Hanged By the KKK, Lost to Heroin, and Named by Bruce Lee: The Terrifying Secrets Ron ‘The Black Dragon’ Van Clief Tried to Bury Forever

Ron Van Clief, a name that echoes with the sound of a perfectly executed Goju-Ryu kata, has always represented an unyielding force in the world of martial arts. Dubbed “The Black Dragon” by the one and only Bruce Lee, Van Clief carved a path from the poverty-stricken streets of Brooklyn to the silver screens of Hong Kong cinema, becoming America’s first Black action star in the 1970s. He won five world championships, trained the U.S. Secret Service, and even stepped into the brutal UFC octagon at the age of 51.

His public life was a testament to discipline, strength, and unwavering focus. But behind the iconic image of the Black Dragon, a man who seemed to embody control, lay a hidden history of profound trauma: racial terror, the agony of war, and destructive addictions that he spent over half a century trying to bury. In a series of recent, raw revelations, Van Clief has finally opened the vault on the secrets that nearly cost him his life, secrets that reveal a survival story far more compelling and brutally human than any Hollywood script.

Born in Darkness: The Scars of Brooklyn

Before the roar of the crowd, Ron was just a skinny Black kid growing up in 1950s Brooklyn, where violence and poverty were daily realities. His earliest lessons were about chaos and survival, shaped by a broken family. His father, Larry Van Clief, a World War II sailor, returned from Europe with deep psychological wounds that metastasized into a crippling heroin addiction. This addiction pulled Larry away, leaving Ron to navigate a life of loneliness after his mother quietly left.

At 17, driven by a burning desire to escape his fate, Ron joined the U.S. Navy. His service in Okinawa and the Philippines provided the discipline he craved, introducing him to martial arts—a salvation that allowed him to harness his anger and control his fear. Upon discharge, he continued his life of discipline, working for the New York Police Department during one of the city’s most turbulent eras, balancing his uniform by day with teaching martial arts and bouncing at East Village nightclubs by night. This dual life, marked by nightly skirmishes and real-world combat, sharpened his iron will, preparing him for a destiny he never saw coming.

The Prophecy of the Black Dragon

The martial arts world quickly recognized his prowess. Ron won five world championships and 15 All-American titles, an extraordinary feat for a Black fighter of that era, leading many to call him America’s first Black Samurai. Then, in 1966, destiny intervened. At a martial arts exhibition in Hong Kong, he met the man who would redefine his future: Bruce Lee. After witnessing Ron’s powerful Goju-Ryu performance, Lee stepped forward and delivered a prophecy: “You are the Black Dragon.”

That name, a symbol of a legend who transcended racial barriers and language, launched his cinematic career. In 1974, Van Clief became the first Black action star in Hong Kong cinema with the film The Black Dragon. Titles like The Black Dragon’s Revenge and Way of the Black Dragon followed, showcasing a fierce, street-style combat that captivated global audiences.

But Ron was more than an actor. He was a philosopher of combat. In 1973, he founded the Chinese Goju-Ryu karate system, synthesizing the rigid discipline of Japanese karate with the fluidity of Chinese kung fu. His philosophy—If the body is a weapon, then the mind is its launchpad—translated into his martial arts manual becoming the official hand-to-hand combat guide for the U.S. Secret Service.

The Secret He Buried: The Hanged Man

Van Clief’s martial arts fame was built on the premise of strength and invulnerability. But the true foundation of his legend was forged in a terrifying moment of near-death that he kept hidden for five decades. Back in the 1960s, while undergoing military training in North Carolina, a 17-year-old Ron Van Clief was ambushed.

On his way back to the barracks, he was stopped by a group of white men, beaten unconscious, and thrown into a truck. They drove him to a deserted dirt road, looped a rope around his neck, and hung him from a tree—a horrifying ritual carried out by Ku Klux Klan extremists. Ron recalled only the crack of his neck and the world fading into darkness.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in a military hospital, his neck bandaged, his body covered in bruises. Doctors told him he had been clinically dead for several minutes. Ron spent five months in recovery, relearning how to speak, swallow, and breathe. The physical pain, however, was minor compared to the mental trauma. The cruel laughter of his attackers haunted his sleep, giving him chronic nightmares and leaving him with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

For decades, the truth was an unspeakable secret, only vaguely referenced in his early memoir. It wasn’t until 2020, with the release of the documentary The Hanged Man, that the nearly 80-year-old legend finally revealed the full horror, confirming the reason he titled his autobiography as he did. “I thought I was dead, and God gave me another chance,” he recounted. He credits martial arts—the rigorous focus and breathing techniques of karate—with saving him from suicide. The incident was not just a personal tragedy; it was a fragment of America’s bloody, racial history, and Ron’s survival was an ultimate act of defiance.

