Hank Reinhardt's Book of Knives: A Practical and Illustrated Guide to Knife Fighting

by Hank Reinhardt

  Hank taught me that learning and discovery never dies.

  And that this man is much bigger than his legend.

  IF

  If you can keep your head when all about you

  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

  If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

  But make allowance for their doubting too:

  If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

  Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

  Or being hated don’t give way to hating,

  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

  If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,

  If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

  And treat those two impostors just the same:.

  If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

  Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

  If you can make one heap of all your winnings

  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

  And lose, and start again at your beginnings,

  And never breathe a word about your loss:

  If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

  To serve your turn long after they are gone,

  And so hold on when there is nothing in you

  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

  If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

  If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

  If all men count with you, but none too much:

  If you can fill the unforgiving minute

  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

  Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

  by Rudyard Kipling

  HENDERSON HATFIELD HEATHERLY III

  One of Hank’s most attentive students bears the impressive name of Henderson Hatfield Heatherly III, a fellow of awesome height and weight who spent years as a deputy for the Jefferson County (Alabama) Sheriff’s Department. “Happy,” as he is known to everyone, is quick to admit: “What I learned from Hank Reinhardt saved my life on several occasions.”

  One such occasion came in 1981 when Happy cornered a suspect who pulled a knife and began tossing it from hand to hand as bad guys are likely to do in Hollywood films. “I had him cornered but my gun was concealed and I couldn’t get to it,” Happy said. “So, I did what Hank taught me: I waited until the knife was in the air, and I charged and overpowered him. Then I pulled my blackjack and wore him out.”

  Happy’s expertise with the blackjack is exceeded only by his ability with the police baton, and that is due to hours spent with Hank fighting with sword and shield. In another incident he disarmed a knife-wielder by whacking the felon on the hand with a baton.

  Hank’s teachings were helpful long before Happy got into law enforcement. “In my youth a boy pulled a knife on me, but he didn’t know what to do. He was holding the knife way out in front of him like thugs in the movies. So I did what Hank said and cut him on the arm,” Happy concluded.

  Although law officers don’t customarily carry knives, they are constantly menaced by blades both sharp and dull. The problem is so common that the FBI operates a Street Survival School teaching policemen what to do when confronted by one of man’s oldest weapons. Happy took the course and says he was the only member of the class who knew what to do in a certain tight situation.

  “I was standing near a table when they flashed a projection of a guy coming at me with a knife,” Happy said. “I ran behind the table, then drew my paint ball gun and shot him twice. Then I retreated up a stair and shot him two more times. Hank always told us to get something between us and the attacker. The rest of the class tried to shoot first and they all got cut.”

  MIKE JANICH

  As I recall, I first learned of Hank Reinhardt through several articles that he wrote for Blade magazine (and its predecessor American Blade) back in the late 1970s. At that time, I was a teenager just getting into knives and I was impressed with Hank’s writing style. It was a unique blend of well-spoken, down-to-earth eloquence, sound logic, and a wry sense of humor.

  Years later, I became a both fan and frequent customer of Atlanta Cutlery and its partner business Museum Replicas. I especially enjoyed the Museum Replicas catalog since its product descriptions were much more than sales pitches; they actually provided deep historical insight into the origins, design, and function of each weapon or piece of armor. Although I was primarily interested in the Asian martial arts, through the Museum Replicas catalog I developed a much deeper understanding and appreciation for European arms and armor. Once again, the man behind that company—and the information it shared in its catalog—was Hank Reinhardt. Although I had never met the man, I realized that he had taught me quite a lot.

  In 1994, I founded Paladin Press’s video production department. As part of my duties as the department manager, it was my job to evaluate project proposals from potential authors and analyze market trends. For example, if there was a particular topic or book that was selling well, I would try to build on that interest by adapting it to video. Through my analysis, I realized that there was a significant interest in historical arms and armor and in the tactics of their use, but there was very little good information available on the subject in video format. From a business perspective, it seemed to be a great opportunity. From a personal perspective, I hoped it would be my chance to work with Hank Reinhardt.

  I contacted Museum Replicas and asked them to have Hank give me a call. He called me the very next day and I explained my idea to him. He admitted that he was intrigued by the concept, but that he’d like to meet me and discuss it in person before he made a formal commitment. I agreed and quickly talked my boss into funding a trip to visit Hank to try to persuade him to work with Paladin.

  Several weeks later, I flew to Atlanta and met Hank at his home. Walking into his living room was like entering a museum—it was filled with antique arms and armor from all over the world. Hank immediately recognized my fascination with his collection and proceeded to give me a guided tour of it in his own inimitable style. The consummate blend of museum curator and Southern gentleman, he patiently explained each piece, its origin, its combative applications, and the historical references he used to divine his information. The depth of his knowledge and the enthusiasm with which he shared it were amazing.

