R.I.P. les stacpoole

I was Les’ longest-term Tai Chi student, starting my training with him around 2002. I met him through one of those chance interactions that, in hindsight, look a lot like fate. I got to know him pretty well, and trained with him once or twice a week, eventually picking up most of the variations that he learned from his own teacher, Dr Chen. His attention to detail was amazing. It was also occasionally frustrating, as I’d think I’d finally be doing a movement perfectly, only to be corrected by him on some small component of the sequence. 

Training with Les was not like learning from other teachers. In contrast to some of the stern, strictly-focused Masters I've studied under, Les would turn up whenever (vaguely in the ballpark of the agreed time), and would sometimes want to discuss a topic or idea seemingly unrelated to Tai Chi. before we even moved a muscle. After a while, we'd get into it, and often Les would have an idea, principle, or new insight that he would want to share with us, based on his personal practice (he practiced Tai Chi daily for almost all the time I knew him), which would help us to improve our skills. Les was happy to address any questions, about specific details or broader concepts, and would also freely admit what he didn't know. Any mistakes made throughout would be corrected by isolating and repeating that part of the form. All of this added up to a unique and enjoyable environment to learn, practice and grow. Les was adamant he didn't change anything that he learnt from Dr Chen, but I'm certain that his personality, skills and quirks meant there ended up being a fair bit of difference, and so while it might have been a "Yang Style" Tai Chi curriculum, it was a "Les Style" experience. 

This continued right up until this year. The last time I saw him, I drove us to a small park near his aged care facility, and he was pretty uncharacteristically flat and “over it”. He walked about 10 metres, with his cane, then plonked down on the nearest bench. I started demonstrating the Tai Chi form, and he immediately picked up on some details that needed improvement. As I proceeded through the whole 20-minute form, he perked up a bit, throwing in anecdotes about Dr Chen, and from his life as a musician, while still giving me ways to improve my practice. We had lunch at a nearby Mexican place (still open to trying new things!), and a good chat, and when I dropped him back, he was joking and laughing again. As he got out of the car, he parted with his famous (to me, anyway) line: “Whatever happens, don’t let ‘em catch ya!”.

Les was for a time a regular client at my acupuncture clinic. The only client I ever had who was so relaxed he was falling asleep AS I was putting the needles in. While making up his herbal prescriptions in the next room, I‘d hear him snoring like a chainsaw (as well as a Tai Chi Master, he was also a sleep Master – he told me of power-napping under a pub table between sets with the band). He was the healthiest old guy I knew, until, all of a sudden, he wasn’t. Some pretty serious heart issues nearly ended his journey multiple times, and seeing him have a heart attack during a Tai Chi class was terrifying. Yet through it all, he was accepting and sanguine about his situation, insisting that life was still “mighty”, and what was the point in fighting old age? He charmed every health professional he crossed paths with.

Anyone who knew Les can tell you about his easy-going nature and fantastic sense of humour. He was constantly cracking up (and cracking us up), with little asides and funny digressions peppered through every conversation. If the good-natured Aussie larrikin is still a thing, Les might be the last, finest, example. He brought an introvert like me out of my shell, and gave me the confidence to start teaching Tai Chi (and making my own lame jokes), even providing references when I applied for instructing positions. Beyond Tai Chi, Les was always giving life and music advice, and even helped me move house once! 

I owe him so much, and it’s hard to imagine that I can no longer call him up for a chat, or to arrange a date for Tai Chi and lunch. He’ll be sadly missed, but I also realise he wasn’t overly sentimental, and that the best way for me to honour him is to carry on the Tai Chi tradition with as much of his skill, generosity, and ease as I can muster.

Check ya Les,
Simon