If Landon were alive . . . Those of us still breathing would be working with him. Myself in a camera position, more than likely? Michael would still be teamed up with Kent McCray, who is still alive and healthier today than years past. We'd be producing something compelling, and likely something that makes sentimental people tear up.
The Dude really knew how to make 'em cry, I'll never forget one we did that won an Emmy for best Drama, cinematography, etc. And it was a boxing episode starring actor Moses Gunn, playing a partially blind prizefighter. I was just a lighting tech then, and Mike told his lighting gaffer, Lon Massey III to take his time because this was special. Massey, my friend and early mentor, lit that episode so beautifully.
For the time, it was the best of TV. "Little House on the Praire"
-Rick
Classic American West Coast Boxing
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Gents, things are lightening up a bit, I will be around more.
Bennie, your in my prayers, I hope you can beat that illness.
I just got home from working the Lakers - Bulls game.
Kobe Bryant must have had a hundred people waitng after the game for an autograph.
They all had permission to come down to a restricted area where Im in charge.
He stiffed all of them by slipping out the side door.
I dont think too many boxers would have done that.
At least not the ones we talk about here.
Bennie, your in my prayers, I hope you can beat that illness.
I just got home from working the Lakers - Bulls game.
Kobe Bryant must have had a hundred people waitng after the game for an autograph.
They all had permission to come down to a restricted area where Im in charge.
He stiffed all of them by slipping out the side door.
I dont think too many boxers would have done that.
At least not the ones we talk about here.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Eddie Bo dies at 78; blues singer, pianist and songwriter
Rusty Costanza / Associated Press
Blues musician Eddie Bo performs at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival in 2008. Bo, whose career spanned more than five decades, worked with musicians such as Irma Thomas, Robert Parker and Art Neville.
Bo penned the 1960 Etta James hit 'My Dearest Darling' and 'I'm Wise,' which was made famous by Little Richard when he renamed and released it in 1956 as 'Slippin' and Slidin'.'
Associated Press
March 22, 2009
Eddie Bo, a New Orleans blues singer-pianist who worked with musicians such as Irma Thomas and Art Neville, died Wednesday of a heart attack, according to his booking agent, Karen Hamilton. He was 78.
Eddie Bo, whose real name was Edwin Joseph Bocage, was an accomplished keyboardist-pianist with a career spanning more than five decades. As a songwriter, Bocage penned the 1960 Etta James hit "My Dearest Darling" and "I'm Wise," which was made famous by Little Richard when renamed and released in 1956 as "Slippin' and Slidin'."
Bocage released more than 50 singles in his career, including “Check Mr. Popeye” in 1962.
"That was probably his biggest hit," said friend and musician Gregory Davis, a trumpet player for the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. "That song kept him working for a long time."
Early in his career, Bocage toured with singers Joe Turner, Lloyd Price and the late Ruth Brown and Earl King. But he spent most of his career with New Orleans musicians, among them soul singer Thomas, R&B singer Robert Parker and singer-keyboardist Neville, the eldest of the Neville Brothers.
"He knew his craft," said Thomas, who added that Bocage was one of the first people she worked with when she entered the business in the early 1960s. One of her first shows away from New Orleans was with Bocage in Atlanta with R&B singer Gladys Knight as the opening act, she recalled.
Thomas also performed regularly at a New Orleans nightclub Bocage ran. He called his restaurant, a converted office building, the Check Your Bucket Cafe after his 1970 hit. It closed after an electrical fire in 1999.
Bocage was born in New Orleans on Sept. 20, 1930. His mother, a blues pianist, taught him to play when he was a child. After a stint abroad in the U.S. Army, Bocage attended the Grunewald School of Music in New Orleans.
That's where he developed a unique style of piano playing and arranging that incorporated bebop voicings, influenced by Art Tatum, Oscar Peterson and Professor Longhair, according to a biography on his website.
Hamilton said Bocage was looking forward to performing at this year's New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. He was a regular at the popular outdoor musical event and was slated to perform April 26.
Besides music, Bocage was known for his carpentry skills. He repaired the wind damage to the roof of his house after Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
As he explained to a Chicago Sun-Times reporter in 2006, "During Katrina my roof decided it liked another neighborhood, so it left."
After the hurricane he also recorded a version of the traditional New Orleans song "When the Saints Go Marching In" for “Our New Orleans,” a CD that benefited Habitat for Humanity's efforts to rebuild New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. “Our New Orleans,”
[email protected]
Rusty Costanza / Associated Press
Blues musician Eddie Bo performs at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival in 2008. Bo, whose career spanned more than five decades, worked with musicians such as Irma Thomas, Robert Parker and Art Neville.
Bo penned the 1960 Etta James hit 'My Dearest Darling' and 'I'm Wise,' which was made famous by Little Richard when he renamed and released it in 1956 as 'Slippin' and Slidin'.'
Associated Press
March 22, 2009
Eddie Bo, a New Orleans blues singer-pianist who worked with musicians such as Irma Thomas and Art Neville, died Wednesday of a heart attack, according to his booking agent, Karen Hamilton. He was 78.
Eddie Bo, whose real name was Edwin Joseph Bocage, was an accomplished keyboardist-pianist with a career spanning more than five decades. As a songwriter, Bocage penned the 1960 Etta James hit "My Dearest Darling" and "I'm Wise," which was made famous by Little Richard when renamed and released in 1956 as "Slippin' and Slidin'."
Bocage released more than 50 singles in his career, including “Check Mr. Popeye” in 1962.
"That was probably his biggest hit," said friend and musician Gregory Davis, a trumpet player for the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. "That song kept him working for a long time."
Early in his career, Bocage toured with singers Joe Turner, Lloyd Price and the late Ruth Brown and Earl King. But he spent most of his career with New Orleans musicians, among them soul singer Thomas, R&B singer Robert Parker and singer-keyboardist Neville, the eldest of the Neville Brothers.
"He knew his craft," said Thomas, who added that Bocage was one of the first people she worked with when she entered the business in the early 1960s. One of her first shows away from New Orleans was with Bocage in Atlanta with R&B singer Gladys Knight as the opening act, she recalled.
Thomas also performed regularly at a New Orleans nightclub Bocage ran. He called his restaurant, a converted office building, the Check Your Bucket Cafe after his 1970 hit. It closed after an electrical fire in 1999.
Bocage was born in New Orleans on Sept. 20, 1930. His mother, a blues pianist, taught him to play when he was a child. After a stint abroad in the U.S. Army, Bocage attended the Grunewald School of Music in New Orleans.
That's where he developed a unique style of piano playing and arranging that incorporated bebop voicings, influenced by Art Tatum, Oscar Peterson and Professor Longhair, according to a biography on his website.
Hamilton said Bocage was looking forward to performing at this year's New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. He was a regular at the popular outdoor musical event and was slated to perform April 26.
Besides music, Bocage was known for his carpentry skills. He repaired the wind damage to the roof of his house after Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
As he explained to a Chicago Sun-Times reporter in 2006, "During Katrina my roof decided it liked another neighborhood, so it left."
After the hurricane he also recorded a version of the traditional New Orleans song "When the Saints Go Marching In" for “Our New Orleans,” a CD that benefited Habitat for Humanity's efforts to rebuild New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. “Our New Orleans,”
[email protected]
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Joe and Vera Robledo
Joe was Canto Robledo brother
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Fuller Brush Man: A 90-year-old foot in the door
Alan Berner / The Seattle Times
Art Pearson, 89, a Fuller Brush salesman, gets a kiss from Linda Cole, of Normandy Park, Wash., whose family has been buying from Art since the 1950s. Art's son Ken, a Seattle real-estate investor who now does the driving for Art's door-to-door sales, takes a souvenir photo of his dad.
For 71 years, this Fuller Brush Man has driven the roads of central Washington in a sedan full of brooms, mops and stain removers. And he's cleaned up with a lot of hard work and a polished routine.
By Kim Murphy
March 18, 2009
Reporting from Burien, Wash. -- He knows you know how to get the grunge off your stove top. Everybody does. But do you know the bestbest way?
Probably, he says, you use one of those soapy steel wool pads. Sure, they work. But have you noticed how they get all rusty after you've used them a time or two? Then they start shedding yucky steel fibers under your fingernails.
What if he told you there was a pad that didn't make a mess at all? Cleans your stove right up with just a little bit of this degreaser. And it lasts a whole year. How many would you like? Now what about this nifty clamp for it, so you don't have to get those pretty hands wet?
For 71 years, Art Pearson has been plying the byways of central Washington in a sedan stuffed with brooms, stain removers, scented moth blocks and brushes for every wall, floor and nook known to man.
