Classic American West Coast Boxing

[Rick Farris]

Cheer up, Frankie. You look about to make a hit.

Yeah!, but I'm a nice guy.

And a snappy dresser.

I first saw Frank when he was about twenty years younger, when he wasn't yet thirty. He didn't have the mustache back then, and the hair was a little shorter, however, he really hasn't changed much in the past four decades plus. He wears glasses now, and he's got a little grey streaking his hair, and maybe he doesn't feel the same? However, Kiki hasn't changed much.

-Rick

[Rick Farris]

Twinkie defense

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The phrase "Twinkie defense" comes from Twinkies, a popular snack food high in sugar.In jurisprudence, "Twinkie defense" is a derisive[1] label for a criminal defendant's claims that some unusual biological factor entered into the causes or motives of an alleged crime. According to this defense, the biological factor should mitigate the defendant's responsibility, and s/he therefore should not be held criminally liable for actions which violated the law, or the criminal liability should be reduced to a lesser offense. While biological factors may certainly influence behavior, the label of "Twinkie defense" implies that the specific biological factor is one that most people would view as not being sufficient to account for criminal activity, such as the effects of allergies, minor stimulants such as coffee and nicotine, sugar, and/or vitamins.

The expression derives from the 1979 trial of Dan White, a former San Francisco, California (U.S.) Supervisor who assassinated Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk on November 27, 1978. At the trial, noted psychiatrist Martin Blinder testified that White had been depressed at the time of the crime, and pointed to several factors indicating White's depression: He had quit his job, he shunned his wife, and become slovenly in appearance. Normally a fitness fanatic and health food advocate, White had also been consuming Twinkies and Coca-Cola. As an incidental note, Blinder mentioned theories that elements of diet could worsen existing mood swings. Another psychiatrist, George Solomon, testified that White had "exploded" and was "sort of on automatic pilot" at the time of the killings. The fact that White had killed Moscone and Milk was not challenged, but in part because of the testimony from Blinder and other psychiatrists, the defense successfully argued for a ruling of diminished capacity. White was thus judged incapable of the premeditation required for a murder conviction, and was convicted of voluntary manslaughter instead. The verdict was unpopular, leading to the White Night Riots.

In stories covering the trial, satirist Paul Krassner had played up the angle of the Twinkie, and he would later claim credit for coining the term "Twinkie defense". The day after the verdict, columnist Herb Caen wrote in the San Francisco Chronicle about the police support for White (a former policeman himself) and their "dislike of homosexuals" and mentioned "the Twinkie insanity defense" in passing. News stories published after the trial, however, frequently reported the defense arguments inaccurately, claiming that the defense had presented junk food as the cause of White's depression and/or diminished capacity, instead of symptomatic of and perhaps exacerbating an existing depression.

As a result of the White case, diminished capacity was abolished in 1982 by Proposition 8 and the California legislature, and replaced by "diminished actuality", referring not to the capacity to have a specific intent but to whether a defendant actually had a required intent to commit the crime with which he was charged. Additionally, California's statutory definitions of premeditation and malice required for murder were eliminated by the state's legislature, with a return to common law definitions. By this time, the "Twinkie defense" had become such a common referent that one lawmaker had waved a Twinkie in the air while making his point during debate.

Thanks for the info Frank. I always thought the term, "Twinkie Defense", related to Roy Jones Jr's title fight history.

-Rick

[Rick Farris]

A few months ago, there was an article in the Los Angeles
Times about Albert Davila and his academically-mind
kids, a number of whom are going to college. It is nice
to learn that Davila apparently has done well as a
family man. Davila was one of my favorite L.A.-based
fighters and one of the best pure boxers of the last
35 years.

- Chuck Johnston

Former boxing world champion Albert Davila and his wife Roberta, neither of whom graduated from college, have steered their six children toward a college education, including, from left, Brittany, Alyssa and Brianne.
(Ringo H.W. Chiu / Los Angeles Times)

The Garey High graduate from Pomona has reared a family of six children, all of whom have graduated from college or are working on their degrees.

Alberto Davila's best night in boxing was also his worst.

It was Sept. 1, 1983, and the Pomona Garey High graduate was fighting for the bantamweight championship for the fourth time, having disappointedly walked away from his previous three title bouts without a belt.

He'd been boxing for 17 years.

"Twelve years old when I started," remembers Davila, now a 53-year-old father of six living in Upland. "I walked into a gym one day and got the crap beat out of me, but I loved it. I went back every day for the next six years."

The top-ranked contender had hoped to draw on that experience as he fought for the World Boxing Council's recently vacated title in the 118-pound division, but going into the 12th round against No. 3-ranked Kiko Bejines, Davila trailed on points.

In 58 previous fights, the stylish boxer had won only 20 by knockout. Davila, described as more of a craftsman than a brawler, was "a boxer who embodies all the best aspects of the so-called sweet science," Times reporter Richard Hoffer wrote at the time, with "no instincts for the brutality" of the sport.

But, with another title shot seemingly slipping away, the usually defensive boxer transformed himself. Turning aggressor, Davila caught Bejines flush on the jaw with a right hand less than 30 seconds into the final round. He landed two left punches, backing the Guadalajara fighter against the ropes, and then another solid right.

Bejines, a popular attraction at the Olympic Auditorium because of his macho style, sank to the canvas. The oldest of three boxing brothers, he started to get up, bracing himself on his fists. But then he collapsed again, unconscious.

Finally, after failed attempts in 1978, 1980 and 1982, plus a brief retirement from the sport to take a job delivering beer, Davila was a champion.

Finally, he could rejoice.

But, to Davila's horror, Bejines wasn't moving. Dragged into his corner, where cornermen and doctors tried to revive him, Bejines later was carried out on a stretcher and, still unconscious, taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital. From there, a helicopter transported him to another hospital. The next day, he underwent a 3 1/2 -hour operation to relieve pressure on his brain.