  After several hours, Hank had worked his way through all the pieces on the main floor of his house and there was a pregnant pause in our conversation. Finally, he looked at me and asked, “Do you want to spar?” Although I wasn’t sure exactly what I was getting into, I responded “Sure,” and followed him down into the basement. Once again, I was amazed at what I saw. There were literally hundreds of swords, spears, axes, halberds, bows, and practically any other traditional weapon you could think of. In the middle of it all was a fully equipped workshop and a large open area apparently reserved for training.

  Hank knew that my background focused mostly on the Asian martial arts and knife fighting, so he suggested that we spar with knives. He handed me a wooden training Bowie with a foam-padded “edge” and a fencing mask, and then equipped himself with the same. As I donned the mask and assumed a guard position, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. At that time, Hank was sixty-five years old and had recently been hospitalized with pneumonia. He also suffered from chronic respiratory problems. I certainly didn’t want to insult him by refusing his offer to spar, but at the same time, I didn’t want to do anything that would endanger his health.

  Fortunately, Hank quickly “clarified” the situation. He assumed a guard position and we touched blades as he asked me if I was ready. I replied that I
was and we both circled slowly, sizing each other up and offering a few tentative feints. Then, without a hint of telegraphing, he exploded forward and hit me dead-center in the fencing mask with a snap cut. The speed and fluidity of his movement was amazing and it was clear that he wasn’t holding back.

  Since he had been kind enough to set the standard for our match, I felt compelled to respond in kind. After circling a bit more, I feinted high to raise his guard and then lunged forward. Stepping on his lead foot to trap it in place, I hacked twice across his thigh and quickly backed away. As I did, Hank stopped, looked at me for a moment, and began to remove his mask. At first, my heart sunk as I thought that I had offended him. But as his mask came off, I could see that he was smiling ear to ear. He reached out his hand to shake mine and said, “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  By the time I had finished my visit with Hank, we had agreed to shoot a video called The Myth of the Sword and had laid the groundwork for a second video titled Viking Sword. These two videos were among my proudest accomplishments as Paladin’s video producer, as they not only dispelled many of the myths that surrounded swords and their use, but they also documented at least a small portion of Hank’s encyclopedic knowledge for posterity.

  Working with Hank was an incredible honor and an amazing educational experience. Although his books and videos offer only a small glimpse into his broad knowledge of arms and armor, they are priceless resources for all modern students of the topic and a fitting legacy to a remarkable man.

  NILS ONSAGER

  Hank and I met back in the late 1980s, at the time I was jousting and a mutual friend introduced Hank as the “Sword Guy.” You see, we used to fight with swords as part of our joust show and we would break them all the time. So we need a source for good swords. That was Hank.

  My first visit to Hank’s apartment was a little overwhelming. Literally every wall was covered with a weapon; corners were stockpiled with weapons. I was in heaven—or more accurately Valhalla. His welcoming nature and abundant knowledge were the foundation of our friendship. At the time, I had been teaching martial arts and had a second degree black belt in hapkido (a Korean form of self-defense). That first visit, we talked for about four hours, I left wiser and with a few swords.

  Over the next few years, Hank and I developed a friendship. But it was more; in martial arts terms it was student and master. I had studied knife as part of my martial arts training, and Hank was naturally suspect, at the time, of the martial arts being a lot of hype. I had also spent a lot of time doing theatrical or movie sword fighting, of which Hank often said, you can’t do both real and fake. He set out to prove his points and I set out to disprove them. To this day I am not sure who was right, but regardless, it shaped the nature of our relationship. There was lots of friendly banter.

  Sessions with Hank were a mix of lecture, demonstration, lab work, and sweat. After a time, I brought some of my senior students and black belts with me. Hank was a natural instructor; he taught by doing. He delighted in besting opponents half or a quarter of his age, while at the same time, teaching us. With my students, we focused primarily on the knife and we spent many an afternoon in his driveway training.

  Hank’s method of knife fighting was always the same but executed differently, he would win through superior aggression and speed. When I spar, I have two levels: teaching and winning. Hank only sparred with one level, winning. He always taught, but those lessons were separate from the sparring session. He believed firmly in we act as we train, and Hank trained to win.

  This book contains many of the stories and life-lessons Hank would cite while killing you with incredible speed and jovial nature. The best lesson I learned from Hank was not one delivered in a story, but rather the way he fought. I often say, you never really know a person until you fight with them. How someone faces danger, risk, opportunity, victory, defeat, and life are all there for one to see when you fight them. I loved fighting Hank. Didn’t matter if it was sword, knife, or pole axe. He was more than just a teacher to me, but rather represented the way to approach life.

  In martial arts, I learned from Hank that everything sounds great, but if it doesn’t work on the mat, it doesn’t work. Martial arts should be a lab, not just a static set of moves. And as the world experiences changes, so must the martial arts. I applied this lesson when working on flight deck defense training after 9-11. Fighting and sparring can’t be learned in books; it must be experiences, mulled around in your brain, tested, retested, and taught.