He may be the oldest working Fuller Brush Man -- a neatly pressed throwback to a time when the suburbs were sprouting three-bedroom dream homes like dandelions. When kitchens were clean. When a woman's work was never done. When there was no cleaning dilemma for which an appropriate brush could not be found.
"People talk about a recession? People still have to maintain their house. Everybody needs something to clean with," said Pearson, who will turn 91 in April. "And if you tell 'em it's made in the USA, that's what people want to hear. People like the product. Anybody could sell it if they wanted to go out and work."
To see Pearson on the doorstep in his dark gray suit, crisp white shirt and red-and-blue tie is to wake up on a summer morning with "I Love Lucy" on TV, the whistle of the Helms bakery truck outside and three months without school stretched ahead like Aladdin's carpet. So what if Mom is muttering on her hands and knees behind the toilet with a rag in her fist?
"I'll just step in a minute with your free gift," Pearson says, dangling a pastry brush and rubber spatula in a hint of treasures to come.
His routine is polished -- and rarely misses.
"When I first started, they told us, 'Don't go around in an old dirty shirt,' " Pearson says. "You dress up and look neat if you're selling high-quality merchandise," he says.
"We were taught, you come up to the door, you put your suitcase on the right-hand side, knock on the door, then step back two feet. And then say, "May I step in and give you your free gift?' You lay the velvet tray out and you demonstrate the merchandise."
Alfred C. Fuller, the Nova Scotia farm boy who started off in 1906 designing brushes on his workbench and selling them around town, created one of America's most formidable door-to-door sales empires. By the 1950s and 1960s, the Fuller Brush Co. had become an American institution, with overall annual sales reaching nearly $100 million.
It traded on the idea that anyone could make money with a good product and a lot of hard work, and on a society that still could afford stay-at-home mothers who kept up with the neighbors by the gleam of the linoleum on their kitchen floors.
"My life is proof of the tremendous power available to everyone to vault above his own deficiencies," Fuller wrote in his autobiography, "A Foot in the Door."
Fuller's particular niche was to make a better brush, and a brush for almost anything. A catalog from the 1960s featured a water-streaming shower brush, brushes for complexions, manicures, shaving, jars, bottles, lint, percolators, teeth, dentures and paint, along with various mops and brooms.
"Every woman wants to stay as young and attractive as she can. She wants a clean, fresh, radiant complexion . . . soft, lustrous hair. And she is equally interested in the appearance of her home," says the catalog's introduction. "Your Fuller Brush Man will gladly demonstrate how each Fuller item in this book can help make your life less work and more fun."
Over the years, legions of Fuller salesmen went house to house, ready at the slightest sign of encouragement to let loose a load of popcorn on the floor in order to demonstrate the abilities of the motorless carpet sweeper or to scrub the soot off the wall behind the radiator (without scratching the wallpaper!)
"See, here's the thing I learned," Pearson says. "When I call on you, I don't say: 'I'm the Fuller Brush Man.' You'll say, 'I don't need any brushes.' I come to the door and I say, 'I'm the Fuller Man.' That way I get in, I tell people what's on sale, what's good.
"Then I've just got a habit of checking out a house when I come in, see what they might need. My eyes flip around the room. I might suggest a wall brush to clean the ceiling, and I often go for the pre-laundry stain cleaner. I always go into that. I learned, sell three things at a time. Never sell just one."
Today, Fuller products are available on the company's website, in a few other retailers' catalogs and on the QVC television shopping network. The company maintains a sales force of about 8,000 distributors, but only a few hundred full-time salesmen such as Pearson remain. And he is likely the oldest, although no one has kept records, says Larry Gray, vice president of consumer sales and marketing.
"They don't make 'em like Art anymore, and I even say that about myself," Gray says. "They threw the mold away."
"A lot of folks . . . didn't want to stick to it," Gray says. "Over the years, I'm sure Art has had many doors shut in his face."
Pearson looks at the door-in-the-face as a simple matter of mathematics. If he stops at five houses, one will buy.
"One thing you'll never survive with in this business is trying to plan your time or your money," he says. "I've gone out and worked, and sometimes I don't get any business till noon. And then after noon, it all just falls into place. What would have happened if I'd have quit at noon?
"The trouble today is, people don't want to work."
The World War II Marine Corps veteran got his start in the business in 1938, at the age of 20, when a Fuller Brush Man called at his house and suggested he might like the work.
Over the years, Pearson earned enough on commissions to buy a spacious two-story home on a quiet street near Sea-Tac International Airport. He has lived alone since his wife passed away a year ago.
The single extravagance he indulges in is traveling. Holland America Line recently awarded Pearson one of its all-time top passenger awards because of the hundreds of thousands of miles he's traveled on cruises over the years, most recently to Hawaii and Panama.
Pearson estimates he sells $300 to $400 in merchandise on a good day, though on a veryvery good day -- like his carefully organized swing through the rural communities east of Seattle last month -- he can take in $3,000.
He has some 10,000 customers, maybe 600 of them regulars, in his "database" -- cardboard boxes stacked on his dining room table, kitchen counter and floor, each overflowing with old sales receipts.
The living room is jammed with Fuller products: carpet sweepers, push brooms, gallon jugs of Fulsol degreaser and boxes of hair brushes, ceiling brushes and stainless-steel pot scrubbers.
Six mornings a week, Pearson sits down at the dining room table with a phone and box of receipts, puts on his thick glasses and begins calling customers in his targeted area for the day. Then in the afternoon, his only son Ken, 64, drives him around to make deliveries.
The calls are abbreviated and, on the customers' end, often shouted. Pearson can't hear all that well, but he already knows what most of them need. Over the years, he's kept track of what they usually buy and how long ago they bought it.
"Hello, Sue, it's your Fuller Brush Man calling," he says to Sue Genzale, a customer since 1989.
"Hello! How are you?" Genzale says on the other end of the line.
"I'm just fine."
"I'm thinking I need some more of those hangers. How was your Christmas? Were you stuck inside, with all the snow and ice?"
"I stayed home."
"I did too. It was crazy, wasn't it?"
"What do you want?"
"Some of those hangers. You know, the kind I like, for the pants?"
"You're lucky, I got a couple of those. There's six in a package. You want two packages?"
"Oh, I want more than that. Do you have any of that pre-laundry spray?"
"OK. You want three or six?"
Pearson and his son load up the car and head out.
Since his hip surgery several years ago, Pearson often waits in the front seat while Ken carries everything to the door. More often than not, the customer puts on a sweater and walks out to say hello. Many say they remember Pearson showing up at their house with his brushes when they were preschoolers.
At his 90th birthday party, the mayor of Burien gave Pearson a key to the city, and more than 300 customers showed up.
"He remembers everything you bought, when you bought it, why you needed it," Genzale says after Pearson and his son pull into her driveway.
"All these things I could buy at the store. But when you buy from Art -- I bought an ironing board cover from him, and he doesn't just hand it to you, he puts it on for you, he makes sure it's tightened the way it's supposed to be."
Genzale, a businesswoman herself, said she learned from Pearson about the value of treating customers "like family" and going to work every day.
"I was totally amazed with how he does business. Hand writing every receipt," Genzale said. "He was excited about what he was doing. You'd say, 'You know, I've got this spot on the rug,' and he'd say, "I got something that'll handle that!' "
Pearson brushes -- forgive the pun -- off the idea of quitting. "What would I do if I retired?" he scoffs.
Besides, handing his business to Ken would mean imparting all the customer knowledge he keeps stored only in his brain -- a seemingly impossible task.
"We literally drive around, and he tells me where to stop and what they need," Ken says. "You gotta stop at Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and bring two gallons of Fulsol, she's going to want some. I knock on the door and sure enough, that's what they want!"
For now, Pearson's car motors up and down the winding suburban streets south of Seattle, an old man on one side, a younger man on the other. It is bristling with brushes and shared expectation. A customer is nearly always around the corner.
[email protected]
Alan Berner / The Seattle Times
Art Pearson, 89, a Fuller Brush salesman, gets a kiss from Linda Cole, of Normandy Park, Wash., whose family has been buying from Art since the 1950s. Art's son Ken, a Seattle real-estate investor who now does the driving for Art's door-to-door sales, takes a souvenir photo of his dad.
For 71 years, this Fuller Brush Man has driven the roads of central Washington in a sedan full of brooms, mops and stain removers. And he's cleaned up with a lot of hard work and a polished routine.
By Kim Murphy
March 18, 2009
Reporting from Burien, Wash. -- He knows you know how to get the grunge off your stove top. Everybody does. But do you know the bestbest way?
