This is an excerpt from the actual Beaver County Courthouse trial transcript as it was documented and recorded.
The defense attorney, who today is a Sr. Judge in the Beaver County courthouse: Mr. George (Tooky) James, was asking Roy questions about the incidents that led to the fateful fight. NOTE: Q = Mr. James and A = Roy
Q What did he do once he sat down at the table?
A Well, he picked the form up and started looking at them. And he said, "I can't read this." He didn't have his glasses. And my glasses were laying on the table there. And he said, "Let me see your glasses." I handed him my glasses, which he put on. He said,” I still can't see." He started looking around. He said, "Whose are those?" He was referring to the étagère that is the room divider. He picked up the glasses. I said, "These are Jim's glasses." They are different than mine. They are round. He picked them up and put them on. He said, "This is a little better I can make it out now." He put the glasses down. He just sat there. He paused momentarily. I don't know how long. I said, "Do you want a pen?" He said, "Yes." So, I handed him a pen. And again he paused for a couple seconds. He then started to sign. He signed -- I'm pretty sure he signed his first name. Again he paused. And he started to sign the rest of his name. I think I said at the Preliminary Hearing, I don't know whether he ever finished signing his name or not. I don't know how he did it. He started the signing. He kind of raised his pen across the paper. He signed and went like that (indicating), and he threw the pen against the drapes in the dining room there. He took the Income Tax form, balled them up, and made a statement, you know, "Fuck it. Fuck this country," and he balled it up, threw it on the table and started to get up and walk away. At this point I didn't say anything. I don't even remember. The only thing I said to him, "Do you want a pen?"
Q Now, when he started to walk away, in what direction was he walking?
A He walked out towards the front door.
Q And when he was in the process of walking toward the front door, what did you do?
A I followed him out. I was going to open the door for him.
Q Would you tell us in what manner he walked from the kitchen area to the front door?
A A manner? He walks extremely slow, like hunched over, like he was real exhausted or tired.
Q Once he reached the front door, what happened?
A He reached down -- Well, with his left hand, dropped right in front of the door, I'd say six inches to a foot from the front door, he reached with his left hand and put it on the doorknob. He paused. He looked over at the Hawaiian sword, the one that is in the case down there. I had it propped up in the corner. And he looked at it. I didn't think anything of it. He has picked it up before and played with it, told me it was nice. And he picked it up, turned around, and he had his head down. I couldn't see his face.
Dad had already decreed that no one in the family would ever speak anything but English again. That was very unfortunate because all of us could speak several Indonesian dialects and a couple of European languages. My method of teaching my parents the English language was through reading comic books and the newspaper or Krant (in Dutch). Mom was a fast learner. Dad not so much!One day a news article in the Beaver County Times about a criminal beating a local policeman was written on the front page. After reading it to me, Mom translated it for Dad. She suggested that he volunteer to teach the local police how to defend themselves from such gangsters and hoodlums. It was a suggestion that would impact the family immeasurably and for the remainder of our lives.
Dad and I made an appointment with the chief of police in New Brighton, PA and I translated his offer to teach Jujitsu and Karate to all of the police for free. The only thing Dad asked for was a building to teach in for free and for the police department to provide workout mats and a punching and kicking bag. The chief jumped on the opportunity. The news spread about this opportunity to every Beaver County police department and the Pennsylvania State Police officers in the Beaver Valley. Over the next three years Dad taught literally hundreds of police to defend themselves at no cost to them or the police departments. The classes were held in the New Brighton, PA National Guard Armory for many years. One day a policeman asked Dad why he did not start a school for the public and charge them for the training. He volunteered to help Dad with setting it all up.
Our neighborhood in Van Buren Homes was eclectic in the various races and nationalities that lived there. Ours was the only Asian family living there and probably the only one that ever did. Even though we were Dutch-Indonesian and my mom was obviously Caucasian white with blond hair - her four children looked very Asian. Our neighborhood was at the end of a street that had many black families and our immediate neighbors were Italian. It was a rough neighborhood for us. For the first couple of months I was beaten up quite badly on several occasions by some of the then-racist kids in the hood. Then on one particular day I came home very badly beaten literally to a pulp. Both my eyes were bruised badly and my nose was bleeding profusely. Dad happened to be at the house when I walked in. He asked me what happened. After explaining that three boys had beaten me and called me a gook and other names Dad cleaned me up. He called Roy and had us go to our small back yard where he taught us our first lessons in self-defense. His lessons were very specific in how to immediately disable an attacker. He spent a couple of hours making sure that when we were done that day that we would never have to suffer beatings again. The one fighting rule that he insisted on and I have followed that rule whenever a physical confrontation forced a response: “Do everything to avoid a fight, but when you are forced to fight, do so with a minimum of three targeted blows or strikes to your opponent.”The next day Roy and I went hunting for the boys that had beaten me up. It did not take long before finding them roughing up a black kid. Roy kicked one kid in the family jewels. The little punk screamed in pain grabbing himself and falling to his knees. Strike two was a hard slap to the face followed by a punch to the sternum. I tripped my opponent as he tried to get away and jumped on his back and pummeled him with my small fists until he yelled “I give up!” The third kid left the scene as soon as he saw his buddy go down writhing in pain. Our reputation as the “Wetzel Boys” was firmly cemented in the neighborhood. After that event we started Karate lessons and ultimately taught the art of self-defense at our family’s schools. We gave numerous public demonstrations at shopping malls, television shows, Beaver High School and other public events.