Classic American West Coast Boxing

[dagosd2000]

"Ain't That a Kick in the Head"


During Andrew’s visit I kept thinking about Rog’s reference to “Ain’t that a kick in the head” by Dean Martin. I was thinking back to when Jeri and I met, when things were just beginning for us. We had high hopes for our future. It hasn’t been perfect, and there were some rocky moments, just like anyone else, but that’s life.

At night before Jeri and I go to sleep we talk about the kids and grandkids, sometimes we laugh a little, sometimes we cry a little. We savor both. We couldn’t have predicted where we would be. When our kids were little they wanted to hear how their mother and I met. It was ordinary but to the kids it was special event.

We met, on October 19th, 1974, at The Golden West nightclub in Norwalk. It was an after hours club with a big, oversized dance floor. I was with a friend of mine. I was twenty at the time. We walked into the club and I immediately noticed this young woman. I though she had to be a model. I asked her to dance once or twice but was unable to carry on a intelligent conversation. A little later she walked up to me and said “Do you mind if I stand here with you a few minutes? That guy over there is really bothering me.”. “Yeah, Sure, go ahead”. I said. Now I was in more familiar territory. I sent out vibes and a look to the guy to let him know that she was with me now.

I bought her a drink. It was after hours, so it was a soda, a Dr. Pepper, her favorite back then. We talked for a while and she asked me “Why do you keep staring at me? I don’t recall what my answer was. I remember what I was thinking. I’m keeping this one.

Fast forward to May 13th 2009. We’re in our mid fifties now. We are at the Long Beach Airport dropping off our son. He’s returning to Seattle. His life is there now. He is known as Drew by his friends and coworkers. That’s what he was called in the Coast Guard and it stuck. Our granddaughters Mariah and Maddie are with us. They wanted to come and say goodbye to uncle Andrew. We had a few emotional moments as we hugged and said goodbye. It’s never easy but Jeri and I have learned to fake it.

The Long Beach Airport is small, almost a mom and pop version of an airport. It’s like stepping back in time. There is a observation deck near the small bar and restaurant upstairs. We went up there to watch his plane take off. Like almost all goodbyes, it was bittersweet. Proud that Andrew is the man that he is, independent, confident, self sustaining, his own man. Alternately, sad that he can’t stay.

Ain’t life, ain’t love, a kick in the head?

Randy . . . What a great story, the one how you and Jeri met.
I can only imagine the look you gave the guy at the after-hours club.
You did real good that night. Real good.

-Rick

Randy
Just think if we had to start all over again? No way. I think we're in the best place possible.All the kids and grandkids could never be duplicated. These people who think the grass is greener on the other side usually find a bunch of weeds.

[dagosd2000]

"Ain't That a Kick in the Head"


During Andrew’s visit I kept thinking about Rog’s reference to “Ain’t that a kick in the head” by Dean Martin. I was thinking back to when Jeri and I met, when things were just beginning for us. We had high hopes for our future. It hasn’t been perfect, and there were some rocky moments, just like anyone else, but that’s life.

At night before Jeri and I go to sleep we talk about the kids and grandkids, sometimes we laugh a little, sometimes we cry a little. We savor both. We couldn’t have predicted where we would be. When our kids were little they wanted to hear how their mother and I met. It was ordinary but to the kids it was special event.

We met, on October 19th, 1974, at The Golden West nightclub in Norwalk. It was an after hours club with a big, oversized dance floor. I was with a friend of mine. I was twenty at the time. We walked into the club and I immediately noticed this young woman. I though she had to be a model. I asked her to dance once or twice but was unable to carry on a intelligent conversation. A little later she walked up to me and said “Do you mind if I stand here with you a few minutes? That guy over there is really bothering me.”. “Yeah, Sure, go ahead”. I said. Now I was in more familiar territory. I sent out vibes and a look to the guy to let him know that she was with me now.

I bought her a drink. It was after hours, so it was a soda, a Dr. Pepper, her favorite back then. We talked for a while and she asked me “Why do you keep staring at me? I don’t recall what my answer was. I remember what I was thinking. I’m keeping this one.

