Tom Cruise: Karate Kid

Tom Cruise and the No Exit Dojo, Part II: Catholic School Karate
East Vancouver, 1985

Across from St. Joseph’s Catholic School, at the dead-end of Fleming Street, a crooked metal sign read NO EXIT — but everyone who knew Tom Cruise understood that meant the adventure was just beginning.

One warm Saturday morning, Joe and Mike Jukic heard the unmistakable whisper echo through the alley behind their house:

"The No Exit sign. Noon sharp. Bring discipline... and running shoes. —Tom."

They showed up late.
Tom didn’t say a word.
He was already there, standing in silence under the NO EXIT sign — like a prophet or a street ninja — dressed head-to-toe in Karate Kid regalia.
White gi, black belt (not real, stolen from Sears' mannequin), rising sun headband.
On his feet: a single pair of white socks duct-taped for grip.

Behind him stood St. Joseph’s, still and solemn, like it was judging them all.

“Gentlemen,” Tom began, hands behind his back, “Welcome to The Sacred School of No Mercy Catholic Kung Fu.”

Mike snorted. “Is this, like, real karate?”

Tom stepped forward, eyes narrowed.
“Karate is not real.
It is spiritual warfare.
Like confession, but with kicking.”

He turned, motioned to the school across the street.

“Do you know what the nuns taught me at St. Joe’s?” he asked, voice hushed.

Joe leaned in. “You went there?”

“No,” Tom said, stone-faced. “But I’ve infiltrated the perimeter. I know their secrets.”

Then he performed three lightning-fast moves:

A bow.

A crescent kick that narrowly missed a traffic cone.

A slow-motion crane pose, held dramatically in front of a puddle.

Mike clapped. “This is awesome.”

Tom tossed each of them a plastic headband made from cut-up Halloween costumes.

“Discipline. Form. Silence,” he barked.
“Now. Lesson one: Blocking the ruler.”

He pulled a yardstick out of his sleeve.
“Catholic schools taught with this. You must learn to dodge.”

He swung at Joe. Joe flinched. Missed.
Tom nodded. “Good. Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

Then he turned serious. Dead serious.

“I brought you here,” he said, “because this sign says NO EXIT… but that’s a lie.”

He pointed at St. Joe’s.
“Those halls? Those prayers? They’ll try to trap your spirit.
But I say—kick your way out."

Tom leapt off the curb, kicked the air, and landed in a perfect split between two oil stains. “No exit just means find your own way.”

The Jukic brothers practiced roundhouse kicks until their jeans split and laughed until their stomachs hurt.

And before they left, Tom made them kneel before the NO EXIT sign. He gave them both their new names:

Joe was “Silent Tiger.”

Mike was “Kicking Nun.”

“Remember,” Tom whispered, “if anyone asks…
this never happened.”

And then, with one final somersault, Tom disappeared down the alley — back into the shadows of St. Joseph’s,
leaving only footprints, the faint sound of cassette-recorded karate kid screams,
and the legend of the No Exit Dojo.