Two days after that, Bejines was pronounced dead.

The new champion, meanwhile, stood by in anguish.

"I never celebrated that victory," says Davila, who works as a laborer for a property maintenance company in Irvine. "I remember being real proud that night, but yet when we left the Olympic we went straight to the hospital, where he was, and stayed there into the wee hours of the night and into the early morning.

"I couldn't enjoy the victory."

Adds Davila, "It's something that will never leave me."

But Davila's luck was better than Bejines', and Davila never lost sight of that. He continued striving to make a better life for his family.

"You ask questions of yourself, like, 'Why did this happen?' " Davila says. "You win the biggest fight of your life and it's a tragedy. But the way I look at it is, we risk everything in life every day when we walk out the door. You never know what's going to happen, or why things happen. God only knows."

Davila and his high school sweetheart, Roberta, have been married 32 years. Though neither graduated from college, their three sons and three daughters all are college graduates or working toward undergraduate degrees. Daughter Brianne is working on a doctorate and son Gabriel is working on a master's.

The two youngest, 18-year-old twins Alyssa and Albert, won college athletic scholarships. Alyssa is a freshman soccer player at USC, Albert a freshman distance runner at Oberlin College in Oberlin, Ohio.

"My wife stressed that very much to the kids," Davila says of the family's emphasis on education. "She's the one that did most of that."

Davila successfully defended his title once, knocking out Enrique Sanchez in a rainstorm in Miami, then blew out a disk in his back while gardening.

Davila, whose real name is Albert but who fought under the name Alberto to make himself more marketable to a Latino audience, launched another comeback after that and fought twice more for the title, losing both times to Happy Lora.

In 1988, after losing to Lora at the Forum, he retired.

"I loved the sport," says Davila, who stayed involved as a trainer for several years before untangling himself altogether. "I loved competing. I loved what it did for me. Boxing was good to me. It gave me a sense of pride and it let me see parts of the world that I might never have seen if I hadn't been a fighter."

Of course, it also provided its share of heartache.

Davila wasn't sorry when his kids showed little interest in it.

"It's a hard sport," he says. "You've got to love it and I did. As dirty as it is, I miss it dearly. But I'm very happy away from it -- the corruption, the bad people."

And the triumphant nights that can turn to tragedy.

[email protected]The Garey High graduate from Pomona has reared a family of six children, all of whom have graduated from college or are working on their degrees.

Alberto Davila's best night in boxing was also his worst.

It was Sept. 1, 1983, and the Pomona Garey High graduate was fighting for the bantamweight championship for the fourth time, having disappointedly walked away from his previous three title bouts without a belt.

He'd been boxing for 17 years.

"Twelve years old when I started," remembers Davila, now a 53-year-old father of six living in Upland. "I walked into a gym one day and got the crap beat out of me, but I loved it. I went back every day for the next six years."

The top-ranked contender had hoped to draw on that experience as he fought for the World Boxing Council's recently vacated title in the 118-pound division, but going into the 12th round against No. 3-ranked Kiko Bejines, Davila trailed on points.

In 58 previous fights, the stylish boxer had won only 20 by knockout. Davila, described as more of a craftsman than a brawler, was "a boxer who embodies all the best aspects of the so-called sweet science," Times reporter Richard Hoffer wrote at the time, with "no instincts for the brutality" of the sport.

But, with another title shot seemingly slipping away, the usually defensive boxer transformed himself. Turning aggressor, Davila caught Bejines flush on the jaw with a right hand less than 30 seconds into the final round. He landed two left punches, backing the Guadalajara fighter against the ropes, and then another solid right.

Bejines, a popular attraction at the Olympic Auditorium because of his macho style, sank to the canvas. The oldest of three boxing brothers, he started to get up, bracing himself on his fists. But then he collapsed again, unconscious.

Finally, after failed attempts in 1978, 1980 and 1982, plus a brief retirement from the sport to take a job delivering beer, Davila was a champion.

Finally, he could rejoice.

But, to Davila's horror, Bejines wasn't moving. Dragged into his corner, where cornermen and doctors tried to revive him, Bejines later was carried out on a stretcher and, still unconscious, taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital. From there, a helicopter transported him to another hospital. The next day, he underwent a 3 1/2 -hour operation to relieve pressure on his brain.

Two days after that, Bejines was pronounced dead.

The new champion, meanwhile, stood by in anguish.

"I never celebrated that victory," says Davila, who works as a laborer for a property maintenance company in Irvine. "I remember being real proud that night, but yet when we left the Olympic we went straight to the hospital, where he was, and stayed there into the wee hours of the night and into the early morning.

"I couldn't enjoy the victory."

Adds Davila, "It's something that will never leave me."

But Davila's luck was better than Bejines', and Davila never lost sight of that. He continued striving to make a better life for his family.

"You ask questions of yourself, like, 'Why did this happen?' " Davila says. "You win the biggest fight of your life and it's a tragedy. But the way I look at it is, we risk everything in life every day when we walk out the door. You never know what's going to happen, or why things happen. God only knows."

Davila and his high school sweetheart, Roberta, have been married 32 years. Though neither graduated from college, their three sons and three daughters all are college graduates or working toward undergraduate degrees. Daughter Brianne is working on a doctorate and son Gabriel is working on a master's.

The two youngest, 18-year-old twins Alyssa and Albert, won college athletic scholarships. Alyssa is a freshman soccer player at USC, Albert a freshman distance runner at Oberlin College in Oberlin, Ohio.

"My wife stressed that very much to the kids," Davila says of the family's emphasis on education. "She's the one that did most of that."

Davila successfully defended his title once, knocking out Enrique Sanchez in a rainstorm in Miami, then blew out a disk in his back while gardening.

