Punches, Pontchartrain, and Philosophy: Life Lessons from Grandpa’s Navy Days

“doomp….dooomp…..doooomp” - the road said. I always knew we were crossing over Lake Pontchartrain into New Orleans whenever the road started talking back. I remember being shaken awake from the backseat of my dad’s green 1998 Honda Accord. As I’d start to open my eyes, it’d be around 1 p.m. We always left before sunrise and only stopped for gas. Dad hated inefficiency. He figured if we left at sunrise, by the time Earth, Wind & Fire stopped playing and Frankie Beverly & Maze started cycling through, his 9-year-old would just be waking up. I guess for those first few hours, he and my mom didn’t have to bear my incessant “What’s that? … What’s that?”

If you’ve ever spent considerable time with me, you’ll know curiosity is something I’ve always preferred. After all, I come by my know-it-all nature honestly—hard-earned, hard-fought. At this time, my mom’s parents were still alive, so of course, as soon as we made our way across that never-ending bridge, we’d make our way Uptown. As the music slowed to a stop, almost in sync with the car, so did my mom’s door as she gathered herself and exited the passenger side to approach my grandparents’ house on South Rendon.

I can still hear the “heyyy daddaaayy,” followed by the familiar response, “What ya say, Sharon?” from the only grandfather I’ve ever known. Me? Well, I always preferred to arrive in New Orleans during the day. The night, with all the lingering ancestors and all dat, was eerie to me. But my grandpa was a sight to see. He’d grin—not too wide, not too small. Always just right. I used to wonder if he practiced that grin in the mirror. How did his style and grace come so naturally?

I never stopped asking him questions, well into college actually. I used to call grandpa at all hours of the night. “Say, grandpa, what was that whiskey you used to drink again?” “Johnny Walker Black, boy.” I’d tell the liquor store attendant, “We’ll take Johnny Walker Black.” Grandpa always answered the phone. He wouldn’t talk for long in his older age, but he always answered.

One of his most memorable traits was his smell. Grandpa only ever wore one cologne, at least in the two decades I knew him. And saying it was strong would be an understatement—it was his signature. He was always well-dressed, too, even when his vision started to go. He still looked sharp. I learned so many lessons from grandpa in that house Uptown, or in the backyard next to “Margareet n dem.”

He told stories about living in Florida and running a restaurant in the front with a gambling den in the back. “Was that legal, grandpa?” I’d ask with youthful curiosity. “I’m not sure, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he’d respond with a genuinely puzzled look on his face. He also told stories about boxing in the Navy. Grandpa wasn’t no chump. Him, Spider, Peeky Black—his friends were all World War II vets who carried their honor on their faces and, sometimes, on their hips.

“Grandpa, what was your fighting technique?” I’d ask, as he took another cool drag from his cigar. “How’d you win?” I’d press.

He’d smile, almost like he was replaying old scenes in his mind. “You’ve got to take the fight out of them,” he’d say. “If you get close enough, punch them in the nose—that’ll take the fight out of them real quick. Then a hook to the ear, your choice which one.” That strategy wasn’t just about brute force. It was a tactical approach—disarm your opponent early, weaken them before they even have a chance to come at you fully.

I carry this lesson with me. When challenged at work—whether it’s a competing idea or a rival—if I can be bothered to engage, I’m going for that nose first. I challenge directly, up front. No waiting for the counter. I want to see if the other person genuinely wants the smoke.

Eighty-five percent of the time, they don’t. That 15 percent? Well, they break into two groups: 10 percent who think they want it, and 5 percent who know they want it.

The Tactics of an Argument

Grandpa’s philosophy wasn’t just about boxing; it’s about strategy. He believed in confronting challenges head-on, getting the upper hand early, and controlling the pace. This idea—taking the fight out of them early—is about more than just landing a hit. It’s about assessing your opponent’s willingness to engage and capitalizing on their hesitation.

This approach mirrors The Art of War. Sun Tzu famously said, “Know thyself, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories.” My grandfather, whether knowingly or not, embodied this principle. He understood that before you engage in any conflict, whether in the ring or in life, you need to have a clear sense of your own position, as well as the strengths and weaknesses of your opponent.

His “punch them in the nose” strategy? It’s a classic case of hitting where they’re unprepared. Sun Tzu called it attacking an opponent’s weakness. By challenging directly—whether in a physical fight or an argument—you force the other person to reveal their cards. Most people aren’t prepared for such a move, and that’s when you gain the upper hand.

In arguments, I’ve found that this approach works wonders. When someone tries to undermine you or challenge your position, the key is not to wait for them to build up steam. Strike early—ask the difficult question, challenge the assumption, or highlight the flaw in their logic. It’s not about aggression; it’s about precision. If they falter, you’ve already won. If they don’t, well, now you know you’re dealing with someone who’s ready for a real exchange.

Applying the Strategy in Life

At work, I’ve used this tactic countless times. I remember a meeting where a colleague and I had a disagreement over a proposal. He seemed convinced that his approach was superior, and rather than letting him dominate the conversation, I went for the nose. I asked him a direct question that forced him to reconsider his assumptions. It wasn’t a combative move—it was surgical. His confidence wavered, and the conversation shifted in my favor. That’s the power of getting close and striking early.

But here’s the thing—I don’t always win. Sometimes, I get spanked. Hell, I get my ass whooped. Whether it’s a meeting that goes sideways or someone coming at me with a counter I wasn’t ready for, there are times when my strategy doesn’t work. And you know what? That’s okay. You don’t win every fight, and in the losses, there’s a lesson too.

The Universal Lesson

What grandpa taught me wasn’t just about boxing or arguments. It was about life. Sometimes, life throws you challenges that seem daunting. The key is to face them head-on, with a clear sense of who you are and what you want. By taking the fight out of them early, you control the narrative. You decide the terms.

The Art of War might be centuries old, but its lessons are timeless. Knowing yourself, understanding your opponent, and striking at the right moment is as relevant today as it was on ancient battlefields. Whether it’s in the boxing ring, the boardroom, or navigating the challenges life throws your way, it’s all about strategy—and sometimes, that strategy starts with a punch to the nose.