Probably, he says, you use one of those soapy steel wool pads. Sure, they work. But have you noticed how they get all rusty after you've used them a time or two? Then they start shedding yucky steel fibers under your fingernails.
What if he told you there was a pad that didn't make a mess at all? Cleans your stove right up with just a little bit of this degreaser. And it lasts a whole year. How many would you like? Now what about this nifty clamp for it, so you don't have to get those pretty hands wet?
For 71 years, Art Pearson has been plying the byways of central Washington in a sedan stuffed with brooms, stain removers, scented moth blocks and brushes for every wall, floor and nook known to man.
He may be the oldest working Fuller Brush Man -- a neatly pressed throwback to a time when the suburbs were sprouting three-bedroom dream homes like dandelions. When kitchens were clean. When a woman's work was never done. When there was no cleaning dilemma for which an appropriate brush could not be found.
"People talk about a recession? People still have to maintain their house. Everybody needs something to clean with," said Pearson, who will turn 91 in April. "And if you tell 'em it's made in the USA, that's what people want to hear. People like the product. Anybody could sell it if they wanted to go out and work."
To see Pearson on the doorstep in his dark gray suit, crisp white shirt and red-and-blue tie is to wake up on a summer morning with "I Love Lucy" on TV, the whistle of the Helms bakery truck outside and three months without school stretched ahead like Aladdin's carpet. So what if Mom is muttering on her hands and knees behind the toilet with a rag in her fist?
"I'll just step in a minute with your free gift," Pearson says, dangling a pastry brush and rubber spatula in a hint of treasures to come.
His routine is polished -- and rarely misses.
"When I first started, they told us, 'Don't go around in an old dirty shirt,' " Pearson says. "You dress up and look neat if you're selling high-quality merchandise," he says.
"We were taught, you come up to the door, you put your suitcase on the right-hand side, knock on the door, then step back two feet. And then say, "May I step in and give you your free gift?' You lay the velvet tray out and you demonstrate the merchandise."
Alfred C. Fuller, the Nova Scotia farm boy who started off in 1906 designing brushes on his workbench and selling them around town, created one of America's most formidable door-to-door sales empires. By the 1950s and 1960s, the Fuller Brush Co. had become an American institution, with overall annual sales reaching nearly $100 million.
It traded on the idea that anyone could make money with a good product and a lot of hard work, and on a society that still could afford stay-at-home mothers who kept up with the neighbors by the gleam of the linoleum on their kitchen floors.
"My life is proof of the tremendous power available to everyone to vault above his own deficiencies," Fuller wrote in his autobiography, "A Foot in the Door."
Fuller's particular niche was to make a better brush, and a brush for almost anything. A catalog from the 1960s featured a water-streaming shower brush, brushes for complexions, manicures, shaving, jars, bottles, lint, percolators, teeth, dentures and paint, along with various mops and brooms.
"Every woman wants to stay as young and attractive as she can. She wants a clean, fresh, radiant complexion . . . soft, lustrous hair. And she is equally interested in the appearance of her home," says the catalog's introduction. "Your Fuller Brush Man will gladly demonstrate how each Fuller item in this book can help make your life less work and more fun."
Over the years, legions of Fuller salesmen went house to house, ready at the slightest sign of encouragement to let loose a load of popcorn on the floor in order to demonstrate the abilities of the motorless carpet sweeper or to scrub the soot off the wall behind the radiator (without scratching the wallpaper!)
"See, here's the thing I learned," Pearson says. "When I call on you, I don't say: 'I'm the Fuller Brush Man.' You'll say, 'I don't need any brushes.' I come to the door and I say, 'I'm the Fuller Man.' That way I get in, I tell people what's on sale, what's good.
"Then I've just got a habit of checking out a house when I come in, see what they might need. My eyes flip around the room. I might suggest a wall brush to clean the ceiling, and I often go for the pre-laundry stain cleaner. I always go into that. I learned, sell three things at a time. Never sell just one."
Today, Fuller products are available on the company's website, in a few other retailers' catalogs and on the QVC television shopping network. The company maintains a sales force of about 8,000 distributors, but only a few hundred full-time salesmen such as Pearson remain. And he is likely the oldest, although no one has kept records, says Larry Gray, vice president of consumer sales and marketing.
"They don't make 'em like Art anymore, and I even say that about myself," Gray says. "They threw the mold away."
"A lot of folks . . . didn't want to stick to it," Gray says. "Over the years, I'm sure Art has had many doors shut in his face."
Pearson looks at the door-in-the-face as a simple matter of mathematics. If he stops at five houses, one will buy.
"One thing you'll never survive with in this business is trying to plan your time or your money," he says. "I've gone out and worked, and sometimes I don't get any business till noon. And then after noon, it all just falls into place. What would have happened if I'd have quit at noon?
"The trouble today is, people don't want to work."
The World War II Marine Corps veteran got his start in the business in 1938, at the age of 20, when a Fuller Brush Man called at his house and suggested he might like the work.
Over the years, Pearson earned enough on commissions to buy a spacious two-story home on a quiet street near Sea-Tac International Airport. He has lived alone since his wife passed away a year ago.
The single extravagance he indulges in is traveling. Holland America Line recently awarded Pearson one of its all-time top passenger awards because of the hundreds of thousands of miles he's traveled on cruises over the years, most recently to Hawaii and Panama.
Pearson estimates he sells $300 to $400 in merchandise on a good day, though on a veryvery good day -- like his carefully organized swing through the rural communities east of Seattle last month -- he can take in $3,000.
He has some 10,000 customers, maybe 600 of them regulars, in his "database" -- cardboard boxes stacked on his dining room table, kitchen counter and floor, each overflowing with old sales receipts.
The living room is jammed with Fuller products: carpet sweepers, push brooms, gallon jugs of Fulsol degreaser and boxes of hair brushes, ceiling brushes and stainless-steel pot scrubbers.
Six mornings a week, Pearson sits down at the dining room table with a phone and box of receipts, puts on his thick glasses and begins calling customers in his targeted area for the day. Then in the afternoon, his only son Ken, 64, drives him around to make deliveries.
The calls are abbreviated and, on the customers' end, often shouted. Pearson can't hear all that well, but he already knows what most of them need. Over the years, he's kept track of what they usually buy and how long ago they bought it.
"Hello, Sue, it's your Fuller Brush Man calling," he says to Sue Genzale, a customer since 1989.
"Hello! How are you?" Genzale says on the other end of the line.
"I'm just fine."
"I'm thinking I need some more of those hangers. How was your Christmas? Were you stuck inside, with all the snow and ice?"
"I stayed home."
"I did too. It was crazy, wasn't it?"
"What do you want?"
"Some of those hangers. You know, the kind I like, for the pants?"
"You're lucky, I got a couple of those. There's six in a package. You want two packages?"
"Oh, I want more than that. Do you have any of that pre-laundry spray?"
"OK. You want three or six?"
Pearson and his son load up the car and head out.
Since his hip surgery several years ago, Pearson often waits in the front seat while Ken carries everything to the door. More often than not, the customer puts on a sweater and walks out to say hello. Many say they remember Pearson showing up at their house with his brushes when they were preschoolers.
At his 90th birthday party, the mayor of Burien gave Pearson a key to the city, and more than 300 customers showed up.
"He remembers everything you bought, when you bought it, why you needed it," Genzale says after Pearson and his son pull into her driveway.
"All these things I could buy at the store. But when you buy from Art -- I bought an ironing board cover from him, and he doesn't just hand it to you, he puts it on for you, he makes sure it's tightened the way it's supposed to be."
Genzale, a businesswoman herself, said she learned from Pearson about the value of treating customers "like family" and going to work every day.
"I was totally amazed with how he does business. Hand writing every receipt," Genzale said. "He was excited about what he was doing. You'd say, 'You know, I've got this spot on the rug,' and he'd say, "I got something that'll handle that!' "
Pearson brushes -- forgive the pun -- off the idea of quitting. "What would I do if I retired?" he scoffs.
Besides, handing his business to Ken would mean imparting all the customer knowledge he keeps stored only in his brain -- a seemingly impossible task.
"We literally drive around, and he tells me where to stop and what they need," Ken says. "You gotta stop at Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and bring two gallons of Fulsol, she's going to want some. I knock on the door and sure enough, that's what they want!"
For now, Pearson's car motors up and down the winding suburban streets south of Seattle, an old man on one side, a younger man on the other. It is bristling with brushes and shared expectation. A customer is nearly always around the corner.
[email protected]
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Remembering another L.A.
Re “He’s cleaned up with hard work and a polished routine,” Column One, March 18
This article brought back many memories for those of us who grew up in the 1930s and 1940s in the then-small city of Los Angeles.