  One of Hank’s martial arts stories was about a karate school (I won’t mention which one). They were sure they could not be touched in a knife fight and entreated Hank to spar with them so they could show him and the world. He refused for a while, mostly due to their aggrandizement. Finally, he agreed.

  The fight went like this:

  Their master squared off with Hank, who had a practice knife. Pennants blew in the wind. The sweat gleamed from stone features. In a flash Hank feigned an attack. The master did a perfectly timed dive roll and stood into Hank’s re-positioned knife. In protest, the master exclaimed, “You can’t fake an attack.”

  Hank taught me in the movie world to base fights on reality. I often have actors learn how to fight with a weapon before we choreograph a fight for a film. When filming a gun fight, actors must go to the range first. It makes the emotions they express so much more grounded. When I train with other stunt people, we base the fights on the real world first.

  When fighting, Hank was a god. He was Mozart playing the piano. He didn’t win every sparring match, but he learned and delighted in everyone that he fought with. He held honor and integrity as the virtues of being and strove to help those who were not (off the planet). When someone is gone, we idealize them, forgetting they were human, but with Hank, I remember the fights, the amazing fights.

  Hank’s fighting style was direct and simple. He was aggressive and adaptive. The techniques he demonstrated were obvious, after he showed them. His style of teaching became my style of teaching over the years. His style of fighting was unique. He put himself into each bout.

  In life, Hank taught me to be direct and simple with a friend; be aggressive; enjoy the fight, not the victories; expect honor and value loyalty. Knife fighting should be an extension of this: Be aggressive when the fight is joined, adapt, simple is best, deception works once, and when in doubt, just smile.

  The last time I fought with Hank, we were on stage at a convention. As it turns out, he was not feeling well, suffering from heart failure. But we did spar and even though it was in front of four hundred or so people, it was just the two of us alone. I luckily videotaped the entire presentation: there is no mistaking people having the time of their lives trying to kill each other.

  HANK AND HIS KNIVES: A REMINISCENCE

  JOHN MADDOX ROBERTS

  You just couldn’t separate Hank from the subject of blades. Sometimes it was swords, sometimes axes. Spears and arrows came into the conversation from time to time, since they were bladed weapons. But always it was knives. The design changed from time to time. Daggers were always there—the classic medieval fighting knife. He’d be into the seax for a while, when he was in a Viking mood. The Arab jambiyah had an inning, and he crafted a beautiful, crescent-bladed one for his own use, though he could never quite settle on a satisfactory handle for it. It was the Bowie for a short time, though Hank never developed a real affection for the classic American blade. During his last few years he was devoted to the Gurkha kukri. He went all the way to Kathmandu to get kukris and more obscure bladed items. That’s dedication for you. Kathmandu, for God’s sake.

  I first met Hank in early spring of 1970. We’d been corresponding for about a year before that. I was in the Army and had some leave time before being sent overseas so I flew down to Birmingham to meet this guy who was into the same sort of odd stuff I was. He picked me up at the airport and we started talking as we schlepped my duffel bag out to his car. We talked on the drive into tow
n and on the walk to his apartment and we kept on talking all that evening, grabbed a few hours sleep and resumed talking as soon as we were awake. This kept up for three or four days. Hank’s wife, Janet, later said that Hank couldn’t talk for a week after I left.

  Sometimes our conversation veered into exotic territory, such as the proper design for a Barsoomian longsword, since Edgar Rice Burroughs had been so sketchy with his descriptions. I’d come prepared with my drawings of my design. Needless to say, Hank had his own drawings. We discussed them vociferously. Most of these conversations took place in Hank’s den or study, what would now be called his man-cave. I think Hank would have liked that term. His walls were decorated with his collection. I’d never seen so many swords outside a museum. Literally dozens. Well, maybe two dozen, anyway. This was 1970, remember.

  In later years his man-cave was much bigger, constituting his whole house, actually, and he’d have to clear away that many blades just to find one book that had a reference he needed to prove some point. In these later years there arose the phenomenon of the “Hank closet.” Everyone who knew him remembers the Hank closet. You opened its door at peril of your life, because out would tumble several hundred swords, bare blades and many nameless but nonetheless lethal items which you’d have to stack back inside, getting grease and rust all over your clothes in the process. He had some pretty good stuff in there, though. I still have some of that stuff.

  But back to 1970. Sometimes we’d get tired of just talking so we’d go outside and across the street to a little park and there we’d fight and talk. Hank loved the sword and shield stuff, mainly because he always won. He was much taller than me, with long arms, so I never stood much of a chance. But then we’d switch to knives and I did much better, because I was in top physical condition back then, and was sneaky and treacherous. Hank was no slouch in the treachery department either, but he had the big man’s arrogance while I had the smaller man’s basic wisdom that you get through this life alive by waiting for the other guy to get distracted or turn his back. We’d have made a pretty good Fafhrd and Mouser team, and we talked about that, too.