Davila, whose real name is Albert but who fought under the name Alberto to make himself more marketable to a Latino audience, launched another comeback after that and fought twice more for the title, losing both times to Happy Lora.

In 1988, after losing to Lora at the Forum, he retired.

"I loved the sport," says Davila, who stayed involved as a trainer for several years before untangling himself altogether. "I loved competing. I loved what it did for me. Boxing was good to me. It gave me a sense of pride and it let me see parts of the world that I might never have seen if I hadn't been a fighter."

Of course, it also provided its share of heartache.

Davila wasn't sorry when his kids showed little interest in it.

"It's a hard sport," he says. "You've got to love it and I did. As dirty as it is, I miss it dearly. But I'm very happy away from it -- the corruption, the bad people."

And the triumphant nights that can turn to tragedy.

Frank . . . Do you remember Davila as a kid? He had long stringy kinda blondish hair down to his shoulders, a real nice kid, quiet. I recall in 1967 or 68, the L.A. Jr. Amateurs went to Las Vegas, and we all slept on cots in some club, and the fights were held outdoors, late in the afternoon, at a destruction derby track just outside downtown. We all fought, and after the show, when night fell, the old jalopys came out and did there show under the lights.

The only fight I remember, aside from my own, was Davila's. Tweedy won the "Outstanding Boxer" trophy, and looked like a miniture Willie Pep, as he totally outboxed, out foxed and out fought his confused, soon-to-be-stopped opponent.

Albert was fun to watch, and a real great guy!


-Rick Farris

[kikibalt]

Rick,

That was in 1968, Tony lost that nite, after 36 wins he got his first lost on his record.

There was a guy that help Louie J. at the teamsters that also made that trip, he used to work at a McDonald in L.A. and he set it up for a McDonald in Las Vegas to feed all the kids.

Can't rememmber his name, but he died not long after that from cancer.

[raylawpc]

Yeah!, but I'm a nice guy.

And a snappy dresser.

I first saw Frank when he was about twenty years younger, when he wasn't yet thirty. He didn't have the mustache back then, and the hair was a little shorter, however, he really hasn't changed much in the past four decades plus. He wears glasses now, and he's got a little grey streaking his hair, and maybe he doesn't feel the same? However, Kiki hasn't changed much.

-Rick

One thing is for certain. Frank looks ALOT better in his picture than "Custer" D'Amato does in his!!

[kikibalt]

And a snappy dresser.

I first saw Frank when he was about twenty years younger, when he wasn't yet thirty. He didn't have the mustache back then, and the hair was a little shorter, however, he really hasn't changed much in the past four decades plus. He wears glasses now, and he's got a little grey streaking his hair, and maybe he doesn't feel the same? However, Kiki hasn't changed much.

-Rick

One thing is for certain. Frank looks ALOT better in his picture than "Custer" D'Amato does in his!!

Thanks Tom!..

[dagosd2000]

diego,

Both Cotero's were very, very exciting fighters, good banger both were,
I seen both fight a few times at both the Olympic and Hollywood Legion.

Frank,
I talked to the kid at work today. His name is Jesus. He's going to email me Monday and give me his uncle Jose's phone number. He looked at the Forum. Like I said,he doesn't give himself away,but he's a good kid. He said his uncle is already in the Cal Box Hall of Fame. Armando is related to his uncle? He told me his uncle didn't have a brother,but I might have misunderstood him.

So menudo isn't Tex/Mex? Geez,menudo is a staple around here. At the Mercado Municipal,a block up from the Coauila,that's all that's in there. Dozens of menudo booths with these with women hustling you to eat their menudo. Man does that place get a workout early Sunday morning. I remember after a night of drinking that's the only thing I could hold down.

Diego,

He is right, Jose Luis is in the hall of fame, but he is wrong about Jose not having a brother, Jose and Armando are brothers, I used to see them fight, at the gym, in the knockout they are bill as brothers, they're brothers, don't know why he wouldn't know that.

Btw, just look at their faces, and tell me they are not brothers.

Yeah they're brothers. I think what I misunderstood is he might have said his uncle Armando is not in the Hall of Fame. Either that or The Invasion of The Body Snatchers were in their neighborhood.

[dagosd2000]

So menudo isn't Tex/Mex? Geez,menudo is a staple around here. At the Mercado Municipal,a block up from the Coauila,that's all that's in there. Dozens of menudo booths with these with women hustling you to eat their menudo. Man does that place get a workout early Sunday morning. I remember after a night of drinking that's the only thing I could hold down.

Don't know if menudo Tex-Mex, as I don't know beans about anything Texas's, I just know that I love a good menudo (red) with pata.

I got a great idea. Next time you're down here,we'll tell the wives we're going to the Coahuila to eat menudo. If they believe that one,maybe we can sell them the Brooklyn Bridge.

[dagosd2000]

Dagos ,I get hungry just thinking about the stuff Diamond Joe was bringin around.
True Italian bakery goods.Wonderful.
The stuff I delivered was Twinkies and Ho Hos , ding dongs etc.,There ought to be a law against it.
Ive been out of that a long time now thank God.

Pug
You Irish are good in a fight,but me and Frank got to introduce you to some good ethnic food. They must still have some in Chicago.

A bakery guy guy who delivers twinkies. What the hell is this country coming to?

My wife whos also Irish is a real good cook.
But I used to work construction with alot of Mexican guys and they were always bringing in good Mexican food for lunch and theyd share.
My wife used to make this kind of enchilada dish that was pretty good.
One day after lunch with my Mexican coworkers I had to tell her,"honey, no more gringo enchiladas".

