Novices share the floor with Olympians. Girls tuck their braids their braids beneath their masks to face male peers. In one corner the youngest kids hone their reflexes by tossing and catching fencing gloves. In the other the other kids spar, their blades whistling through the air. It’s a more diverse room than one would expect to find at a Fencing club. Everyone here is united by the promise to hone their skills amongst the best.
Until recently, fencing existed on the edge of public consciousness. To most it was a novelty sport. And its stereotypical purveyors: we're affluent, gaudy, and white.
The Peter Westbrook foundation takes its name from the man who first shattered that perception. By taking home America’s first olympic fencing medal in 70 years, Peter Westbrook, a fencer of Black and Japanese descent, inspired countless others to follow in his footsteps. Today he’s now pacing across the fencing floor. Dressed in a slim fitting orange sweater, and casual black slacks, he seems to be everywhere at once. He stops only to give sage-like advice to the huddles of young fencers and their teachers alike. We he talks sabres, foils, and epees still themselves. Masks come off. People listen to the living legend.
He isn’t the only Fencing celebrity of color in the room. Ibtihaj Muhammad, who’s face currently looms on a over time square in a Nike ad, is coaching a group of teens in the corner. Miles Chamley-Watson, the man largely responsible for Fencings revamp is absent today, but a regular.He isn’t the only Fencing celebrity of color in the room. Ibtihaj Muhammad, who’s face currently looms on a over time square in a Nike ad, is coaching a group of teens in the corner. Miles Chamley-Watson, the man largely responsible for Fencings revamp is absent today, but a regular.
He isn’t the only Fencing celebrity of color in the room. Ibtihaj Muhammad, who’s face currently looms on a over time square in a Nike ad, is coaching a group of teens in the corner. Miles Chamley-Watson, the man largely responsible for Fencings revamp is absent today, but a regular.
By the windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline, Olympic Silver-Medalist Fencer Daryl Homer is pacing like a nervous coach. He presides over the most experienced students as they spar one on one. He’s far from the tallest, but his confidence gives him a stature that seems larger than life. Between points and roars of applause from older fencers standing by he offers advice to the combatants.
Like Westbrook, he doesn’t need to raise his voice to gain attention. When he grabs a saber to demonstrate a move they watch with laser focus. As soon his saber falls theirs rise. They mimic his movements, trying to copy his graceful footwork and surgical saber play.
Daryl Homer’s backstory is the stuff of legends and Oscar-worthy films. He went from a black kid, son of a single parent in the Bronx to become the mentee of the most decorated black fencer in history. And after years of training at the Manhattan Fencing Center he rose to become an Olympic Silver Medalist. Daryl carries himself like the champion of such a film. His charisma is magnetic. He speaks with confidence, committing to every word like he would a parry or thrust. His manner is upbeat but deliberate. If good fencers rely on focus, Homer embodies it like one would suspect a champion would. Others clearly see him in the same light. New students work to mask their startstruck-ness as they parse his advice. Westbrook and Homer share the lovingly antagonistic relationship of a mentor and his star pupil. Homer can Westbrook’s sagely advice mid-sentence — he’s heard near every phrase before.