Fast forward to May 13th 2009. We’re in our mid fifties now. We are at the Long Beach Airport dropping off our son. He’s returning to Seattle. His life is there now. He is known as Drew by his friends and coworkers. That’s what he was called in the Coast Guard and it stuck. Our granddaughters Mariah and Maddie are with us. They wanted to come and say goodbye to uncle Andrew. We had a few emotional moments as we hugged and said goodbye. It’s never easy but Jeri and I have learned to fake it.

The Long Beach Airport is small, almost a mom and pop version of an airport. It’s like stepping back in time. There is a observation deck near the small bar and restaurant upstairs. We went up there to watch his plane take off. Like almost all goodbyes, it was bittersweet. Proud that Andrew is the man that he is, independent, confident, self sustaining, his own man. Alternately, sad that he can’t stay.

Ain’t life, ain’t love, a kick in the head?

Randy . . . What a great story, the one how you and Jeri met.
I can only imagine the look you gave the guy at the after-hours club.
You did real good that night. Real good.

-Rick

Randy
Just think if we had to start all over again? No way. I think we're in the best place possible.All the kids and grandkids could never be duplicated. These people who think the grass is greener on the other side usually find a bunch of weeds.

I almost forgot. Can you imagine another woman who'd put up with us?

[Expug]

"Ain't That a Kick in the Head"


During Andrew’s visit I kept thinking about Rog’s reference to “Ain’t that a kick in the head” by Dean Martin. I was thinking back to when Jeri and I met, when things were just beginning for us. We had high hopes for our future. It hasn’t been perfect, and there were some rocky moments, just like anyone else, but that’s life.

At night before Jeri and I go to sleep we talk about the kids and grandkids, sometimes we laugh a little, sometimes we cry a little. We savor both. We couldn’t have predicted where we would be. When our kids were little they wanted to hear how their mother and I met. It was ordinary but to the kids it was special event.

We met, on October 19th, 1974, at The Golden West nightclub in Norwalk. It was an after hours club with a big, oversized dance floor. I was with a friend of mine. I was twenty at the time. We walked into the club and I immediately noticed this young woman. I though she had to be a model. I asked her to dance once or twice but was unable to carry on a intelligent conversation. A little later she walked up to me and said “Do you mind if I stand here with you a few minutes? That guy over there is really bothering me.”. “Yeah, Sure, go ahead”. I said. Now I was in more familiar territory. I sent out vibes and a look to the guy to let him know that she was with me now.

I bought her a drink. It was after hours, so it was a soda, a Dr. Pepper, her favorite back then. We talked for a while and she asked me “Why do you keep staring at me? I don’t recall what my answer was. I remember what I was thinking. I’m keeping this one.

Fast forward to May 13th 2009. We’re in our mid fifties now. We are at the Long Beach Airport dropping off our son. He’s returning to Seattle. His life is there now. He is known as Drew by his friends and coworkers. That’s what he was called in the Coast Guard and it stuck. Our granddaughters Mariah and Maddie are with us. They wanted to come and say goodbye to uncle Andrew. We had a few emotional moments as we hugged and said goodbye. It’s never easy but Jeri and I have learned to fake it.

The Long Beach Airport is small, almost a mom and pop version of an airport. It’s like stepping back in time. There is a observation deck near the small bar and restaurant upstairs. We went up there to watch his plane take off. Like almost all goodbyes, it was bittersweet. Proud that Andrew is the man that he is, independent, confident, self sustaining, his own man. Alternately, sad that he can’t stay.

Ain’t life, ain’t love, a kick in the head?

Randy . . . What a great story, the one how you and Jeri met.
I can only imagine the look you gave the guy at the after-hours club.
You did real good that night. Real good.

-Rick

Randy
Just think if we had to start all over again? No way. I think we're in the best place possible.All the kids and grandkids could never be duplicated. These people who think the grass is greener on the other side usually find a bunch of weeds.

Randy, thats a great story of how you and Jeri met.
The two of you are something special. No doubt about it.
Im looking forward to seeing you both again at some point. Next banquet perhaps.I plan on attending.
Rick and Rog have summed it up perfectly as usual too.