The Fuller Brush man was a welcome sight at our door, and we always invited him in. We also enjoyed personal service from vendors' trucks that sold fresh fish or displayed colorful arrays of fresh produce. There was the daily delivery of milk in shiny glass bottles. During the war, to the delight of all the kids, the milk truck was pulled by a horse to save on gas.
The Helms Bakery truck, with its handsome polished wooden drawers, held bakery treasures. The Good Humor Ice Cream truck announced its presence with a tune. We all knew our postman, who brought mail twice a day.
All that remains of those long-gone days is the daily newspaper delivered to our door each day. Let's hope it goes on forever.
Barbara Frank Shafer
Los Angeles
Re “He’s cleaned up with hard work and a polished routine,” Column One, March 18
This article brought back many memories for those of us who grew up in the 1930s and 1940s in the then-small city of Los Angeles.
The Fuller Brush man was a welcome sight at our door, and we always invited him in. We also enjoyed personal service from vendors' trucks that sold fresh fish or displayed colorful arrays of fresh produce. There was the daily delivery of milk in shiny glass bottles. During the war, to the delight of all the kids, the milk truck was pulled by a horse to save on gas.
The Helms Bakery truck, with its handsome polished wooden drawers, held bakery treasures. The Good Humor Ice Cream truck announced its presence with a tune. We all knew our postman, who brought mail twice a day.
All that remains of those long-gone days is the daily newspaper delivered to our door each day. Let's hope it goes on forever.
Barbara Frank Shafer
Los Angeles
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Remembering Bobby
By Ted Sares -
What makes it more shocking is the fact that Bobby prepared very hard for this fight and the other guy came in here on one day's notice…It's just a freak accident, a one in a million thing that. --Gabe Mari, trainer at the Somerville Boxing Club
I remember him saying before the fight that he'd rather die than lose this fight. -- Bob Benson Sr.
He was in the fight of his life and then he fought for his life…It's an awful, awful tragedy to all involved. His father was in the corner with me. His trainer, Bobby Covino, is beside himself. You start wondering, should I have done this, should I have done that? It's too late. It's too late. The fight went on and I thought he was winning the fight. Even in the 10th round... --Norman Stone, Bobby’s manager
You don’t want anyone to die in the ring…I can’t tell you how sad I am. --Steve Dotse
Born in the tough and gritty blue collar town of Somerville, MA (and a resident of Saugus), Bobby Tomasello was pretty tough himself. His real name was Robert Benson, but he fought under the name his father had fought under. I saw him stop one Jose Carlos Beato in four rounds at the Roxy in Boston on April 1, 2000 and was impressed by his determination and heart. Hey, he was a good professional fighter. The win brought his record to 11-0. He would win his next three fights before taking on tough Steve Dotse (18-3 coming in) from Atlanta by way of Ghana. The bout, also at the Roxy, would be televised on ESPN’s Friday Night Fights
Dotse’s level of opposition was higher than Bobby’s. He had a win over rugged Mexican bantamweight Ricardo “Chapo” Vargas and had gone the 12-round limit on two occasions. This was Tomasello’s first 10-round bout, and while his opponents had mostly losing records, undefeated is still undefeated and 14 in a row is 14 in a row.
The fight turned out to be a fiercely fought one with give and take, but I had Bobby falling behind going into the later rounds. Then, he began to get rocked and was finally decked in the tenth. Indeed, he took a bad beating during that last round, but he kept swinging back thus preventing a stoppage. His fighting heart would not allow him to quit and that may well have been his downfall.
After some confusion with the scorecards, it was announced that the two had fought to a 10-round draw--a grueling, tough one. Bobby then walked back to his dressing room with a smile on his face proud that he had kept his unbeaten record intact against his toughest opponent to date. Hell, he had fought his heart out. However, after experiencing moments of nausea and reportedly complaining of a headache to his manager Norman Stone, he collapsed.
Fortunately, an ambulance was there and he was taken to New England Medical Center in a matter of minutes where he eventually underwent surgery to remove a blood clot, relieve swelling and stop bleeding in his brain. “He has been in a coma since Friday,” said Tony Cardinale, Benson's savvy promoter and mentor. "We're just hoping for a miracle now," he said. "He is in very grave condition." Sadly, the fighter was pronounced dead at 11:45 AM on October 25, after five days on a respirator. He was 24 years-old.
Norman Stone later told John Vena that Bobby “… was just an unbelievable kid. Always polite, never swore and very religious. This is a tragedy for us. God will never give me something I can't handle but at this point I feel like he is." (“Bobby Tomasello: March 23, 1975 - October 25, 2000” by JD VenaThe Cyber Boxing Zone Newswire)
Steve Dotse would never be the same. He lost his next fight to Tim Austin in a bid for IBF bantamweight title, and went on to finish with a 22 (KO 18) - 6 (KO 2) - 2 record.
As I pondered things, I recalled something Jim Lampley once said after Levander Johnson was fatally injured, and it occurred to me that the entire affair was part of what boxing is all about. In this case, everything that could be done to protect the fighters was done. The officials were competent, all ringside precautions were in place, an ambulance was at the ready, the corners acted responsibly, but still, the tragedy occurred. No one was culpable and no one was to blame. It came right out of the culture of the sport we love so much; it simply was a tragedy.
Look, I’m a Boston guy and I love the Boston fighters who have earned local glory and are now working there way to the periphery of boxing’s next level. Bobby Tomasello was one of those guys. I shall never forget him.
By Ted Sares -
What makes it more shocking is the fact that Bobby prepared very hard for this fight and the other guy came in here on one day's notice…It's just a freak accident, a one in a million thing that. --Gabe Mari, trainer at the Somerville Boxing Club
I remember him saying before the fight that he'd rather die than lose this fight. -- Bob Benson Sr.
He was in the fight of his life and then he fought for his life…It's an awful, awful tragedy to all involved. His father was in the corner with me. His trainer, Bobby Covino, is beside himself. You start wondering, should I have done this, should I have done that? It's too late. It's too late. The fight went on and I thought he was winning the fight. Even in the 10th round... --Norman Stone, Bobby’s manager
You don’t want anyone to die in the ring…I can’t tell you how sad I am. --Steve Dotse
Born in the tough and gritty blue collar town of Somerville, MA (and a resident of Saugus), Bobby Tomasello was pretty tough himself. His real name was Robert Benson, but he fought under the name his father had fought under. I saw him stop one Jose Carlos Beato in four rounds at the Roxy in Boston on April 1, 2000 and was impressed by his determination and heart. Hey, he was a good professional fighter. The win brought his record to 11-0. He would win his next three fights before taking on tough Steve Dotse (18-3 coming in) from Atlanta by way of Ghana. The bout, also at the Roxy, would be televised on ESPN’s Friday Night Fights
Dotse’s level of opposition was higher than Bobby’s. He had a win over rugged Mexican bantamweight Ricardo “Chapo” Vargas and had gone the 12-round limit on two occasions. This was Tomasello’s first 10-round bout, and while his opponents had mostly losing records, undefeated is still undefeated and 14 in a row is 14 in a row.
The fight turned out to be a fiercely fought one with give and take, but I had Bobby falling behind going into the later rounds. Then, he began to get rocked and was finally decked in the tenth. Indeed, he took a bad beating during that last round, but he kept swinging back thus preventing a stoppage. His fighting heart would not allow him to quit and that may well have been his downfall.
After some confusion with the scorecards, it was announced that the two had fought to a 10-round draw--a grueling, tough one. Bobby then walked back to his dressing room with a smile on his face proud that he had kept his unbeaten record intact against his toughest opponent to date. Hell, he had fought his heart out. However, after experiencing moments of nausea and reportedly complaining of a headache to his manager Norman Stone, he collapsed.
Fortunately, an ambulance was there and he was taken to New England Medical Center in a matter of minutes where he eventually underwent surgery to remove a blood clot, relieve swelling and stop bleeding in his brain. “He has been in a coma since Friday,” said Tony Cardinale, Benson's savvy promoter and mentor. "We're just hoping for a miracle now," he said. "He is in very grave condition." Sadly, the fighter was pronounced dead at 11:45 AM on October 25, after five days on a respirator. He was 24 years-old.
Norman Stone later told John Vena that Bobby “… was just an unbelievable kid. Always polite, never swore and very religious. This is a tragedy for us. God will never give me something I can't handle but at this point I feel like he is." (“Bobby Tomasello: March 23, 1975 - October 25, 2000” by JD VenaThe Cyber Boxing Zone Newswire)
Steve Dotse would never be the same. He lost his next fight to Tim Austin in a bid for IBF bantamweight title, and went on to finish with a 22 (KO 18) - 6 (KO 2) - 2 record.