The Hell of Vietnam and the Descent into Heroin

Just as he was recovering from the noose, Van Clief was thrown into a new hell: Vietnam. In 1964, he was deployed as an artillery commander, straight into an escalating conflict. During an ammunition transport mission, the M60 helicopter carrying him was struck by anti-aircraft fire, plunging into the southern forests of Hue. The devastating crash left him with a broken rib, sternum, and spine. His sheer willpower pulled him back from the brink of permanent paralysis, forcing him to relearn movement one small effort at a time.

The physical pain was agonizing, but the deepest wound was emotional. His younger brother, Pete Van Clief, a 22-year-old paratrooper, was killed by a landmine in central Vietnam around the same time. The loss shattered Ron. “That was the day I truly died inside,” he later admitted.

To numb the pain and the constant horrors of war, Ron turned to painkillers and then heroin. What began as a desperate attempt to sleep and stop the nightmares soon became a cruel dependence. “I was addicted because there was no other way to endure,” he explained. He would hide from nurses to secretly inject, calling the drug the “memory eraser.” Yet, even in the field hospital, with a neck brace still on, the Black Dragon trained. He practiced Goju-Ryu breathing exercises and meditated in silence, believing that if his body could not endure, his mind would.

When the war ended, Ron returned to America a scarred soldier and an addict. He refused to be consumed, however. He kicked heroin the only way he knew how: by tapering off, replacing the substance with meditation, rigorous training, and sheer grit.

The Delirious Fight: LSD in the Ring

Perhaps the most shocking secret of all is the one that stained his world championship legacy. To the world, Ron Van Clief was the epitome of mental clarity. But in 1969, at the New York Coliseum, Ron stepped into the ring to fight for the world middleweight championship with a powerful secret rushing through his veins: LSD.

In his memoir, he admitted to taking a small dose of acid before the fight, a desperate attempt to escape the pressure and the echoes of war still ringing in his head. In his hallucination, Ron fought as if in a surreal state, moving with instinctive, almost supernatural speed. After three rounds, he knocked out his opponent and was crowned world champion. No one in the roaring crowd knew that their new legend was fighting between two worlds—one real, one delirious.

This story was a long-standing rumor until Van Clief officially confirmed it. He neither denied nor excused it, simply stating, “I survived. That’s the truth.” The tale became a potent warning to martial artists—that even the strongest have moments of profound weakness. But his courage to confront this darkest moment, to speak about his addiction and delirious victory, only deepened the respect for him. When asked if he regretted it, Ron smiled and answered, “No. Without darkness I would never know how precious the light truly is.”

The Price of a Legend: Family and Fame

If war etched scars onto his body, his family left the wounds no one could see. Ron often said he learned how to take punches in the ring but never how to endure loss. That loss followed him from the death of his father to the passing of his brother.

This internal search for peace manifested in his personal life. Eight marriages, five children—the numbers tell a tale of a man constantly searching for the stability and love he never found. He remained fiercely guarded about his private life, believing a legend was not “allowed to be vulnerable.”

The spotlight itself became another prison. Ron expressed a profound resentment toward fame, stating bluntly, “I never wanted to be famous. I made movies just to pay the rent.” The “Black Dragon” title, while ensuring his place in history, also shone a spotlight directly onto the scars he longed to hide. After losing at UFC 4 in 1994, he quietly retired from the ring and vanished from public life, moving to Hawaii to teach martial arts to children and spend his time in meditation.

“I’ve lived enough for two lifetimes. Now I want silence,” he told reporters who tracked him down.

At 80 years old in 2025, Ron Van Clief still wakes before dawn to practice yoga and meditate. He no longer carries the title the Black Dragon, saying simply, “Now I’m just Ron.” This quiet victory is perhaps his most profound—the right to be himself, stripped of the expectations, the trauma, and the legendary name the world adored. Ron Van Clief’s secrets are not a legacy of weakness, but a raw, unyielding testament to the sheer, stubborn, and necessary will to survive.