[Rick Farris]

The best was last . . .

The best photo I ever took in my life was something that marked the end of a legend.
It was taken on the last shot, of the last show, of the last season of Michael Landon's very last television series.
I lit his sets. We won Emmy awards for best actors & actresses, best cinematography, direction, screenplay, sound, make up.
You name the Emmy and our company won it at some point during a production.

But it had come to an end, after only five seasons.
We weren't used to five seasons. Bonanaza ran fourteen years, Little House did a strong nine. We were now investing in our retirement.
Who the Hell is this Brandon Tartikoff? Screw NBC, Landon will shop our future elsewhere. And he did.
The Most successful, most recognizable, Television personality in history. Only Lucy was his equal.

Twenty-eight years at a network. 26 of those 28 seasons, dominated the top ten of American TV broadcasting. "Yesterday comes quick." the Dude felt disrespected, he had other options.

But a new network, CBS tells Landon, "we'll buy whatever your selling and guarantee you five years, minimum". Sold!
We moved to CBS, we shot a pilot, it was bought by the network guaranteeing us five seasons. Life was good.
Suddenly, Mike goes to the doctor, he's sick. Less than three moneths later he is dead.

But on that last day of production for Highway To Heaven. On December 1st, 1988, I shot one of the best pictures ever of Michael Landon and Co-star Victor French as they exited from the frame. I'll post a copy of that photo and share the story behind it.


-Rick Farris

[bennie]

What was George Parnassus like?

Parnassus . . .

Bennie . . . I liked George Parnassus and had a little time to become familiar with him. However, the man to answer the question properly is Hap Navarro, as both were matchmaking & promoting at the same time here in Los Angeles. Hap knew George well, professionally & personally. I know that when George left the Olympic Boxing Club in the mid-60's, he wanted Hap to work with him and his new Forum Boxing Club, which put on some of the most exciting boxing promotions I would ever see.

I know that Parnassus was just a teenager when he settled in Los Angeles after arriving from Greece. He found a job at the Alexandria Hotel, which was L.A.'s best hotel at the time, a place where Presidents and Kings would reside temporarily when visiting the City of Angels. Decades later, when the Alexandria had fallen on hard times, Parnassus would use that as his Los Angeles base and headquarters, it was where he'd have his office, at least in the beginning as his reign as promoter for the Forum in the late 60's-to-'mid-70's. Around 1970, when the Alexandria was being refurbished, Parnassus moved his headquarters a few blocks west to the Elks Building, a monolithic structure right across from MacArthur Park, near Wilshire & Alvarado.

Paranassus favorite fighter was his greatest attraction, Enrique Bolanos. George still had a Greek acsent, in his 70's, when I met him. He was serious, in charge, had a great deal of class and was highly respected. His son was high up in the Catholic Church, his closest associates (that I knew of) were manager Suey Welch and his attorney, Paul Caruso, and L.A. Mayor Sam Yorty.

Suey mentioned to George that I loved boxing history. This is back in 1971, when I was 19. George had a lot of old Referee and KO Magazines, like what Frank posts here for us. When he was ready to toss the mags out in the trash he asked if I would like to go thru them first and take what I might want. I took it all. Damn, Bennie, I wish I still had the stuff. There were programs to some of his greatest fights, photos of he with Bolanos, and a lot of stuff with Cal & Aileen Eaton.

I remember being invited to George's office for a luncheon he had arrainged for a few of his friends. The place was like a "who's who" of Los Angeles and world boxing royality. I was a sparring partner for Ruben Olivares at the time, an L.A. prelim kid. I sat quietly and looked around the room, occasionally standing to take a close look at the dozens of 8x10 black & white photos hanging from the walls, sitting framed on shelves. I was a guest, via Suey Welch, who knew I'd get a kick out of the company I'd be keeping before doing downstairs to the ballroom and preparing for my workout with the world banatmweight champ.