Pug,here's a good one.
When I was a kid,a big event was going over to my grandmother's house and eat the big Italian Sunday dinner. Actually the house belonged to my grandfather "Diamond Joe". It was on the corner of Polk and Oakley Blvds. Well just before you eat,you rush down to the Italian bakery and get a couple of loaves of hot Italian bread right out of the oven. My father piles me and my sisters and my cousins in the back of the car and ride to the bakery. It's about a ten minute drive. My father comes out of the bakery with a bag with the loaves of bread and tells me to guard it. Well I've never remembered being skinny and when I got handed the bread it was like demons inside of me telling me to do something bad. I started smelling the aroma of the bread going into my nostrils up into my brain. It was like dope. I started to pick at the crust and that led to tearing little chunks off,that lead to tearing bigger chunks off. Well to make a long story short,we were shy a loaf of bread when we got back to my grandmothers. My father saw crumbs all over my shirt,and I'll tell ya' neither my sisters or my cousins were going to take the rap for me. Ever try to eat a sausage and pepper sandwich with a swollen lip?

[Rick Farris]

Rick,

That was in 1968, Tony lost that nite, after 36 wins he got his first lost on his record.

There was a guy that help Louie J. at the teamsters that also made that trip, he used to work at a McDonald in L.A. and he set it up for a McDonald in Las Vegas to feed all the kids.

Can't rememmber his name, but he died not long after that from cancer.

Wow! I remember eating McDonalds, and I can't think of who it was that arranged it. I rode to Vegas from the Valley with a trainer from the Valley, a black guy named Owen, who had a few kids from San Fernando that he trained. I recall, Owen had an old station wagon, one that once had that wood paneling on the side, but most of it had either worn off or peeled of. He loaded the wagon with a bunch of us kids and drove us thru the desert to Las Vegas. He was a great guy, like all those coaches, he took the time to teach his kids how to box, and donated his time & car to get us to a tournament in another state.

It's guys like Owen, Frank, Johnny Flores, Juaregue, Jake Horn, Tony Cerda, Jimmy Montoya, Noe Cruz, the Soto brothers, Sammy Saunders and many others that are responsible for the careers of so many great young boxers from Southern Cal. These guys don't make any money, spend a lot on gas, equipment, time, etc. They drive for hours under all-weather conditions just to see their boxer gets to fight.

-Rick Farris

[dagosd2000]

I first saw Frank when he was about twenty years younger, when he wasn't yet thirty. He didn't have the mustache back then, and the hair was a little shorter, however, he really hasn't changed much in the past four decades plus. He wears glasses now, and he's got a little grey streaking his hair, and maybe he doesn't feel the same? However, Kiki hasn't changed much.

-Rick

One thing is for certain. Frank looks ALOT better in his picture than "Custer" D'Amato does in his!!

Thanks Tom!..

Hey Buddy,don't take no shit from these guys about your picture. This will cheer you up. I found a purpose for it. My sisters got this big back yard with all these fruit trees. The crows are always comin' around attacking the trees. Well you'll never guess what I did with your picture?

When I come up Saturday,you want me to bring you up a sack of plums?

[bennie]

In doing some research on Paul Banke for his induction into the CBHOF on June 21, 2008, found that he is half Yaqui Indian and half German.

Banke must have been close to making the LA Olympics in '84. I saw him lick an Englishman (Steve Nolan) in 1983 in London. He was great to watch - all action.

[bennie]

A few months ago, there was an article in the Los Angeles
Times about Albert Davila and his academically-mind
kids, a number of whom are going to college. It is nice
to learn that Davila apparently has done well as a
family man. Davila was one of my favorite L.A.-based
fighters and one of the best pure boxers of the last
35 years.

- Chuck Johnston

Former boxing world champion Albert Davila and his wife Roberta, neither of whom graduated from college, have steered their six children toward a college education, including, from left, Brittany, Alyssa and Brianne.
(Ringo H.W. Chiu / Los Angeles Times)

The Garey High graduate from Pomona has reared a family of six children, all of whom have graduated from college or are working on their degrees.

Alberto Davila's best night in boxing was also his worst.

It was Sept. 1, 1983, and the Pomona Garey High graduate was fighting for the bantamweight championship for the fourth time, having disappointedly walked away from his previous three title bouts without a belt.

He'd been boxing for 17 years.

"Twelve years old when I started," remembers Davila, now a 53-year-old father of six living in Upland. "I walked into a gym one day and got the crap beat out of me, but I loved it. I went back every day for the next six years."

The top-ranked contender had hoped to draw on that experience as he fought for the World Boxing Council's recently vacated title in the 118-pound division, but going into the 12th round against No. 3-ranked Kiko Bejines, Davila trailed on points.

In 58 previous fights, the stylish boxer had won only 20 by knockout. Davila, described as more of a craftsman than a brawler, was "a boxer who embodies all the best aspects of the so-called sweet science," Times reporter Richard Hoffer wrote at the time, with "no instincts for the brutality" of the sport.

But, with another title shot seemingly slipping away, the usually defensive boxer transformed himself. Turning aggressor, Davila caught Bejines flush on the jaw with a right hand less than 30 seconds into the final round. He landed two left punches, backing the Guadalajara fighter against the ropes, and then another solid right.

Bejines, a popular attraction at the Olympic Auditorium because of his macho style, sank to the canvas. The oldest of three boxing brothers, he started to get up, bracing himself on his fists. But then he collapsed again, unconscious.

Finally, after failed attempts in 1978, 1980 and 1982, plus a brief retirement from the sport to take a job delivering beer, Davila was a champion.

Finally, he could rejoice.

But, to Davila's horror, Bejines wasn't moving. Dragged into his corner, where cornermen and doctors tried to revive him, Bejines later was carried out on a stretcher and, still unconscious, taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital. From there, a helicopter transported him to another hospital. The next day, he underwent a 3 1/2 -hour operation to relieve pressure on his brain.

Two days after that, Bejines was pronounced dead.

The new champion, meanwhile, stood by in anguish.