As I pondered things, I recalled something Jim Lampley once said after Levander Johnson was fatally injured, and it occurred to me that the entire affair was part of what boxing is all about. In this case, everything that could be done to protect the fighters was done. The officials were competent, all ringside precautions were in place, an ambulance was at the ready, the corners acted responsibly, but still, the tragedy occurred. No one was culpable and no one was to blame. It came right out of the culture of the sport we love so much; it simply was a tragedy.
Look, I’m a Boston guy and I love the Boston fighters who have earned local glory and are now working there way to the periphery of boxing’s next level. Bobby Tomasello was one of those guys. I shall never forget him.
-
dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Maria Felix
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Received this from my cousins, Frankie, Kathy, Martin and Lupe Arriola,
and thought I would share it with you guys
and thought I would share it with you guys
-
Bobbin & Weavin
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 213
- Joined: 08 Nov 2007, 23:33
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
I'm a few pages behind here so when I read this I thought Rick was going to ask Frank for permission to marry is daughter...can you imagine telling your friends, "I'm going over to the Baltazar house to ask if I can marry the daughter!" Frank Jr. and Tony "The Tiger" standing there and Frank Sr. glaring at you...Rick Farris wrote:More WBHOF "Expanded Catagory" Inductees . . .
Managers-Trainers (in alphabetical order)
Steve Acunto
Ray Arcel
George Benton
Ignacio "Nacho" Beristain
Whitey Bimstein
Jack Blackburn
Chuck Bodak
Charles "Doc" Broadus
Gil Clancey
Cus D'Amato
Miguel Diaz
Mickey Duff
Angelo Dundee
Yancy Durham
Lou Duva
Johnnie Flores
Charles "Pop" Foster
Eddie Futch
George Gainsford
Joe Herman
Duke Holloway
Jimmy Jacobs
Jack Kearns
Jackie McCoy
Norm Lockwood
Jerry Moore
Joe Ponce
Alberto Reyes
Al Silvani
Jesse Reid
Freddie Roach
Howie Steindler
Emanuel Steward
Thell Torrance
Johnny "Carnation" Vidal
Suey Welch
Frank . . . With your permission, I would like to nominate you for 2009 WBHOF Induction in this expanded catagory. If you agree, and if you are inducted, your name will show third from the top of this list, right between Ray Arcel and George Benton.
-Rick
I hope you were wearing Depends! As for the hall, from everything I have read on this thread about all of the things Frank did for boxing in So. Cal and taking two sons to where he did I think asking permission was just being polite;well deserving.
Bruce
-
dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Frankkikibalt wrote:Received this from my cousins, Frankie, Kathy, Martin and Lupe Arriola,
and thought I would share it with you guys
That's the way I want to wind up. Growing old gracefully. Lots of family around. Living a simple life.
-
dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
ANTONIA
My wife's grandmother lived about 5 miles outside of Jiquilpan on her son's ranchito in the hills. I remember one day we drove out there with my nephew Chelis. After the turn off the ride was slow and bumpy. The dirt road was manageable,but during the rainy season only a 4 wheel vehicle could get in or out.
The little ranch was curled up on a hill overlooking a green valley. Every ranch house has a porch. That's where people sit and relax and talk with each other. Geraniums,nasturnums,and roses planted in cans adorned the wide porch. Bouganvilla draped the ceiling hanging down delicately.
We heard kids laughing and then they ran outside to greet us. They were her son's children. Evidently he drove the truck to Jiquilpan to buy supplies.My wife's grandmother was sitting inside eating a corn tortilla with salt and chile. She had on her apron,but I doubt if she did much work anymore. Her iron gray hair was braided and she was very slight and delicate. Despite her age(she didn't know her birth date),she remained very feminine.
The kids followed us back into the house. They went into the back of the house. We heard a commotion. Antonia wasn't bothered. She was very happy to see her grand daughter. My wife asked her how she she felt. Antonia smiled and said she was happy and had plenty to eat. The garden was full of corn and the chickens and pigs that roamed the premises were a sign of future meals. I could see there was an ample growth of nopales in the front yard. Along with her hand made tortillas and chiles ,yellow and red,growing in cans on the porch, there wasn't much need for going to the store to buy food. The black faced cows grazing above in the back were ready to give fresh milk.
Not much was spoken. We didn't know when her son would be back. The kids came out from the back laughing. They had gotten into their mother's make up and painted their faces like Indians. Antonia laughed aloud. I could see she had most of her teeth.
We ate some gordas that my wife cooked on the lena. They were hot and tasted wonderfull. We left after an hour or so. The kids were riding the family horse. 3 or 4 would ride at a time.
Driving back,I asked my wife how old her grandmother was.
"No se. Don't know. Maybe ninety. Maybe hundred."
Antonia had family. She would go to mass everyday at the church down the road. She had plenty to eat. She could enjoy that. She had her teeth.
My wife's grandmother lived about 5 miles outside of Jiquilpan on her son's ranchito in the hills. I remember one day we drove out there with my nephew Chelis. After the turn off the ride was slow and bumpy. The dirt road was manageable,but during the rainy season only a 4 wheel vehicle could get in or out.
The little ranch was curled up on a hill overlooking a green valley. Every ranch house has a porch. That's where people sit and relax and talk with each other. Geraniums,nasturnums,and roses planted in cans adorned the wide porch. Bouganvilla draped the ceiling hanging down delicately.
We heard kids laughing and then they ran outside to greet us. They were her son's children. Evidently he drove the truck to Jiquilpan to buy supplies.My wife's grandmother was sitting inside eating a corn tortilla with salt and chile. She had on her apron,but I doubt if she did much work anymore. Her iron gray hair was braided and she was very slight and delicate. Despite her age(she didn't know her birth date),she remained very feminine.
The kids followed us back into the house. They went into the back of the house. We heard a commotion. Antonia wasn't bothered. She was very happy to see her grand daughter. My wife asked her how she she felt. Antonia smiled and said she was happy and had plenty to eat. The garden was full of corn and the chickens and pigs that roamed the premises were a sign of future meals. I could see there was an ample growth of nopales in the front yard. Along with her hand made tortillas and chiles ,yellow and red,growing in cans on the porch, there wasn't much need for going to the store to buy food. The black faced cows grazing above in the back were ready to give fresh milk.
Not much was spoken. We didn't know when her son would be back. The kids came out from the back laughing. They had gotten into their mother's make up and painted their faces like Indians. Antonia laughed aloud. I could see she had most of her teeth.
We ate some gordas that my wife cooked on the lena. They were hot and tasted wonderfull. We left after an hour or so. The kids were riding the family horse. 3 or 4 would ride at a time.
Driving back,I asked my wife how old her grandmother was.
"No se. Don't know. Maybe ninety. Maybe hundred."
Antonia had family. She would go to mass everyday at the church down the road. She had plenty to eat. She could enjoy that. She had her teeth.
Last edited by dagosd2000 on 22 Mar 2009, 21:46, edited 2 times in total.
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
The power of an autograph . . .Expug wrote:Gents, things are lightening up a bit, I will be around more.
Bennie, your in my prayers, I hope you can beat that illness.
I just got home from working the Lakers - Bulls game.
Kobe Bryant must have had a hundred people waitng after the game for an autograph.
They all had permission to come down to a restricted area where Im in charge.
He stiffed all of them by slipping out the side door.
I dont think too many boxers would have done that.
At least not the ones we talk about here.
Can you imagine people who are so important and full of themselves as to shun the people that pay their mega-million dollar salary. The Lakers pay Kobe with money paid by the fans. These A-Holes don't like themselves, I guess it's impossible to care for a fan. Brian, you were certainly right that fighters are a different breed. I remember in Phoenix, as troubled a life Mike Tyson had created for himself, he never turned his back on a fan, especially a kid. And Tyson, in just a few years, generated more income than Kobe Bryant will in his entire career.
Jack Dempsey? I still have the B&W 8x10 he signed and mailed to me when I was twelve. I asked if I could have his autograph. I'd sent a letter adressed to:
Jack Dempsey
Former Heavyweight Champ
New York, N.Y.
Less than two weeks later the picture was hanging above my bed. That photo gave me hope. It overwhelmed me with a feeling of being special enough a person, that another person who had reached the top would acknowledge me, and share a few encouraging words. "To Rick, lots of luck pal . . . Jack Dempsey".
