SOMBAT TASANAPRASERT A Eulogy

 We mourn the passing of one of my dearest and oldest friends, Sombat (Paul) Tasanaprasert, who died January 4, 2022, in Bangkok, Thailand. He had been in and out of the hospital since June, 2021, after open heart surgery. Through good times and some of my worst times, Sombat and his devoted wife Keila were there by my side. During my 1980 murder trial, Sombat sat on the front row in the courtroom, glowering at the parade of perjured witnesses. Throughout my imprisonment, Sombat, Keila and their wonderful children have visited me in prisons across the state as Father Time took his toll on us all.

I met Sombat in the Fall of 1968, my freshman year at the University of South Florida, through my high school friend, Tony Puerta, from the Yucatan, Mexico. He directed me to a large old wooden house north of USF's sprawling campus. I could hear the din before we got out my car. It sounded like a crowd of people were shouting at each other in half a dozen languages.

There were only about twelve of them, most of them beseeching Sombat to hang up the phone so they could call their loved ones around the world, too. It seemed a frequent occurrence, Sombat calling collect to his family in Bangkok and talking for an hour or two every night.

Only about six international students actually stayed there, sharing the rent, but at least a dozen would crash out on couches, sleeping bags and easy chairs every night. It reminded me of what I'd heard about European hostels. Most of those students were poor, and Sombat usually had people packed in his new Oldsmobile, hitching rides here and there.

Sombat and I hit it off immediately, starting a friendship that would endure for over fifty years.

We both loved playing golf, and USF had a beautiful golf course, a dollar each, student rate, three dollars for golf cart rental. Monday mornings at 7:30 the golf course was usually empty, after a busy weekend. We often had the place to ourselves. We always wore shorts, to facilitate wading in the water hazards and collecting the expensive golf balls lost over the weekend, then using them for driving practice. One day Sombat wanted to see how long the electric golf cart would last. We played forty-five holes before the golf cart gave out— two-and-a-half eighteen hole rounds! We played fast with no one in front of us. When we got back to the clubhouse, Sombat told the cashier the cart was no good, it quit, and got the three dollar rental refunded.

Sombat was an excellent golfer, but an even better hustler. Neither of us had much money, going to college and working part-time, me as a grocery store bagboy and Sombat as the head bellman at the Hawaiian Village hotel resort. When we got our golf clubs out of the car, two early bird professors asked if we wanted to play a foursome.

Sure.

Sombat winked at me. Professors had money.

Sombat held up a five dollar bill. "You wanna put a five each on the front nine?"

They did. We teed off.

Five dollars each wasn't much money, but Sombat had no intention of leaving it at that. After a couple of holes he had the measure of our opponents.

He would tell me, "You want to get him to play against himself."

We were at a long par five that wrapped around a lake. You could play it safe and hit two shorter drives along the fairway, or be bold and aim your shot across the lake. If you hit the ball far enough, you could "drive the lake," the ball crossing the water and landing much nearer the putting green. It was easy to misjudge the shot, though, your ball splashing into the lake.

If no one was coming up behind us, most Mondays we would stop at that hole and practice driving the lake with a few dozen golf balls we'd collected at a previous water hazard. Sombat was an excellent driver, and could hit the ball a mile, it seemed. I was nowhere near his level, but I had my moments.

The better of the professors teed up his expensive golf ball, aiming to make two safe shots around the lake, staying on the fairway.

"I'll bet you ten you can't drive the lake," Sombat said. Get him to play against himself.

The professor stopped, looked at the lake, and turned back to Sombat.

"I'll take that."

He adjusted his stance, aimed more to the left, toward the lake, and swung. The ball looked good, maybe two hundred yards, then plopped into the water five yards from shore. The professor was so angry that he almost threw his expensive golf club in the lake.

"Double or nothing?" the professor offered, after he'd cooled down. He had come so close with his first shot. The second shot followed the first into the lake. Sombat commiserated with the loser.

It went like that the rest of the round. The professors lost over a hundred dollars, all their cash. Back in the locker room a chess set sat on a bench.

"You play chess?" Sombat asked. "Smart man like you probably a grandmaster. You wanna win some of your money back?"

He did. He was a good chess player. But an hour later the chastened opponent had to pull out his checkbook to cover his losses.