"I never celebrated that victory," says Davila, who works as a laborer for a property maintenance company in Irvine. "I remember being real proud that night, but yet when we left the Olympic we went straight to the hospital, where he was, and stayed there into the wee hours of the night and into the early morning.

"I couldn't enjoy the victory."

Adds Davila, "It's something that will never leave me."

But Davila's luck was better than Bejines', and Davila never lost sight of that. He continued striving to make a better life for his family.

"You ask questions of yourself, like, 'Why did this happen?' " Davila says. "You win the biggest fight of your life and it's a tragedy. But the way I look at it is, we risk everything in life every day when we walk out the door. You never know what's going to happen, or why things happen. God only knows."

Davila and his high school sweetheart, Roberta, have been married 32 years. Though neither graduated from college, their three sons and three daughters all are college graduates or working toward undergraduate degrees. Daughter Brianne is working on a doctorate and son Gabriel is working on a master's.

The two youngest, 18-year-old twins Alyssa and Albert, won college athletic scholarships. Alyssa is a freshman soccer player at USC, Albert a freshman distance runner at Oberlin College in Oberlin, Ohio.

"My wife stressed that very much to the kids," Davila says of the family's emphasis on education. "She's the one that did most of that."

Davila successfully defended his title once, knocking out Enrique Sanchez in a rainstorm in Miami, then blew out a disk in his back while gardening.

Davila, whose real name is Albert but who fought under the name Alberto to make himself more marketable to a Latino audience, launched another comeback after that and fought twice more for the title, losing both times to Happy Lora.

In 1988, after losing to Lora at the Forum, he retired.

"I loved the sport," says Davila, who stayed involved as a trainer for several years before untangling himself altogether. "I loved competing. I loved what it did for me. Boxing was good to me. It gave me a sense of pride and it let me see parts of the world that I might never have seen if I hadn't been a fighter."

Of course, it also provided its share of heartache.

Davila wasn't sorry when his kids showed little interest in it.

"It's a hard sport," he says. "You've got to love it and I did. As dirty as it is, I miss it dearly. But I'm very happy away from it -- the corruption, the bad people."

And the triumphant nights that can turn to tragedy.

[email protected]The Garey High graduate from Pomona has reared a family of six children, all of whom have graduated from college or are working on their degrees.

Alberto Davila's best night in boxing was also his worst.

It was Sept. 1, 1983, and the Pomona Garey High graduate was fighting for the bantamweight championship for the fourth time, having disappointedly walked away from his previous three title bouts without a belt.

He'd been boxing for 17 years.

"Twelve years old when I started," remembers Davila, now a 53-year-old father of six living in Upland. "I walked into a gym one day and got the crap beat out of me, but I loved it. I went back every day for the next six years."

The top-ranked contender had hoped to draw on that experience as he fought for the World Boxing Council's recently vacated title in the 118-pound division, but going into the 12th round against No. 3-ranked Kiko Bejines, Davila trailed on points.

In 58 previous fights, the stylish boxer had won only 20 by knockout. Davila, described as more of a craftsman than a brawler, was "a boxer who embodies all the best aspects of the so-called sweet science," Times reporter Richard Hoffer wrote at the time, with "no instincts for the brutality" of the sport.

But, with another title shot seemingly slipping away, the usually defensive boxer transformed himself. Turning aggressor, Davila caught Bejines flush on the jaw with a right hand less than 30 seconds into the final round. He landed two left punches, backing the Guadalajara fighter against the ropes, and then another solid right.

Bejines, a popular attraction at the Olympic Auditorium because of his macho style, sank to the canvas. The oldest of three boxing brothers, he started to get up, bracing himself on his fists. But then he collapsed again, unconscious.

Finally, after failed attempts in 1978, 1980 and 1982, plus a brief retirement from the sport to take a job delivering beer, Davila was a champion.

Finally, he could rejoice.

But, to Davila's horror, Bejines wasn't moving. Dragged into his corner, where cornermen and doctors tried to revive him, Bejines later was carried out on a stretcher and, still unconscious, taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital. From there, a helicopter transported him to another hospital. The next day, he underwent a 3 1/2 -hour operation to relieve pressure on his brain.

Two days after that, Bejines was pronounced dead.

The new champion, meanwhile, stood by in anguish.

"I never celebrated that victory," says Davila, who works as a laborer for a property maintenance company in Irvine. "I remember being real proud that night, but yet when we left the Olympic we went straight to the hospital, where he was, and stayed there into the wee hours of the night and into the early morning.

"I couldn't enjoy the victory."

Adds Davila, "It's something that will never leave me."

But Davila's luck was better than Bejines', and Davila never lost sight of that. He continued striving to make a better life for his family.

"You ask questions of yourself, like, 'Why did this happen?' " Davila says. "You win the biggest fight of your life and it's a tragedy. But the way I look at it is, we risk everything in life every day when we walk out the door. You never know what's going to happen, or why things happen. God only knows."

Davila and his high school sweetheart, Roberta, have been married 32 years. Though neither graduated from college, their three sons and three daughters all are college graduates or working toward undergraduate degrees. Daughter Brianne is working on a doctorate and son Gabriel is working on a master's.

The two youngest, 18-year-old twins Alyssa and Albert, won college athletic scholarships. Alyssa is a freshman soccer player at USC, Albert a freshman distance runner at Oberlin College in Oberlin, Ohio.

"My wife stressed that very much to the kids," Davila says of the family's emphasis on education. "She's the one that did most of that."

Davila successfully defended his title once, knocking out Enrique Sanchez in a rainstorm in Miami, then blew out a disk in his back while gardening.

Davila, whose real name is Albert but who fought under the name Alberto to make himself more marketable to a Latino audience, launched another comeback after that and fought twice more for the title, losing both times to Happy Lora.

