I’m standing outside of the newly opened Robot Brazilian jiu jitsu Academy. “I don’t know,” says David Telfer, the Academy’s co-owner, “I just wasn’t born to sit in front a computer all day. I couldn’t handle it.” He pauses. “Estate planning, tax law. It was a good job. I worked hard to get it. It just, it made me feel like a robot,” he laughs.  Four months out of UCLA Law School, fresh off of passing the bar exam, and saddled with 110,000 dollars in law school debt, David Telfer handed in his resignation at a prestigious law firm.

The economy seems to be tanking, the stock market is flailing up and down.  At a time when most people are consolidating their positions, trying desperately to hold on to what they have, Telfer, who is 29, decided to gamble everything. Right now, he’s sitting eating a burrito outside of his newly opened Robot brazilian jiu jitsu Academy in West Los Angeles, part of the Wander Braga Fight Team.  Holding the four dollar burrito in his hand, Telfer points to his lunch and says, “well, it tastes just as good as the law firm lunches.”

“No more steak tartar,” I ask?

“No more sitting still for ten hours a day.” He is an interesting character, a native southerner, with a Jewish mom and Catholic dad, Telfer is fluent in Spanish and Portuguese.  “Portuguese,” he says, “was a good idea. Refs don’t listen when you yell at them in English.” When he speaks he exudes a kind of inclusive natural charisma; not the kind that makes him seem better than other people, the kind that makes people around him feel better. Telfer, a purple belt on the edge of brown, began training bjj while studying abroad in Brazil in 2003.  He trained with Team ROC in North Carolina before moving to Los Angeles to attend law school at UCLA. He has bright blue eyes, a boxer’s nose, and small scars on both cheeks. When I ask him where they come from, he tries to shrug off the question. I ask him again, “I was shot in the face.” At the age of 17, David was shot in the face at point blank range. The bullet went through his forearm, in one cheek and out the other. Most of his top teeth are prosthetic.

“Really?” I ask. He opens his mouth to show me.  “Man…” I say. At a bit of a loss for words. “You would never know.”

“Good doctors.” He’s much more eager to talk about the Robot BJJ studio behind him.  Ask him why he quit a job at a prestigious law firm in tumultuous economic times, to scrimp and save by eating burritos instead of taking paid vacations and eating ham wrapped duck covered in caviar, or whatever they eat on those types of vacations, and the answer comes with no hesitation. “Tim Peterson.”

In 2005 Telfer enrolled in a fledgling UCLA Jiu Jitsu class that met twice a week; a basic rec class that offered just a glimpse of Jiu Jitsu. The class had a small enrollment, and no one met to train outside of class. “At the time,” says Telfer,”“it was more of a hobby then.  It’s everything to me now. The group of people training really drew me in.” Through the enthusiasm of Telfer and a core group of friends, the class began to expand into a club that practiced after hours and on weekends. More and more people started coming to the mats, but the group lacked a technically skilled teacher, someone proficient in method and teaching.