Sombat was an even better chess player than golfer.

My brother, Tom Norman, was a nationally-recognized taxidermist. People would bring him deer heads and trophy bass to mount. One of his favorite subjects was large eastern diamondback rattlesnakes, full body mounts of the menacing reptiles coiled and poised to strike. One day Tom asked me if I wanted to go snake hunting. Sure.

Rattlesnakes share habitat with Florida Gopher tortoises, dry sandy soil, mostly covered with palmettos. Gopher tortoises dig tunnels at an angle, sometimes twenty feet deep. If a Gopher tortoise abandons its tunnel, one or more rattlesnakes will take it over. My brother would bring his tools: a twenty-five foot water hose, a gasoline can, a snake hook — a cut-off broom handle with a curved steel hook to pick up the snake or pin it down.

Tom would run the hose down the hole and jiggle it. He would hold his end of the hose to his ear and listen. If there were any rattlesnakes down there, they would rattle up a storm. Tom would pour an ounce or so of gasoline into the hose, then blow the fumes down into the hole. Get out of the way! Any rattlesnake in that hole would come pouring out. He would pin down the reptile with the snake hook, then put it in the burlap bag that I held open.

What does that have to do with Sombat? I'm getting there. This is a classic Sombat story that very few people know about.

A few days later I stopped by to see Sombat at the Hawaiian Village. All the bellhops wore Hawaiian print shirts, and with his dark, exotic good looks many people thought Sombat was Hawaiian. I told him about my snake-hunting excursion. His face lit up. Sombat smelled money to be made.

"You have one of those snakes?" he asked.

"Not right now, but I can call my brother. He has them all the time."

And he did. That morning someone had brought him a rattlesnake over six feet long. He agreed to let me borrow his snake that afternoon.

Sombat was keenly sensitive to the vibes others gave off, and he could easily change the perceptions others had of him. He was a great actor. He was highly intelligent, breezing through the most difficult math and engineering classes. He spoke Thai, Lao, Greek, Arabic and English, that I knew of. He lived in Egypt before coming to Tampa, and his sole brush with Hollywood was as Tyrone Power's movie stunt double, pushing Gina Lollabrigida's rear end onto a camel about forty times, until the director was satisfied and yelled, "Cut!"

I can't remember the name of the movie, but you can google it.

He could also appear stupid, disarming people who thought they were getting over on him. They weren't.

Sombat could be the Charlie Chan-type stereotypical Asian with the broken English who had difficulty understanding a condescending redneck, all the while trying his best not to start laughing, or he could be the most sincere, sensitive and generous person to a friend or family member who needed help. On this afternoon of "Sombat and the Snake," he chose to be the simpleminded bellhop toward the hotel manager, Sam Taub, a miserly man who squeezed every nickel from a highly successful operation. The bellhops were paid a mere pittance, relying on tips from the hotel guests.

I opened the trunk of my car and nudged the burlap bag with the snake hook, setting off the rattlesnake within.

"Can you take it out?"

I grabbed the burlap bag and flung the rattlesnake onto the lawn, the reptile coiling in its defensive mode, tail rattling, head erect, black tongue flicking, ready to sink its sharp fangs into any life form stupid enough to violate its space, like me. I didn't want to deal with a fatal dose of neurotoxin. I was careful, following Tom's instructions. After assuring Sombat the snake was alive and uninjured, and would perform its convincing act upon command, I carefully put it back in the burlap bag, locked in my car trunk.

Sombat told me to say nothing, but to follow his lead. He strode confidently into the manager's spacious office with thick red carpet and dark walnut paneling. The manager was a small, middle-aged man with a comb over, sitting behind a huge wooden desk, busily scribbling away at important papers when Sombat burst in. This time he played the role of the dimwitted Thai bellhop to perfection.

"Mr. Taub, Mr. Taub, we got real trouble," he said, breathless, scared.

Mr. Taub was busy and cranky.

"What is it now, Paul?" he asked. Sombat was called Paul at work, Sombat apparently being too hard for Americans to pronounce.

"Mr Taub, a guest saw a large rattlesnake by the pool."

"WHAT?" he yelled. “If that snake bites someone we can be sued. Are you sure it was a rattlesnake?"