In 1988, after losing to Lora at the Forum, he retired.

"I loved the sport," says Davila, who stayed involved as a trainer for several years before untangling himself altogether. "I loved competing. I loved what it did for me. Boxing was good to me. It gave me a sense of pride and it let me see parts of the world that I might never have seen if I hadn't been a fighter."

Of course, it also provided its share of heartache.

Davila wasn't sorry when his kids showed little interest in it.

"It's a hard sport," he says. "You've got to love it and I did. As dirty as it is, I miss it dearly. But I'm very happy away from it -- the corruption, the bad people."

And the triumphant nights that can turn to tragedy.

Davila was one of those fighters who probably wept when they cut 15-rounders to 12. He piled it on down the stretch every time. Great photo. Bejines, by the way (a good fighter), should never have been in the ring with Davila that night. He lost a fight a little while earlier and didn't deserve his WBC No. 1 ranking (in my opinion).

[Boxingnut]

From what I recall Bejines either hadn't made the weight in over a year or hadn't fought in over a year and questions were asked in the boxing magazines of the day as to how he got a title shot.

[kikibalt]

Hey Buddy,don't take no shit from these guys about your picture. This will cheer you up. I found a purpose for it. My sisters got this big back yard with all these fruit trees. The crows are always comin' around attacking the trees. Well you'll never guess what I did with your picture?

When I come up Saturday,you want me to bring you up a sack of plums?

diego,

Its alright if the guys have fun with my pic., I'll tell you, I had a hang-over when they took that pic.

Yeah, I'll take the plums.

What time're you heading north on Saturday? the luncheon starts at 11AM.

[kikibalt]

From what I recall Bejines either hadn't made the weight in over a year or hadn't fought in over a year and questions were asked in the boxing magazines of the day as to how he got a title shot.

Bejines last fight before he fought Davila was on 8-12-82, a lost to Edgar Roman by ko, the Davila was a year later.

It go to show you that in boxing its, not what you know, its who you know, or suck!.

[bennie]

From what I recall Bejines either hadn't made the weight in over a year or hadn't fought in over a year and questions were asked in the boxing magazines of the day as to how he got a title shot.

Bejines last fight before he fought Davila was on 8-12-82, a lost to Edgar Roman by ko, the Davila was a year later.

It go to show you that in boxing its, not what you know, its who you know, or suck!.

In fairness, Frankie, I'm pretty sure Kiko lost to Roman when he put his shoulder out. That's off the top of my head. The fact remains, Bejines should have lost his mandatory ranking and then Davila would have fought someone else for the vacant title.
Ifs and buts.

[kikibalt]

Minor league Los Angeles was a little slice of heaven

Jack Herod / LAT
A member of the Hollywood Stars slides into home plate in a close play during a 1939 game. The Stars and the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League drew large crowds in the days when the major leagues stretched no farther west than St. Louis.

In the years before the Dodgers came to L.A., the Hollywood Stars and Los Angeles Angels were the only game in town. And that was no minor matter.

By John Schulian, Special to The Times

It was a far different world the night Paul Pettit drove in 10 runs for a team called the Hollywood Stars. This was a minor league town then, with the Stars on one side of it, the original L.A. Angels on the other and oceans of bad blood between them.

The Dodgers would bring the major leagues the next year, as if the magic in baseball couldn't come from anywhere else. But the big leagues seemed to matter most to grown-ups and politicians, two groups that should never be considered one in the same. To a kid listening to the Stars on the radio, baseball was fine just the way it was.

If anybody had asked me, I'd have remembered how Pittsburgh made Pettit the first of the $100,000 bonus babies when 100 grand was more than valet parking money. And how his left arm went bad and he reinvented himself as a cleanup hitter who wore glasses. I'd have remembered because I thought nothing was more important, and I'd have said that all the magic I needed was in Pettit's bat.

I would have gladly confessed to the same sentiment about the Angels' Steve Bilko even though the Stars were my team and I should have hated him reflexively. But he belted 55 home runs in 1956 and 56 in '57, and home runs in that quantity make willpower weak and temptation strong.

Besides, the moon-faced Bilko was an amiable, beer-loving galoot who bore a striking resemblance to a double-door refrigerator. The only time his smile disappeared was when someone asked if he had stepped on a scale lately. Said a headline in this very newspaper: "Not Even Mrs. Bilko Knows His Weight." L.A., which had yet to embrace the thin, the gaunt and the cadaverous, loved every well-padded inch of him.

He tore up the Pacific Coast League when it ran from San Diego to Vancouver, and never was he more terrifying than at home in L.A.'s Wrigley Field. With two decks and 20,000 seats at Avalon and 42nd Street, it was modeled after its namesake in Chicago and built by the chewing-gum magnate who put his name on both ballparks. The power alleys were short, and there was a jet stream that Gene Mauch, the Angels' second baseman from '54 to '56, said once carried one of his pop-ups into the right-center-field bleachers. No wonder they filmed TV's "Home Run Derby" at Wrigley.

They made baseball movies there too -- "Damn Yankees" and "It Happened One Spring" come to mind -- and Chuck Connors, a slugging Angels first baseman before Bilko, became "The Rifleman" on TV. But if you wanted to see celebrities, you went to Gilmore Field, the cozy, wooden home of the Hollywood Stars, hard by Farmers Market on the turf that CBS now occupies. The Stars attracted big names the way the Lakers do today -- Bing Crosby, Groucho Marx, Gary Cooper, Humphrey Bogart. The young and scrumptious Elizabeth Taylor even took a turn as the Stars' batgirl.

If a player poked his head in team owner Bob Cobb's office after a game, he might find George Raft, the movie gangster, hobnobbing with the boss. (This is the same Bob Cobb who owned the Brown Derby and invented the Cobb salad.) And if the Stars looked in a certain box seat during a game, they would see a real gangster, Mickey Cohen, the scourge of the L.A. underworld.

