmons, Walt Kowalski from Gran Torino, and the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket. Chuck actually called me from the movie (Gran Torino), going, ‘John, we’re watching a movie about you!’” Having trained at The Pit for a while now, I can see where the most dominant light heavyweight champ of all time’s coming from.
Living since the 1980s in the backwoods of a small central Californian coast town, John Hackleman’s home is nestled into the base of a mountain, at the end of a long, steep driveway. It’s also the location of the world-famous Pit training compound. Built on the blood and sweat of the fighters who train there, The Pit has no bells and even fewer whistles. Instead, the facility bellows, with a sense of simple purpose, “survive.” Residing in what was once John’s backyard, the training compound is a throwback. Wheelbarrows filled with weights sit patiently at the bottom of the sheer driveway. Medicine balls scatter the ground like rocks; and fighters, with caveman-like elegance, smash them into decrepit posts. The outdoor cage has needed replacing several times. And right next to John’s home itself is a leaning tree with knuckle marks permanently embedded into its bark. This is the house that John built. This is where the Chuck Liddell of MMA lore was forged. Though both men are great champions, there was no Iceman before John Hackleman, but there was a John Hackleman, pre-ice age.
New York-born, John was raised on Hawaii. Growing up as a white kid in a predominantly native neighborhood getting tough, fast, was a necessity. John began training with the notable master of Hawaiian kempo, Professor Walter Godin. Under Godin’s instruction, John indeed hardened up swiftly. The young fighter was kept on the relative straight and narrow, not falling victim to a street life of crime and drugs. “[Godin] always took really good care of me, watched over me and gave me a lot of direction,” says John. “He did more for me than I can really put into words.”
Like so many great fighters before him, Hackleman used combat sports to pull himself up and out. Fighting professionally from the age of 14, ‘Hack’ fought for the All Army Boxing Team and gained momentum through underground fight rings. Given his former profession as a prison nurse and countless pro-boxing championships this makes the story of how John Hackleman met Chuck Liddell almost reasonable.
It’s the stuff hammy karate movies are made of. Moving to the mainland, John’s reputation as a fighter preceded him. So much so that local martial arts instructors threw down the gauntlet to him, demanding a clash of styles. “[Chuck] was doing some form of karate then, and his instructor actually called me and kinda... challenged me.” In typical Hackleman fashion he responded: “‘We could do a sparring match where anything goes, like a street fight.’ So he invited me down to the gym.” When he showed up to fight John was met with a surprise.
“He said, ‘You’re not going to spar me, you’re going to spar one of my guys.’ And he pointed me toward Chuck.” At the time Liddell was the karate gym’s tough local hero. “Chuck has his version. He says I beat him up for 19 minutes, and yada yada, but we sparred. I don’t think anybody really beat anybody up, but I showed him that there are other styles out there. And after we were done sparring he asked me if I would work with him, and I said ‘Yeah.’ He showed up the next morning and we’ve worked together ever since.”
The rest is MMA history. Chuck Liddell skyrocketed to the top of the sport, defining a new era of dominance for strikers. His patented sprawl ‘n’ brawl style forced an evolution in the sport. But what makes Chuck adored by fans is his KO rate. And it was Hackleman who gave Chuck the knowledge, technique and thunder to ensure a finish. “How many takedowns can bring the guy to his face? When they fall forward like a tree, that’s like the best takedown you can get!” John Hackleman, laughing, describes his favorite takedown: the left hook. It’s easy to connect the dots. Hackleman and his greatest student have both put their fare share of opponents to the mat this way. Thanks to Chuck and John stand-up resurged, ending an epoch dominated by ground ‘n’ pound fighters like Tito Ortiz and Mark Coleman.
Fighters and trainers often bond firmly. But Hackleman and Liddell are extremely close. That mumbling Chuck’s notorious for in TV interviews? Hackleman sometimes does it too, and what’s ‘mumbling’ to us is elegant discourse to them. They instinctively know what each other is thinking and feeling.
As Liddell’s career winds down, Hackleman is reflecting. “I want to concentrate more on the gym and my schools,” he says, “family gyms that all have the same philosophy and system.” At heart, Hackleman is a martial artist with simple tastes. “I just want to run schools and teach martial arts and fitness, then fade into obscurity.”
The world will remember The Iceman on its own terms, but this is how John sees Chuck: “The face of the UFC, the guy that went out the way he came in – just like a f**kin’ warrior. A guy that would stand up and trade with anyone in the world. He would never turn a fight down. He’d face any obstacle,” John pauses, then resumes. “He was five seconds away from winning the whole fight with Rich Franklin, but then he smelled just a little bit of blood and said ‘F**k it, I’m going to drop my hands and go all out.’ That’s Chuck, that was Chuck right there.” That was John right there too. Every win. Every loss. They did it together.