I'd written in my letter that I was going to be a pro fighter (I was twelve), like I'm sure a lot of kids do. Dempsey made me believe I could do it, if I wanted it. And I did. In my own young mind I made myself believe that Dempsey believed I could do it, so why I shouldn't I believe that. It's funny the power of suggestion, I told Dempsey I was going to be a pro fighter, I didn't say a world champ, just a pro fighter. I accomplished that, and as silly as it may seem to anybody reading this, Dempsy's photo was an on going reminder of my goal. I would see it every morning when I woke up , and every night when I went to bed.
Sadly, there are few Jack Dempsey's walking the planet, but you can still find that type of athlete in the ring. Guys like Rodolfo "El Gato" Gonzalez, Carlos Ortiz, the great Roberto Duran (if you can close enough to him), Tyson, Emile Griffith, the late Mando Ramos, Danny Lopez, Bobby Chacon. These guys work overtime signing autographs at WBHOF events. If they agree to sign autographs for a couple of hours they end up signing for 6 or 7 hours without a break, until their hand is numb from holding the pen. They don't ask for or receive a penny. They love their fans, they don't forget, and neither do the fans.
Today, in sports memorabelia stores you see bright pro team jersey's with a players number on the back, and an impersonal signature. They sell for three figures or more. Nothing personal, just generic crap, stuff that can be "bought" anywhere. However, a picture of "Gato", or "Little Red" or "Schoolboy" Bobby, with the champs genuinely smiling and bonding with their fans is something else. And the best part is, it doesn't cost an arm or a leg, it's there for the asking.
Brian, thanks for confirming what I thought to be true of our brilliant Kobe, he's a 24 Karat pain-in-the-ass, just like 90% of today's so-called "superstars". Is Michael Jordan that way? I always thought of him as having more class than a Kobe?
-Rick Farris
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
My aunt Lala and my mother share the same first name, they went to school together and be came very good friends, my mom was one year older, these two were more like sisters, I guess they were, because they were sisters-in-law....dagosd2000 wrote:Frankkikibalt wrote:Received this from my cousins, Frankie, Kathy, Martin and Lupe Arriola,
and thought I would share it with you guys
That's the way I want to wind up. Growing old gracefully. Lots of family around. Living a simple life.
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Frank . . . I truly admire your family. I'm happy to get to know them here.dagosd2000 wrote:Frankkikibalt wrote:Received this from my cousins, Frankie, Kathy, Martin and Lupe Arriola,
and thought I would share it with you guys
That's the way I want to wind up. Growing old gracefully. Lots of family around. Living a simple life.
-Rick
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Oh Frank, by the way, I almost forgot, may I marry Linda? I'm not worried about Frankie Jr. or Tony.Bobbin & Weavin wrote:I'm a few pages behind here so when I read this I thought Rick was going to ask Frank for permission to marry is daughter...can you imagine telling your friends, "I'm going over to the Baltazar house to ask if I can marry the daughter!" Frank Jr. and Tony "The Tiger" standing there and Frank Sr. glaring at you...Rick Farris wrote:More WBHOF "Expanded Catagory" Inductees . . .
Managers-Trainers (in alphabetical order)
Steve Acunto
Ray Arcel
George Benton
Ignacio "Nacho" Beristain
Whitey Bimstein
Jack Blackburn
Chuck Bodak
Charles "Doc" Broadus
Gil Clancey
Cus D'Amato
Miguel Diaz
Mickey Duff
Angelo Dundee
Yancy Durham
Lou Duva
Johnnie Flores
Charles "Pop" Foster
Eddie Futch
George Gainsford
Joe Herman
Duke Holloway
Jimmy Jacobs
Jack Kearns
Jackie McCoy
Norm Lockwood
Jerry Moore
Joe Ponce
Alberto Reyes
Al Silvani
Jesse Reid
Freddie Roach
Howie Steindler
Emanuel Steward
Thell Torrance
Johnny "Carnation" Vidal
Suey Welch
Frank . . . With your permission, I would like to nominate you for 2009 WBHOF Induction in this expanded catagory. If you agree, and if you are inducted, your name will show third from the top of this list, right between Ray Arcel and George Benton.
-Rick
As for the hall, from everything I have read on this thread about all of the things Frank did for boxing in So. Cal and taking two sons to where he did I think asking permission was just being polite;well deserving.
Bruce
Monica? That's another story.
-Rick Farris
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Rick, you would have to ask Ray, Linda's husband....Rick Farris wrote:Oh Frank, by the way, I almost forgot, may I marry Linda? I'm not worried about Frankie Jr. or Tony.Bobbin & Weavin wrote:I'm a few pages behind here so when I read this I thought Rick was going to ask Frank for permission to marry is daughter...can you imagine telling your friends, "I'm going over to the Baltazar house to ask if I can marry the daughter!" Frank Jr. and Tony "The Tiger" standing there and Frank Sr. glaring at you...Rick Farris wrote:More WBHOF "Expanded Catagory" Inductees . . .
Managers-Trainers (in alphabetical order)
Steve Acunto
Ray Arcel
George Benton
Ignacio "Nacho" Beristain
Whitey Bimstein
Jack Blackburn
Chuck Bodak
Charles "Doc" Broadus
Gil Clancey
Cus D'Amato
Miguel Diaz
Mickey Duff
Angelo Dundee
Yancy Durham
Lou Duva
Johnnie Flores
Charles "Pop" Foster
Eddie Futch
George Gainsford
Joe Herman
Duke Holloway
Jimmy Jacobs
Jack Kearns
Jackie McCoy
Norm Lockwood
Jerry Moore
Joe Ponce
Alberto Reyes
Al Silvani
Jesse Reid
Freddie Roach
Howie Steindler
Emanuel Steward
Thell Torrance
Johnny "Carnation" Vidal
Suey Welch
Frank . . . With your permission, I would like to nominate you for 2009 WBHOF Induction in this expanded catagory. If you agree, and if you are inducted, your name will show third from the top of this list, right between Ray Arcel and George Benton.
-Rick
As for the hall, from everything I have read on this thread about all of the things Frank did for boxing in So. Cal and taking two sons to where he did I think asking permission was just being polite;well deserving.
Bruce
Monica? That's another story.
-Rick Farris
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
My 20 Greatest
* • • •
By Hype Igoe
International News Service Sports Writer
AUTICLE NO. ».
Mar. 06. Tad used to call him the "Lily the "Salmon Pink," the "Mauvo
lightweight champion yet setting aside drollery of the immortal cartoonist and writer . Jimmy Britt could fight.
There were many days when , Jimmy, his manger -brother Willie, and myself were a parley to the making of Jimmy's earliest, 13-year-old fights, there were two kids in the school we attended who got it stuck in their
noodles that they could lick James edward Britt • •
One was Stanley Horan , now a tax collector' in the City Hall in
San Francisco, if he has been spared. Thc other was Jimmy Lawler, later a professional fighter.
It was my duty, each atfernoon after school, to splice J'mmy's right hand behind' his back in order to bring Horan's proficiency up to a parity with BrittS . Horan wouldn't have had a chance with Jimmy otherwise. lawler
was a better fighter than Horan and didn't ask to have Britts
right moored to his spine.
It was a long time, at that, before these two realized that Jimmys
greatest punch was a left to the body, one of the best of all
time, Frankie Nell being comparable with him in this respect.
Lawler and Britt used to fight in an alley two blocks from the
school and this fued, which went on day after day, only to be broken
up by the cops, produced some of tho greatest fighting ever I
looked upon.
Then Britt joined the Olympic Club and became their star amateur lightweight. Later came the night when he fought his first
professional fight against Toby Irwln, the leading referee In San
Francisco at the present tune. I bet 20 silver dollars on Irwln, Tad
taking the bet. With all my knowledge , of Brltt's amateur
prowess, somehow or other I couldn't bring myself to believe
that Jimmy really was good enough to meet a rather well seaoned
fighter like Irwln, They In Oakland, February 18,
002, Just 40 years agol Jimmy got the decision at the end of 15
rounds.
Now, indeed, Brltt was a professionnl. Rapidly he ran up
nockout victories over Tim Hagerty, Kid Lavigne and Frank Erne.
Britt knocked them out in eight, and seven rounds, respec-
Ively. In 1003 he defeated Willie Fitzgerald in 20 rounds, Charlie
Siger in 20, Martin Canole in 25. t had been agreed that if no decision
could be rendered at the end of 20 rounds, five more were
to be added to the fray. Britt got the duke over Martin at the finsh
of the extra five rounds.
Then came Brltt's first big shot, the 20-round defeat ot the highly
touted Young Corbott. He followed this with his first defeat of !
Battling Nelson, Jimmy eventual-
ly whipping the "Durable Dane," three out of four.
It is of their second fight, on 'Admission Day," September 9,
1905 that I would write.