But even with all those marquee names, the L.A. where the Stars and Angels dwelt had a small-town feel. Lou Stringer, a second baseman for both teams, sold my dad a '56 Chevy, and Eddie Malone, who caught for both, would have done the same. Roger Bowman, a 22-game winner for the '54 Stars, had an upholstery shop in Santa Monica, and Murray Franklin, who hit the homer that made champions of the '49 Stars, spent the off-season selling sporting goods for J.C. Penney. When Franklin wanted to turn the garage at his Compton home into a den, his teammates helped him.

Four years later, they squared off against one another in the damnedest baseball brawl L.A. has ever seen. What began as just one of many beanball wars between the town's teams turned nuclear when the Stars' Ted Beard slid into third base with spikes high. The blood he spilled was Franklin's. Old Moe was playing his first game with the Angels, but he never had to be asked twice to throw a punch, and he certainly wasn't going to start then.

While Franklin tried to rearrange Beard's profile, the rest of the Stars and Angels battled all over Gilmore, a donnybrook that couldn't be stopped until 50 uniformed cops poured onto the field. Life magazine filled three pages with photos of the mayhem, and in those days Life was as big a part of the culture as the Internet is today.

It was a far gentler moment, however, that convinced me to care about baseball before the Dodgers. One night at Gilmore, Red Munger, a rough-hewn right-hander for the Stars, spotted my head of corn-silk hair in the grandstand and said, "Hiya, Whitey." I couldn't have been more than 4 or 5, but I felt like the most important person in the world.

The wonderful thing is, I can still hear those words. They are never louder than when I go to the Pacific Coast League Historical Society's L.A. reunion every spring. I like being around people who remember the Stars' base-stealing Carlos Bernier, who had a temper as big as his chaw of tobacco. And there's always a chance that Gail "Windy" Wade, the '56 Angels' loquacious center fielder, might make another trip out from North Carolina, still looking as if he could play both ends of a doubleheader.

No reunion is official, though, unless someone mentions Steve Bilko. He died long before his time 30 years ago this month, but he lives again when old Coast League players and fans gather. For that one day, he's still hitting home runs, the big man with the big smile and the big belly. Everybody is young once more, and it really doesn't matter whether the Dodgers are here or not.

John Schulian is a former Chicago Sun-Times sports columnist and a longtime contributor to Sports Illustrated. He is the author of "Twilight of the Long-ball Gods," a collection of his baseball writing.

[Expug]

Great article by John Schulian.
John was a writer here in Chicago many years ago.
He wrote a book called "Writers Fighters" that is a very entertaining read.
I recommend it.
Some good stuff in it about the aformentioned Johnny Lira too, Benny.

[kikibalt]

Hollywood's entry into professional baseball began when the Salt Lake City Bees moved their franchise to the movie capitol after the 1925 season, under the ownership of Bill "Hardpan" Lane, a prospector who struck gold in the Yukon Territory at the turn of the century.
Although they were supposedly based in Hollywood, the team actually played miles away in Wrigley Field, the home of the rival Los Angeles Angels. At first they were still called the "Bees," then the "Sheiks," but "Stars" was a universal sobriquet, and the uniforms were changed as a concession to popular opinion. In 1928, they became the first professional baseball team to fly when it was determined they wouldn't have enough time to ride by train back to California for a home game.

Among the notables who played for the Stars was Hollywood High graduate and spitball ace Frank Shellenback, who is ranked by many as the greatest PCL pitcher of all time. After a stint with the Chicago White Sox in 1918 and 1919 (the "Black Sox" year), Shellenback traveled west after the spitball was outlawed in the major leagues. Shellenback never tried to return to the "Eastern League" without his best pitch. Instead, he dominated the PCL, averaging almost 24 wins a season for six years in the 1920s, and an incredible 33 out of 34 games in the 1930-31 seasons. Teammate (and eventual MLB Hall-of-Famer) Bobby Doerr recalled, "There were slippery elm tablets he'd suck on. He would spit on a spot on the ball and it was real slick -- and once in a while in the infield you'd grab the ball where that was and throw a 'spitter' to the first baseman." Shellenback won 295 games over the course of his career -- 205 for the Stars.

Hollywood won the PCL pennant in 1929, beating San Francisco's Mission Reds in a post-season playoff, and won the pennant again in 1930. But it's hard to build a fan base when you play in another team's stadium -- especially during a Depression.

Things got so bad that in 1935 Lane had to ask manager Oscar Vitt to resign, in order to save money by utilizing pitcher Frank Shellenback as a player-manager. The move was a disaster, and not only did the Stars finish in last place, they only drew 90,000 fans all year. (To show you how much attendance had dropped off, 80,000 fans had attended a seven game series against the Angels at Wrigley Field just five years before.)

Worse yet, Lane was informed that the team's rent at Wrigley Field was going to double, to $10,000. He simply couldn't afford it, and decided to move back out of town.

So after the 1935 season, the franchise moved 100 miles south and became the San Diego Padres. (The next year, led by a pitcher-slugger named Ted Williams, the Padres won their first PCL title.)

On the last day of the 1935 season, the Missions led Hollywood 14-7 with two out and nobody on in the bottom of the ninth. Comedian Joe E. Brown, a former semi-pro player who starred in baseball films like Alibi Ike and Elmer the Great, came to the mound for the Stars to pitch to songwriter Harry Ruby. Being a top-ten box office star, Brown called in the outfielders and positioned them in front of him as protection from line drives, but then whiffed Ruby to close out the season.