"Yes sir, it was a rattlesnake. It made those rattling sounds with its tail and coiled up. Don't worry. I called my friend Charlie. He is a professional snake hunter. He just charges one hundred dollars to catch a snake."

Mr Taub pulled out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on his desk. I picked it up.

"Find that snake before it bites someone and puts me out of business."

"Yes sir."

Sombat led me to the outdoor bar by the pool. We drank fruit juice coolers for half an hour. I kept looking at the grouping of lush tropical flowers and banana trees in a raised bed on the other side of the pool. Sombat had me half convinced there was a real snake lurking near the swimming pool, waiting to sink its fangs into the ankle of an unsuspecting tourist. He grinned at me.

"It's showtime," he said. I got the burlap bag with the angry rattlesnake inside out of the trunk, grabbed the snake stick, and hurried after Sombat, headed for the office.

"Mr. Taub, Mr. Taub, good news. My friend caught the rattlesnake. Show him, Charlie."

I don't know what the hotel manager expected to see when I flung open the burlap bag, perhaps a dead snake, but the last thing he expected was a six foot long furious rattlesnake coiling up on his plush red carpet, itching to strike.

Mr. Taub was afraid of snakes, especially venomous ones. Screaming, he climbed onto his office chair, yelling, arms waving.

"Get that thing out of my office," he continued to yell.

I pinned down the serpent's head with the hook, carefully grasped it’s head, and dropped it into the bag, pulling the drawstring tight. Mr. Taub poured himself a strong drink from a bottle he took out of his desk.

"Bad news, Mr. Taub," Sombat said.

"What now?"

"Rattlesnakes mate for life," Sombat said with a straight face. "My friend caught the male, but the female is still out there."

The manager pulled out another hundred dollar bill. "Find that thing. Kill it."

"Yes sir."

Before I tell you about Sombat's first meeting with Chuck Norris, I must tell you about Ron Slinker and Martial Arts Institute, Inc.

Bruce Lee's movie, "Enter The Dragon," ignited a boom in karate students nationwide. At the University of South Florida they had classes in Shotokan karate, a Japanese style, but I didn't like it. The Joon Rhee Institute taught Taekwondo, a Korean karate, which I much preferred. The head instructor was an excellent teacher, but a poor businessman. The school was on the verge of closing. Several fellow students, affluent businessmen, offered me the chance to invest in a new company, Martial Arts Institute, Inc., that would be the first in a chain of karate schools based in Tampa.

I invested my savings in the company and joined the board of directors as treasurer. The plan was to take over existing karate schools run by good instructors but bad businessmen. Later we would open new schools. Ron Slinker's Yoshukai karate school was our first acquisition.

Ron Slinker was a 6-foot 3-inch, 240-pound Fourth-degree karate black belt, Florida heavyweight black belt karate champion, black belts in judo and aikido, and former U.S. Marine Corps Pacific boxing champion. In his first book, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, mega movie star, said that Vince McMahon, president of the World Wrestling Federation, sent him to Tampa to train with Ron Slinker, learning to be a professional wrestler. "The Rock" said that Slinker was the baddest genuine bad-ass he'd ever met.

"The Rock" never met Sombat.

In early 1974 I went to Joe Corley's "Battle of Atlanta," the South's largest full-contact open karate tournament, seeking qualified Taekwondo instructors for schools we wanted to open in Florida. This was during the beginnings of American professional kick boxing, and I was invited to represent Florida in the formation of the Southeast Karate Association.

Joe Corley introduced me to Chuck Norris. We had breakfast together at The Omni Hotel. This was after Bruce Lee got Chuck into the movies, although he was not yet known as a movie star, but five-time undefeated world karate champion. Chuck and I hit it off, and we had a good time with other karate champions checking out the buzzing Atlanta nightlife.

I invited Chuck to come to Tampa in November as a guest celebrity at a martial arts exhibition we were planning.

"I've never been to Tampa," he said, agreeing to come to Tampa for a few days to help promote our businesses. As easy as that.