The first in the door was former middleweight champ "Gorilla" Jones (who had been Suey's fighter) and he was laughing along with the guy he entered with, Mushy Callahan. Then Lou Nova walks in, well dressed in a nice suit, looking more like a life insurance salesman than a guy who'd twice KOed Max Baer. Enrique Bolanos arrived laughing as well, entering almost side-by-side with his greatest opposition, the great lightweight king, Ike Williams. Before I could get too excited at the site of the great Williams (who at the time was my all-time favorite lightweight champ), in walks Henry Armstrong, listening intently to the guy who he entered with, former welter king Jimmy McLarnin. With them was one of Jimmy's early opponents and best friends, Billy Wallace. Noble "Kid" Chissell (from the Cauliflower Alley Club) walked in along with former wrestler & film star, Mike Mazurki. Mazurki I'd come to know pretty good as he owned the Cafe downstairs off of the Lobby to the Elks Building. Suey Welch resided in the Elk's building, as did a number of boxing personaalities of the era. Mazurki would cater Parnassus' Luncheon, and the tab would be picked up by Jerry McCauley. Jerry was a gangster and silent partner with Suey Welch in the management of myself and welterweight, Gil King. Jerry loved to throw his money around and always carried a roll of 100's almost the size of his gold Cadillac.

The room was packed, I sat on the arm to the sofa most of the time I was there. The conversation was rich and I learned a lot that day. Parnassus had helped in clearing up some difficulties I was having with another manager. Something that was presenting itself as a problem was quickly eliminated when Parnassus stepped in. George had power. I always knew him as serious and in control. I respected the man a great deal.

I wish I could let you in on more than my simple memories of George Parnassus, however, I never had the day-to-day dealings with this boxing icon as some have. I do know this, Bennie, I value the moments and memories I have of George Parnassus.


-Rick Farris

Thanks, Rick.

[kikibalt]

Monica & Seabiscuit
Santa Anita Race Track - 2009

[kikibalt]

The first bet Monica put on a horse race she picked the winner. This was the race at Santa Anita a few months back.
I told her to follow her feelings, have fun. She bet on eight races. Picked two winners, three placed, one show. Won more than lost.
She had fun. We know that's all that counts. The fact she "made" money is only important to her, since we guys never see it anyway.
I love the track. Just a social bettor, but there is a connection to a world gone by.

There was once Seabiscuit, and Joe Louis and Henry Armstrong and, you know . . .?
I saw the great Secretariat, and Ali and Roberto Duran and, you know . . .?
I'll match my era with any in history. The Dempsey, Louis & Marciano years were great. No greater than 60's-70's.
The evidence exists, video validation.


-Rick Farris

[dagosd2000]

Armando Muniz

[Rick Farris]

Freddie Roach

This Apple fell far from the tree . . .

The painting is one of Roger's unique collection of boxing greats.
What I see in this image, is exactly what I visualize when I think of the "trainer of the Year".
A deep thinking former contender, skilled at teaching old school lessons.
Raised by a boxer to be a boxer. Trained by the best, now he trains the best.

There comes a time around noon, when the busy Wild Card Gym in Hollywood slows down.
The morning gang of prizefighters, trainers, beginners, models and hanger's on has thinned. The press is gone.
The world's top boxing trainer of the moment sits on a high stool, behind the counter, looking over his gym floor.
His elbows rest on the counter, his chin rests on folded hands. There is something on his mind.

I walk over. I don't ask about Manny Pac, James Toney, Oscar or Mayweather. Everybody asks those questions, I don't care about that.
"Hey, how you doin'?" I ask.
"OK, my shoulder is still stiff, but better than yesterday." He squeezes his forearm with the opposite hand.

"I have a South Boston question", I announce. "If you are from Dedham, Mass. does that make you a Southie?"
The trainer thinks for a moment, "In my case, maybe. My dad was a Southie, we lived close and I trained in Southie."

"Did you know Whitey Bulger?" I ask casually.

A smile comes to the former fighters face. "Yeah. You know about Kevin Weeks, right? He and I fought each other as kids. His dad fought my dad.
We grew up alike, our fathers made sure we were fighters, but Kevin took his fight elsewhere. He went to work for Whitey.
I didn't know Whitey well, but he liked the fighters. Kevin was his guy, but when Whitey disappeared, he left Kevin to take the fall. Those guys don't f__k around."

