TUCKER JAMES
' I A LWAY S F E LT
LIKE A KID
PRETENDING
TO BE A
SWORDSMEN.
I DECIDED
I DIDN’T WANT
TO PRETEND
A N Y MORE .'
KURT GERHARD
STUDENROTH
The Order isn’t some flamboyant performance troupe
for hobbyists and weekend warriors, Studenroth says.
“Going anywhere becomes this weird thing,” he adds.
“Try ordering a drink at bar with a sword in your hand.”
Any street gang covered in clanking armor, wearing
medieval helmets that hide their faces completely, is
bound to create a zone of marvel as it traverses downtown
in tight formation on a weekday afternoon.
Workaday Eugeneans step aside to grant wide berth.
Some cheer them on.
One pedestrian looks up from his iPhone long enough
to register the collision course he shares with steel and
leather man-mountain James. The man’s expression says
“What the ...”
At Townshend’s Eugene Teahouse a boy jittery with
nerves asks if The Order will pose with his girlfriend long
enough for him to snap a picture for his Instagram.
Surprisingly, Studenroth and James oblige.
“It’s part of the iron price,” they joke flatly.
The other reason The Order thought twice before
agreeing to be interviewed is that too often people
14
January 5, 2017 • eugeneweekly.com
miscategorize and underestimate them, taking them for
Society for Creative Anachronism pranksters or Comic-
Con types, Studenroth says.
“These people cannot come to terms with what we are,”
Studenroth says, notes of pity (not self-pity, mind) in his
voice and gesturing toward the herds of synthetic fleece-
clad yuppies glued to computer screens seated all around
them. “People think this has something to do with Monty
Python.”
James nods in agreement.
The scar beside James’ left eye reminds him always
how lucky he is to have vision in both eyes after a duel
fought many years ago “with sharps” (sharp swords,
instead of blunt practice blades) in Kaiser.
Herzog and Studenroth are marked with similar flesh
wound mementos.
“I’m always fighting,” Studenroth says. “When I write
poetry, I’m fighting. I treat everything like a fight. Living
is a type of fight.”
Something about his precision of movement and speech
signal that Studenroth might actually be a time traveler
from long ago, coping as best he can with culture shock
amid the relentless thrum of a digital age.
Laid off almost a decade ago after the economy
collapsed, Studenroth is an out-of-work draftsman who
pursued machining at Lane Community College for a short
time but ultimately dropped out. That’s about when he
decided to be a knight.
Formally trained for almost two decades in 14th-century
Italian and German longsword technique, Studenroth says:
“I always felt like a kid pretending to be a swordsmen. I
decided I didn’t want to pretend any more.”
When his great helm arrived in the mail, bespoke by an
armorer in the Czech Republic, Studenroth put it on his
head, handed his friend a heavy steel sword and invited
him to “ring the bell” with all his might.
Studenroth suffered a minor concussion, he says, but
was impressed with the helmet’s durable make. Years of
wear and tear have pocked Studenroth’s red great helm all
over with ugly gouges.
Studenroth glories most in The Order’s modern Dark
Age lifestyle. The extent to which The Order mingles with