Nelson was pretty well convinced that he would have to
snare Jimmy inlo a longer fight If he hoped to defeat the Native
Son. When Joe gans refused to make 135 pounds for Britt or anybody
else, Jimmy claimed the title and it was for this reason thut
Tad dubbed Jamas Edward those monikers which are mentioned a
the start of this story. Tad was a great admirer of Gans and was
the one to call him the "Old Master."
Willie Brltt, In making the match with Nelson for his
brother, permilted hlmself to becoaxed Into a 45 round solto by
foxy Billy Nolan, the same fellow who forced Gans to come in at
Coldileld, Nov., 133 ringside, wearing his gloves, shoes, socks
and trunks.
It was a light I'll never forget !. Britt, knowing that the trail was long, tried to win with a knockout in the enrly rounds. He knew
exactly what he could do with the hardy Dane in a bout
limited to 10, 13 or 20 rounds. How about 45 rounds'.' He didn't
know and the thought of going beyond 20 and matching his stamina
against the Dane's was terrifying.
When Jimmy's early efferts weakened him and not the Dane, it was plain to see that Nelson would come on to win. "Spider" Kelly, Brltt's chief second, had
ordered Willie barred from the open-air arena because of his tendency
to go loco when things were going against brother Jimmy.
Things did begin to go badly against Jimmy in the 18th, 17th,
and all too badly In the 18th, in which round Nelson knocked him
out. As Jimmy tried to punch Nelson at bay, there came a roar
from the side of the ring and there was brother Willie, pounding
the ring canvas over the heads of the scribes, yelling:
'Go on tiger—one more—ONe MORE for old Bryant Street's sake
—for MY sake—kill him Jimmy!" It was Jimmy who was being
"killed." Down he went, right in front of us, near the ropes.
(This in the third, or a series by
Hype Igoe in which he recalls 20
of the greatest fights he has seen
In a career covering boxing
stetching almost half a century).
* • • •
By Hype Igoe
International News Service Sports Writer
AUTICLE NO. ».
Mar. 06. Tad used to call him the "Lily the "Salmon Pink," the "Mauvo
lightweight champion yet setting aside drollery of the immortal cartoonist and writer . Jimmy Britt could fight.
There were many days when , Jimmy, his manger -brother Willie, and myself were a parley to the making of Jimmy's earliest, 13-year-old fights, there were two kids in the school we attended who got it stuck in their
noodles that they could lick James edward Britt • •
One was Stanley Horan , now a tax collector' in the City Hall in
San Francisco, if he has been spared. Thc other was Jimmy Lawler, later a professional fighter.
It was my duty, each atfernoon after school, to splice J'mmy's right hand behind' his back in order to bring Horan's proficiency up to a parity with BrittS . Horan wouldn't have had a chance with Jimmy otherwise. lawler
was a better fighter than Horan and didn't ask to have Britts
right moored to his spine.
It was a long time, at that, before these two realized that Jimmys
greatest punch was a left to the body, one of the best of all
time, Frankie Nell being comparable with him in this respect.
Lawler and Britt used to fight in an alley two blocks from the
school and this fued, which went on day after day, only to be broken
up by the cops, produced some of tho greatest fighting ever I
looked upon.
Then Britt joined the Olympic Club and became their star amateur lightweight. Later came the night when he fought his first
professional fight against Toby Irwln, the leading referee In San
Francisco at the present tune. I bet 20 silver dollars on Irwln, Tad
taking the bet. With all my knowledge , of Brltt's amateur
prowess, somehow or other I couldn't bring myself to believe
that Jimmy really was good enough to meet a rather well seaoned
fighter like Irwln, They In Oakland, February 18,
002, Just 40 years agol Jimmy got the decision at the end of 15
rounds.
Now, indeed, Brltt was a professionnl. Rapidly he ran up
nockout victories over Tim Hagerty, Kid Lavigne and Frank Erne.
Britt knocked them out in eight, and seven rounds, respec-
Ively. In 1003 he defeated Willie Fitzgerald in 20 rounds, Charlie
Siger in 20, Martin Canole in 25. t had been agreed that if no decision
could be rendered at the end of 20 rounds, five more were
to be added to the fray. Britt got the duke over Martin at the finsh
of the extra five rounds.
Then came Brltt's first big shot, the 20-round defeat ot the highly
touted Young Corbott. He followed this with his first defeat of !
Battling Nelson, Jimmy eventual-
ly whipping the "Durable Dane," three out of four.
It is of their second fight, on 'Admission Day," September 9,
1905 that I would write.
Nelson was pretty well convinced that he would have to
snare Jimmy inlo a longer fight If he hoped to defeat the Native
Son. When Joe gans refused to make 135 pounds for Britt or anybody
else, Jimmy claimed the title and it was for this reason thut
Tad dubbed Jamas Edward those monikers which are mentioned a
the start of this story. Tad was a great admirer of Gans and was
the one to call him the "Old Master."
Willie Brltt, In making the match with Nelson for his
brother, permilted hlmself to becoaxed Into a 45 round solto by
foxy Billy Nolan, the same fellow who forced Gans to come in at
Coldileld, Nov., 133 ringside, wearing his gloves, shoes, socks
and trunks.
It was a light I'll never forget !. Britt, knowing that the trail was long, tried to win with a knockout in the enrly rounds. He knew
exactly what he could do with the hardy Dane in a bout
limited to 10, 13 or 20 rounds. How about 45 rounds'.' He didn't
know and the thought of going beyond 20 and matching his stamina
against the Dane's was terrifying.
When Jimmy's early efferts weakened him and not the Dane, it was plain to see that Nelson would come on to win. "Spider" Kelly, Brltt's chief second, had
ordered Willie barred from the open-air arena because of his tendency
to go loco when things were going against brother Jimmy.
Things did begin to go badly against Jimmy in the 18th, 17th,
and all too badly In the 18th, in which round Nelson knocked him
out. As Jimmy tried to punch Nelson at bay, there came a roar
from the side of the ring and there was brother Willie, pounding
the ring canvas over the heads of the scribes, yelling:
'Go on tiger—one more—ONe MORE for old Bryant Street's sake
—for MY sake—kill him Jimmy!" It was Jimmy who was being
"killed." Down he went, right in front of us, near the ropes.
(This in the third, or a series by
Hype Igoe in which he recalls 20
of the greatest fights he has seen
In a career covering boxing
stetching almost half a century).
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Rick, you would have to ask Ray, Linda's husband.... [/quote]
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
No way!
[/quote]_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
No way!
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Well, you'd be a day too late anyway Rick. Yesterday, Linda was p.o.ed at me about something, and she might have said yes.
But today is a new day and all is right with the world.
But today is a new day and all is right with the world.
-
dagosd2000
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 8638
- Joined: 01 Sep 2007, 03:31
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Muddy Waters
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pO1JLH2Pzkg
Got My Mojo Working(Chicago Blues Maxwell Street Style)
Last edited by dagosd2000 on 22 Mar 2009, 17:43, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Thanks for sharing that story, Frank. My first "real" Summer job in high school was as a Fuller Brush Man. Gosh, that story really brought back memories.kikibalt wrote:Fuller Brush Man: A 90-year-old foot in the door
Alan Berner / The Seattle Times
Art Pearson, 89, a Fuller Brush salesman, gets a kiss from Linda Cole, of Normandy Park, Wash., whose family has been buying from Art since the 1950s. Art's son Ken, a Seattle real-estate investor who now does the driving for Art's door-to-door sales, takes a souvenir photo of his dad.
For 71 years, this Fuller Brush Man has driven the roads of central Washington in a sedan full of brooms, mops and stain removers. And he's cleaned up with a lot of hard work and a polished routine.
By Kim Murphy
March 18, 2009
Reporting from Burien, Wash. -- He knows you know how to get the grunge off your stove top. Everybody does. But do you know the bestbest way?
Probably, he says, you use one of those soapy steel wool pads. Sure, they work. But have you noticed how they get all rusty after you've used them a time or two? Then they start shedding yucky steel fibers under your fingernails.
What if he told you there was a pad that didn't make a mess at all? Cleans your stove right up with just a little bit of this degreaser. And it lasts a whole year. How many would you like? Now what about this nifty clamp for it, so you don't have to get those pretty hands wet?
For 71 years, Art Pearson has been plying the byways of central Washington in a sedan stuffed with brooms, stain removers, scented moth blocks and brushes for every wall, floor and nook known to man.
He may be the oldest working Fuller Brush Man -- a neatly pressed throwback to a time when the suburbs were sprouting three-bedroom dream homes like dandelions. When kitchens were clean. When a woman's work was never done. When there was no cleaning dilemma for which an appropriate brush could not be found.
