By special permission of William M. Gaugler, Director of the Fencing Masters Program of San José State University, a portion of an article written by same is reprinted here for your enjoyment. The staff here at Chaos HQ believes that much of the content of what Mr. Gaugler has written is not only relevent to fencing in general, but reflects in great part the principles many at Redlands Fencing Center hold to be true personally.

In my opinion four elements have played a significant role in the demise of fencing as
an art, and the subsequent lack of public interest in swordplay: ambiance, weapon grip, poor form, 
and unorthodox actions, such as flicking.  Although well-intentioned, most of the measures proposed
thus far to increase spectator interest in fencing, and to save fencing as an Olympic sport, will, in fact, 
very likely only further banalize our art, for it is not colored uniforms, transparent masks, and greatly 
modified regulations that will save fencing, it already has more than enough drama and 
flamboyance without this window dressing.  Indeed, the professional black and amateur white 
dress, and the closeups and variety of camera angles and slow-motion playback possible with 
today's equipment, provide a sufficient spectacle to hold any adult television viewer's attention.  And 
if the spectator knows anything at all about fencing, the spectacle will be even more fascinating.

        Since World War II fencing generally has been transferred from the fencing salle, ballroom, and 
theatre, to drafty, uncomfortable, multi-purpose gymnasiums.  Attendance consists largely of family,
friends, and fencers who failed to make the next round of the competition.  In contrast, prior to World 
War II most serious fencing salles were used exclusively for fencing instruction, with weapons 
arranged along the walls, as well as photographs and old prints of past masters and amateur 
champions; and important professional matches, and the finals of major amateur competitions,
were nearly always held in ballrooms or theatres, and were attended by a well-dressed, paying 
audience.  The Aldo Nadi-Lucien-Gaudin match of 1922 at the Cirque de Paris drew seven 
thousand spectators, while more than three thousand others were turned away for lack of seating.  
Unquestionably, the advance publicity and presentation of an event are of the utmost importance.  
If you have so little respect for your art that you do not publicize it, and practice it in a setting filled 
with distractions, and place no price on it, then you indicate to the common man, your potential
spectator, that it has little value.  Now, I am aware that the ideal private fencing salle, such as I 
mention above, is not affordable everywhere, and, for instruction and practice, gymnasiums have to 
be resorted to.  But for the finals of a significant competition, hotel ballrooms with elevated platforms
and substantial seating are available, and can be obtained at reasonable cost.  Properly publicized, 
such events can make a profit.

        Given that I advocate use of the Italian or French weapon grips, my views may appear to be  
biased.  But I am not alone in this matter, for the majority of Italian and French fencing masters,
until quite recently, were of the same opinion.  The Nadi brothers employed the Italian handle, and 
Gaudin and Haussy, the French.  In fact, as late as the 1970s the most prominent teachers of fencing
masters in Italy and France, respectively, Pessina and Pignotti, and Cléry and Thirieux, 
recommended  use of the traditional weapon grips--and this for good reason:  the traditional grips 
are usually held with the palm up, that is, in supination or fourth hand position, and this permits 
exceptional point control and accuracy. Were it a real sword, the point could attain maximum 
penetration. The orthopedic or pistol handle is usually held with the thumb on top, or third hand 
position, and this results in less accuracy and weaker penetration.  Of course, it will be objected 
that we no longer need to drive the blade through our adversary, since fencing is now only a game.  
But the sport of fencing, and the rules that govern it, are, nonetheless, still based on duelling practice, 
and fencing loses its logical underpinning if we foresake the principles of serious swordplay.  So what 
can we do with a generation of young fencers who have used only the pistol grip?  It would be foolish, 
in my estimation, to try to alter this habit, particularly among our strongest competitive fencers.  It is the
young, beginning fencers who are most apt to accept whatever weapon handle their teacher 
recommends.  They can be taught to employ the Italian and French grips, as their predecessors did.  
With the control of the point and sensitivity of touch these handles offer, we may again see fencing 
exploits that would astonish the current generation of fencers.  Moreover, this would facilitate the
execution of actions in technical foil lessons.  In these the advanced pupil moves progressively up 
the ladder of feints, and terminates the lesson with a combination of actions such as the counter of 
fourth with a retreat and riposte along the blade; the double counter of fourth with a retreat and riposte 
along the blade; the double counter of fourth with a retreat and, on the master's stiffening arm, a 
flanconade in fourth with a lunge; and the double counter of fourth with a retreat and flanconade in
fourth with a lunge, but with the thrust to the outside low line parried by the master with a ceding parry 
of fourth and direct riposte along the blade, prompting the student, while still in the lunge, to respond 
with a parry-riposte in second intention indirect (fourth-direct, fourth-disengage), touching the teacher 
in his outside high line.  Rapid and precise execution of such a refined exercise can best be 
accomplished with an Italian or French weapon grip.  Consequently, students, from their first lesson 
onward, should be encouraged to use one of these two handles.