Meanwhile, Slinker was in training to fight Harvey Hastings, the winner to fight the reigning American kick boxing champion, Joe Lewis. I was talking to Sombat one day about Slinker's problem finding sparring partners to practice against. He would beat up his hired sparring partners so badly in the first round that they couldn't make it to round two. He was paying $100 a round to spar, three-round minimum.

"Kick boxing?" Sombat said. "$300? I'll do it."

"You will?"

"In Thailand, I went into 'Muay Thai' training camp at twelve. I kickboxed professionally three years. Heavyweight champion. Not many heavyweights in Thailand. I lost one fight, decision, in the north. Referees cheated."

"Are you kidding me?" I'd never heard Sombat say a word about kick boxing. He'd played on the USF soccer team and had an incredible kick, but it never occurred to me that my mild-mannered friend who never raised his voice could be a ''Muay Thai" kickboxer.

It turned out that Sombat wasn't mild-mannered in the boxing ring.

I told Slinker that I'd found him a real kick boxer for a sparring partner.

"Thai kick boxer? Those boys are bad. How much he weigh?"

"Six-one, one ninety-five."

"When can he start?"

"Tomorrow okay?" I said. "Our school, ten a.m."

I was really worried that Sombat would get hurt, and it would be my fault. What could I possibly say to Keila?

I need not have worried. Slinker was the only one that went to the hospital.

I'm not going to describe 'Muay Thai' kick boxing. I'm sure Sombat's family in Thailand have seen many matches, and YouTube videos are easily accessible. It was my first experience, though, and I was gobsmacked. Thai kick boxing is like fighting a man — a very strong man — wielding a baseball bat. Every time you get in reach of the baseball bat the man hits you — hard — on whatever body part intrudes in his space. The baseball bat was Sombat's right leg.

Sombat hadn't fought in ten years, but none of the dozens of students or several black belt instructors would believe it. He'd never fought a "karate expert," either, but as Slinker absorbed kick after powerful kick from Sombat's shin bone, he didn't look much like an expert in anything besides getting knocked down.

After Slinker gave up and was taken to the hospital, our head instructor, Doug, asked Sombat if he would show him some of his moves. Sure.

After Doug took his beating, four of the top black belts in Florida gamely asked for chances against Sombat, and Sombat put each one away without breaking much of a sweat.

I couldn't let those other guys go down without me, so I took my turn. Stupid me.

"Sombat, we're friends, right?"

"Of course. Best friends."

"You have to show me this ''Muay Thai" stuff, but take it easy on me."

You wouldn't believe the purple bruises that took a couple weeks to fade away.

After Slinker healed up, he sparred with Sombat twice more, with the same results, even wearing so much protective padding that he looked like the Michelin Man.

Slinker was so demoralized by the beatings he'd taken in their sparring sessions that he dropped out of the match with Harvey Hastings, returning to teaching his classes.

I reserved the Fort Hesterly Armory in Tampa for a November, 1974, Saturday night date. The Armory hosted the weekly Tuesday night professional wrestling matches and the occasional boxing match, with around 6,000 seats. It had never hosted matches like ours. The words, "mixed martial arts," had not been coined yet, but that's what our exhibition was, the first mixed martial arts matches in the South: judo versus aikido, wrestling against boxing, Japanese karate versus Taekwondo, karate versus kick boxing, along with demonstrations of weaponry.

Chuck Norris said that Glen Premru , the highest-ranking non-Oriental karate weapons expert in the world, was the best karate demonstrator he'd known. Premru was under contract with Martial Arts Institute for promotions, using nunchakus, and cutting watermelons in half with a samurai sword — the watermelon balanced on the chest of a volunteer, horizontal between two chairs. He was there the day Sombat gave Slinker a lesson in kick boxing, and said Sombat was the toughest kick boxer he'd ever seen.

We had a group of students holding welcome signs when Chuck Norris got off the airplane at Tampa International Airport that Friday afternoon. Before we took Chuck to his suite at the Hawaiian Village, he was interviewed by the sports directors of three TV stations, then we went to our main school on Busch Blvd. for more promotions.

We had a great crowd of students waiting to meet Chuck Norris. He signed autographs and posed for photos. Sombat gave a brief demonstration of kick boxing, two adult men held the eighty-pound punching bag steady as Sombat kicked the bag almost in half. When the stuffing began coming out, Sombat stopped.