"People talk about a recession? People still have to maintain their house. Everybody needs something to clean with," said Pearson, who will turn 91 in April. "And if you tell 'em it's made in the USA, that's what people want to hear. People like the product. Anybody could sell it if they wanted to go out and work."
To see Pearson on the doorstep in his dark gray suit, crisp white shirt and red-and-blue tie is to wake up on a summer morning with "I Love Lucy" on TV, the whistle of the Helms bakery truck outside and three months without school stretched ahead like Aladdin's carpet. So what if Mom is muttering on her hands and knees behind the toilet with a rag in her fist?
"I'll just step in a minute with your free gift," Pearson says, dangling a pastry brush and rubber spatula in a hint of treasures to come.
His routine is polished -- and rarely misses.
"When I first started, they told us, 'Don't go around in an old dirty shirt,' " Pearson says. "You dress up and look neat if you're selling high-quality merchandise," he says.
"We were taught, you come up to the door, you put your suitcase on the right-hand side, knock on the door, then step back two feet. And then say, "May I step in and give you your free gift?' You lay the velvet tray out and you demonstrate the merchandise."
Alfred C. Fuller, the Nova Scotia farm boy who started off in 1906 designing brushes on his workbench and selling them around town, created one of America's most formidable door-to-door sales empires. By the 1950s and 1960s, the Fuller Brush Co. had become an American institution, with overall annual sales reaching nearly $100 million.
It traded on the idea that anyone could make money with a good product and a lot of hard work, and on a society that still could afford stay-at-home mothers who kept up with the neighbors by the gleam of the linoleum on their kitchen floors.
"My life is proof of the tremendous power available to everyone to vault above his own deficiencies," Fuller wrote in his autobiography, "A Foot in the Door."
Fuller's particular niche was to make a better brush, and a brush for almost anything. A catalog from the 1960s featured a water-streaming shower brush, brushes for complexions, manicures, shaving, jars, bottles, lint, percolators, teeth, dentures and paint, along with various mops and brooms.
"Every woman wants to stay as young and attractive as she can. She wants a clean, fresh, radiant complexion . . . soft, lustrous hair. And she is equally interested in the appearance of her home," says the catalog's introduction. "Your Fuller Brush Man will gladly demonstrate how each Fuller item in this book can help make your life less work and more fun."
Over the years, legions of Fuller salesmen went house to house, ready at the slightest sign of encouragement to let loose a load of popcorn on the floor in order to demonstrate the abilities of the motorless carpet sweeper or to scrub the soot off the wall behind the radiator (without scratching the wallpaper!)
"See, here's the thing I learned," Pearson says. "When I call on you, I don't say: 'I'm the Fuller Brush Man.' You'll say, 'I don't need any brushes.' I come to the door and I say, 'I'm the Fuller Man.' That way I get in, I tell people what's on sale, what's good.
"Then I've just got a habit of checking out a house when I come in, see what they might need. My eyes flip around the room. I might suggest a wall brush to clean the ceiling, and I often go for the pre-laundry stain cleaner. I always go into that. I learned, sell three things at a time. Never sell just one."
Today, Fuller products are available on the company's website, in a few other retailers' catalogs and on the QVC television shopping network. The company maintains a sales force of about 8,000 distributors, but only a few hundred full-time salesmen such as Pearson remain. And he is likely the oldest, although no one has kept records, says Larry Gray, vice president of consumer sales and marketing.
"They don't make 'em like Art anymore, and I even say that about myself," Gray says. "They threw the mold away."
"A lot of folks . . . didn't want to stick to it," Gray says. "Over the years, I'm sure Art has had many doors shut in his face."
Pearson looks at the door-in-the-face as a simple matter of mathematics. If he stops at five houses, one will buy.
"One thing you'll never survive with in this business is trying to plan your time or your money," he says. "I've gone out and worked, and sometimes I don't get any business till noon. And then after noon, it all just falls into place. What would have happened if I'd have quit at noon?
"The trouble today is, people don't want to work."
The World War II Marine Corps veteran got his start in the business in 1938, at the age of 20, when a Fuller Brush Man called at his house and suggested he might like the work.
Over the years, Pearson earned enough on commissions to buy a spacious two-story home on a quiet street near Sea-Tac International Airport. He has lived alone since his wife passed away a year ago.
The single extravagance he indulges in is traveling. Holland America Line recently awarded Pearson one of its all-time top passenger awards because of the hundreds of thousands of miles he's traveled on cruises over the years, most recently to Hawaii and Panama.
Pearson estimates he sells $300 to $400 in merchandise on a good day, though on a veryvery good day -- like his carefully organized swing through the rural communities east of Seattle last month -- he can take in $3,000.
He has some 10,000 customers, maybe 600 of them regulars, in his "database" -- cardboard boxes stacked on his dining room table, kitchen counter and floor, each overflowing with old sales receipts.
The living room is jammed with Fuller products: carpet sweepers, push brooms, gallon jugs of Fulsol degreaser and boxes of hair brushes, ceiling brushes and stainless-steel pot scrubbers.
Six mornings a week, Pearson sits down at the dining room table with a phone and box of receipts, puts on his thick glasses and begins calling customers in his targeted area for the day. Then in the afternoon, his only son Ken, 64, drives him around to make deliveries.
The calls are abbreviated and, on the customers' end, often shouted. Pearson can't hear all that well, but he already knows what most of them need. Over the years, he's kept track of what they usually buy and how long ago they bought it.
"Hello, Sue, it's your Fuller Brush Man calling," he says to Sue Genzale, a customer since 1989.
"Hello! How are you?" Genzale says on the other end of the line.
"I'm just fine."
"I'm thinking I need some more of those hangers. How was your Christmas? Were you stuck inside, with all the snow and ice?"
"I stayed home."
"I did too. It was crazy, wasn't it?"
"What do you want?"
"Some of those hangers. You know, the kind I like, for the pants?"
"You're lucky, I got a couple of those. There's six in a package. You want two packages?"
"Oh, I want more than that. Do you have any of that pre-laundry spray?"
"OK. You want three or six?"
Pearson and his son load up the car and head out.
Since his hip surgery several years ago, Pearson often waits in the front seat while Ken carries everything to the door. More often than not, the customer puts on a sweater and walks out to say hello. Many say they remember Pearson showing up at their house with his brushes when they were preschoolers.
At his 90th birthday party, the mayor of Burien gave Pearson a key to the city, and more than 300 customers showed up.
"He remembers everything you bought, when you bought it, why you needed it," Genzale says after Pearson and his son pull into her driveway.
"All these things I could buy at the store. But when you buy from Art -- I bought an ironing board cover from him, and he doesn't just hand it to you, he puts it on for you, he makes sure it's tightened the way it's supposed to be."
Genzale, a businesswoman herself, said she learned from Pearson about the value of treating customers "like family" and going to work every day.
"I was totally amazed with how he does business. Hand writing every receipt," Genzale said. "He was excited about what he was doing. You'd say, 'You know, I've got this spot on the rug,' and he'd say, "I got something that'll handle that!' "
Pearson brushes -- forgive the pun -- off the idea of quitting. "What would I do if I retired?" he scoffs.
Besides, handing his business to Ken would mean imparting all the customer knowledge he keeps stored only in his brain -- a seemingly impossible task.
"We literally drive around, and he tells me where to stop and what they need," Ken says. "You gotta stop at Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and bring two gallons of Fulsol, she's going to want some. I knock on the door and sure enough, that's what they want!"
For now, Pearson's car motors up and down the winding suburban streets south of Seattle, an old man on one side, a younger man on the other. It is bristling with brushes and shared expectation. A customer is nearly always around the corner.
[email protected]
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Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Hap . . . I know that Vince Delgado started his career at the Legion in 1952, and that he was the nephew of Carlos Chavez. Vince is involved with the WBHOF and I'm enjoying getting to know him. I know that we have discussed Vince in the past, but off the top of your head, can you think of anything, a special memory concerning the former fatherweight contender? Sometimes the most memory unimportant leads to a great personal story.
-Rick Farris
-Rick Farris
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
dagosd2000 wrote:
Muddy Waters
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pO1JLH2Pzkg
Got My Mojo Working(Chicago Blues Maxwell Street Style)
You are on a roll Roger.-Rick Farris
-
Rick Farris
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 7200
- Joined: 15 Feb 2008, 16:04
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Now I'm really confused!raylawpc wrote:Well, you'd be a day too late anyway Rick. Yesterday, Linda was p.o.ed at me about something, and she might have said yes.
But today is a new day and all is right with the world.