        Today, when one mentions "good form" it brings a smile to the contemporary fencer, who has 
never been privileged to witness elegant fencing, as it existed until about fifty years ago.  This
is not just another instance of the old warrior, Nestor (Homer, Iliad, 1. 260-65), telling the younger men 
that no one today matches the champions of the past.  To have seen Aldo Nadi in action, where he 
was both efficient and beautiful, would instantly make it clear that form follows function.  He was well 
profiled on guard, and kept his left arm elevated for balance, and to throw back during the lunge and 
give impetus to the thrust.  Moreover, he made it clear that aesthetics should not preoccupy the 
swordsman; but efficiency must, for the less wasted motion there is, the greater the probability that 
the action will succeed.  Nervous jumping up and down, body contortions, and rising up as distance 
is closed, all contribute to inefficient and ugly swordplay.  Indeed, this kind of wretched fencing was 
already condemned in the sixteenth century by Giacomo di Grassi.  Unfortunately, many
contemporary fencers resort to such grotesque movements.  Little wonder then that the spectator, 
who goes to a fencing competition to see the "elegant sport of fencing," leaves disillusioned,
perhaps never to return again.  However, all we need to do to rectify this matter is to stress the 
importance of form during the lesson, and insist that the young fencer take traditional technical
lessons for many months before he or she is allowed to free fence. When the nineteenth-century 
fencing master Louis-Justin Lafaugère was asked why there are so many poor fencers, he replied 
that masters in general permit their pupils to engage in the assault prematurely, so that, not having 
developed enough technical skill, but anxious to touch, the fencers set aside even that little
knowledge they have acquired, and throw themselves at their opponents with bent arms and 
multiple feints, thus causing wild and disorganized swordplay.

        And finally, it should be obvious that unorthodox actions, such as the flick, violate the principles of 
duelling practice, which govern our art.  The flick is purely a phenomenon of electrical fencing.  The 
point  does not have to penetrate correctly, it merely has to be whipped into place with sufficient 
pressure to set off the scoring device.  It can be opposed with a carefully-timed and rapid arrest, or 
an exceedingly close parry.  But there is less risk in counterattacking.  Angelo Viggiani, in the 
sixteenth century, noted that the fencer who attacks first uncovers himself first, thus offering his 
adversary the opportunity to counterattack, and he comments further that with two intelligent fencers, 
the one who desires to counterattack finds a way to induce his opponent to attack, so that with 
dexterity and speed he can deliver a counterthrust in the middle of the attack.  No matter how 
tightly executed flicking actions are, they lift the point out of line and create a break in fencing time, 
just as a cut-over does, and in that instant the attacker is exposed.  Moreover, the flick depends 
on the flexibility of the blade in a practice arm.  Were it an edged weapon with a stiff blade, the 
incoming steel would probably be parried.  Those of us who date back to the era of standard foil 
competitions remember that in order for a touch to be considered valid, the point of the weapon had 
to be fixed firmly on the target and the blade bent into a graceful arc.  This was, of course, intended 
to simulate running the opponent through.  But whipping actions, in which the point of the blade 
merely presses against the target for an instant, do not duplicate thrusts that would be effective in 
duelling.  At  best--assuming some flexibility in the blade and a weak parry-- flicking actions would
do no more than scratch the adversary.  In a duel, who would chance being run through with an 
arrest just so that he could nick his opponent?  The solution to the problem is simple--ban the flick!