Grinning widely, Chuck Norris introduced himself and shook Sombat's hand.

"I'm glad I never faced you in a match," Chuck Norris said, dead serious.

The feature match was karate versus "'Muay Thai" kick boxing, Herbie Thompson, from Miami, against Sombat. Sombat's preparation before the match was a fascinating ceremony, almost religious in nature. Unfortunately, Sombat lost the match to an excellent black belt fighter that he should have beaten.

Sombat was a devout Muslim. He went on the "Haj," the pilgrimage to Mecca, many times. I never learned that until years later. I knew he had lived in Egypt for a time, and been in the movie, but didn't realize he spoke fluent Arabic until one weekend he visited me, and asked me to introduce him to a Syrian prisoner visiting with his family. I did, then I was surprised when the family began excitedly talking in Arabic for several minutes. Later on, my Syrian friend told me, "You have a very impressive, important friend." I didn't understand completely what he meant until many years later, in prison, when Sombat's wife, Keila, told me about when she went to Thailand for the first time, the reception.

Buddhists make up around ninety percent of Thailand's population. They dominate the civilian government. But Buddhists are pacifists, which means the ten percent Muslim minority dominates the Thai military.

When we were college students, it often amused me at how other Thais behaved around Sombat. Tampa had a surprisingly large population of Thais, and Sombat patronized a gas station on Busch Blvd. run by a family from Bangkok. When Sombat pulled up to the gas pumps, his car would be suddenly surrounded by several enthusiastic, deferential young men who filled his tank, polished the windshield, checked the tires and oil, providing great service. The other customers didn't receive such attention. We went into the store to buy some snacks, and the female clerk beamed at Sombat, chattering in their native tongue. I told him once, "You're a rock star." I didn't realize then how close I'd come to the truth.

Keila told me that when Sombat brought his family to Thailand for the first time, he had been away from home for many years. When the passenger jet landed, Keila noticed a crowd of people waiting and watching. A man in a military uniform boarded the plane--a general in the Thai army --ecstatic about Sombat's return and delighted to meet Sombat's family. He was obviously a longtime friend.

Keila asked the general why all those people were gathered outside.

"They've come to welcome Sombat home."

Keila said that whenever they went some place in Thailand it was the same way, crowds of people greeting Sombat. Some of that was because of his kickboxing fame from many years before, but it was also that Sombat was a religious leader to his fellow Muslims.

Sombat was also a great cook of Thai dishes. One day Sombat and Keila invited me over for a traditional Thai meal featuring curry chicken. When I walked into the kitchen my eyes began burning. I thought Mexican food was hot. Thai cooking made Mexican food taste bland!

We sat down at the table as Sombat served the food. A very large glass of iced tea was next to my plate. A large pitcher of more ice tea was placed in the center of the table. I made some crack to Sombat about how he must really love tea.

As he dished out the steaming curry chicken he smiled, saying, "You'll drink that glass, and more."

He was right.

The last time we were on a golf course together, Sombat and Keila invited me to join them and several Thai friends to the Bardmoor Country Club in Pinellas County for a professional men's and women's golf tournament before my arrest in 1978. All the famous golfers of the past twenty years were there: Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus, Lee Trevino, Sam Snead, Nancy Lopez, and many others I can't recall. I was surprised how accessible and open the famous golfers were to their fans, talking, signing autographs, and posing for photos. Sombat had a good time--we all did, but looking at Sombat I knew he would nave been much happier if he'd been on the golf course with a club in his hand, convincing some millionaire pro to bet against himself.

There is much I don't know about Sombat. Over four decades incarcerated in harsh prisons separates one from the everyday lives of family and friends. Years ago, at one of our infrequent visits, when Andie and Adrie were little children climbing on Sombat's lap, he said to me, "If something happens to me I want you to look after my family."

"Of course," I said.

"You are godfather to my children."

Although there is little I can do to help my friend and his family from inside these prison fences, I take my vow seriously. Perhaps one day I will be free, and my wife Libby and I can sit down with Keila and the children, and they can tell us stories I had missed.

Sombat was a great man, devoted husband, father and friend. He affected all our lives, and we will never forget him.

Rest in peace, dear friend.

Charles Patrick Norman -- January 24, 2022