'38: STARS REBORN

Hollywood went without baseball until 1938, when the Mission Reds (previously named the Vernon Tigers, who had played just north of Los Angeles, under the ownership of Fatty Arbuckle) returned to Southern California and, in an effort to fake some sort of continuity, took over the name "Hollywood Stars." But the team was terrible, finishing last, and so cash-poor that when they finally bought a decent player -- Danny Bell of the New York Yankees -- they couldn't raise the cash for his purchase price and had to send him back. Finally the management team dissolved.

So the Stars were sold again -- this time to attorney Victor Ford Collins and restaurateur Bob Cobb (the guy the Cobb salad is named after). Cobb borrowed $5000 from director Cecil B. DeMille to buy a large share of the club.

Cobb and Collins formed the Hollywood Baseball Association, and started devising ways to raise money for the team and secure a new ballpark. The most important method they used was to sell stock in their Association to movie stars and civic leaders in Hollywood, in an effort to create a community-oriented franchise. In this way the team would truly represent the city (as well as benefit from a lot of publicity). In fact, they were probably the first baseball franchise in which the owners had a larger fan base than the team!

This was obviously not your average group of minor league investors: Board meetings were held at Cobb's elegant Beverly Hills restaurant or aboard auto magnate Frank Muller's yacht, and the Chairman of the Board of Directors was Cecil B. DeMille. They signed a deal to play at Gilmore Stadium, which was used for midget auto races, and then paid $200,000 towards the construction of a new ballpark, called Gilmore Field (named after Earl Gilmore, an oil tycoon who owned the site), to be built next door...

The lovely Gilmore Field opened on May 2, 1939, at 7700 Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles, with all the fanfare of a Hollywood premiere. Jack Benny, Al Jolsen, Gary Cooper, Robert Taylor and Bing Crosby hosted pre-game festivities, and starlet and co-owner Gail Patrick (also the wife of Bob Cobb) threw out the first pitch to movie comedian Joe E. Brown. There was no Hollywood ending, however -- the Stars lost to the Seattle Rainiers, 9-5. Still, the franchise quickly caught on and became very popular with Angelinos in the post-World War II economy.

Much like what you see at the Laker games of today, Hollywood denizens attended Stars games to see and be seen. It was said more beautiful women attended games at Gilmore than anywhere else in the minor or major leagues. Celebrities like Spencer Tracy, Milton Berle and Rosemary Clooney were often seen in the grandstand of the stadium -- as were gangsters like Benjamin "Don't call me Bugsy" Siegel. A special VIP room under the stands made it easy for them to socialize and drink harder stuff than soda pop between innings without pesky fans pestering them.


The 11,500-seat Gilmore Field was possibly the most intimate metropolitan ballpark ever built. First and third bases were 24 feet from the front row seats; home plate was only 34 feet away. Fans seated in the bleachers carried on running conversations with the outfielders -- even during the game. But it was more intimate in that there were large gaps between the wood planks in the stands, and players relaxing under the bleachers for the seventh inning stretch could tell if any woman standing above them in a dress was wearing panties or not.

[kikibalt]

From what I recall Bejines either hadn't made the weight in over a year or hadn't fought in over a year and questions were asked in the boxing magazines of the day as to how he got a title shot.

Bejines last fight before he fought Davila was on 8-12-82, a lost to Edgar Roman by ko, the Davila was a year later.

It go to show you that in boxing its, not what you know, its who you know, or suck!.

In fairness, Frankie, I'm pretty sure Kiko lost to Roman when he put his shoulder out. That's off the top of my head. The fact remains, Bejines should have lost his mandatory ranking and then Davila would have fought someone else for the vacant title.
Ifs and buts.

Bennie,

You're right about the shoulder, and I agree with you on the rest.

[kikibalt]

Thats me with my buddy Chepe

[kikibalt]

Rick,

That was in 1968, Tony lost that nite, after 36 wins he got his first lost on his record.

There was a guy that help Louie J. at the teamsters that also made that trip, he used to work at a McDonald in L.A. and he set it up for a McDonald in Las Vegas to feed all the kids.

Can't rememmber his name, but he died not long after that from cancer.

Wow! I remember eating McDonalds, and I can't think of who it was that arranged it. I rode to Vegas from the Valley with a trainer from the Valley, a black guy named Owen, who had a few kids from San Fernando that he trained. I recall, Owen had an old station wagon, one that once had that wood paneling on the side, but most of it had either worn off or peeled of. He loaded the wagon with a bunch of us kids and drove us thru the desert to Las Vegas. He was a great guy, like all those coaches, he took the time to teach his kids how to box, and donated his time & car to get us to a tournament in another state.

It's guys like Owen, Frank, Johnny Flores, Juaregue, Jake Horn, Tony Cerda, Jimmy Montoya, Noe Cruz, the Soto brothers, Sammy Saunders and many others that are responsible for the careers of so many great young boxers from Southern Cal. These guys don't make any money, spend a lot on gas, equipment, time, etc. They drive for hours under all-weather conditions just to see their boxer gets to fight.

-Rick Farris

Rick,

Believe or not, but it was my first time that I had been to Las Vegas, I had a 1963 Chevy SS at the time, driving with me and the boys was Pete Avalos who used to train Porky (Rudy Acuna) coming back I let Pete drive and he had my SS up to 100 mile per hour, first stop we made I took over and didn't let him drive anymore, hell, I almost made caca in my pants.

I still can't remmeber the name of the guy that set-up the McDonalds deal, but he died about a year later, he was only 27 years old, too young to die from cancer, for sure.

I remmeber the old station wagon full of the kids, so you were one of them?

[bennie]

We were in N.Y.C. for a Don King press conference.
1982

Who are the other fighters, Frankie?

[kikibalt]

Rick; remember those nites at the Teamsters Gym, when we were all young.

This pic. was taken in 1965 at a JR.GG fight at the Teamsters,
Thats my cousin Tony Adame (L), who fought amateur for Louie
Jauregui back in the late 1950's, Tony have since passed away,
and thats little Tony B. and me.