After reflecting on the Irish mob, today operating in bits and pieces, descimated by the RICO act, floundering in deep water as it's leader remains on the the lamb.
"They'll never find him", the trainer claims.

"Does Ruben Olivares ever show up at Hall of Fame events?", Freddie asks.

"Sometimes. But he hasn't been at our last couple." I answer.
"We have to bring them here, sometimes they demand money, sometimes we can't pay. You know the deal, everybody has their hand out.
We aren't promoters, we barely break even, we try to honor their memories and make enough to do it again next year.
Last time we asked Olivares, he wanted five-thousand dollars, plus expenses.
We don't have it, if he wants the attention, he'll have to compromise. We'll give him lots of attention, and pay his way. That's all we can do today."

The "Trainer of the Year" told me Ruben Olivares was his all-time favorite. I told him he was one of mine, as well.
When most bring up the name Ruben Olivares, the focus is on his devistating knockout power and KO record.
However, when Freddie Roach and I discuss Ruben Olivares, we marvel at his boxing ability.
A brilliant boxer he was. I'd been a sparring partner, long ago.

We talk about fifteen minutes. He pulls me over to a black & white photo hanging on the wall, beside the counter.
"Did I show this to you before? This is my father." Freddie pointed to the picture.
"He won the New England featherweight title, and then I won the same title twenty years later."

The photo is that of a featherweight, in a boxing stance, you could see the tough Irish eyes.
"The apple didn't fall from the tree", I thought.

However, the apple did fall far from the tree. This apple landed in Southern California.
Freddie Roach doesn't work out of a steamy South Boston Gym.
He doesn't scrape for change in the bottom of gym lockers, or second palookas hoping to make the rent in a four-rounder.
When Freddie Roach climbs between the ropes today, he usually takes home 10% of millions for his night's work.

Lot's of miles seperate Freddie Roach from South Boston. The apple fell far from the tree.


-Rick Farris

[raylawpc]

TOUGH

It's no secret. Fighters,especially if they're on top,have a following. Sugar Ray had the entourage. Ali had the Bundinis. Los Campeones Latinos had everyone South Of The Border that wanted to buy them a drink. Sure if you're around the champ,then that makes you a little tougher.To be a man you have to be tough even if you have to walk along side the Champ.

But how tough does the Champ feel? During the build up he tells the world to watch their ass,but that's to kick up the kitty. In private. Around everyday people,they're like everyone else. Did you know that guy over there is the Champ? Couldn't tell.

I've been around some fighters. Maybe they weren't all Champs,but they were tough. I don't think they asked themselves that question. I mean you're stepping into the ring. Tough comes into the ring with you or you wind up teaching physical education in middle school.

I don't think I ever had a conversation with a fighter who talked about how tough he was. Oh,I've heard them talk about the guys they fought and what tough son of a bitches they were,but their own toughness? Naw.

You've heard the stories. The drunk in the bar who feels he's got enough liquid courage in him to ask a fighter to step outside. And you know the outcome. That's why a fighters' hands are registered as weapons.

I don't know Roger . . . my junior high PE teacher was pretty tough.

Tom
So was mine. His name was Earl Brucker. His dad played pro baseball. Coach Brucker was not a fellow to horse around with. A man's man. A guy we respected.

Now that I think of it,something a few years ago really shook me up about the guy. Earl Brucker owned the El Cajon Speedway. An old dirt oval that on the weekends featured stock car racing. The old guy turned operations of the track over to his son ,Earl Jr.

One day some scum bag went to the son's house , robbed him, and then shot and killed him. I went to the service. I saw 'ol Coach Brucker there grieving. He was bracing himself up with walking canes. I didn't say anything to him. I probably should have.I think of him very much since that day.

Mine was a Marine.

[Rick Farris]

Armando Muniz

He really is "The Man" . . .

This truly is one of the good guys. The reason I know this so well, is because I have known Armando Muniz so long. Nearly 45 years.
I've never met a person who saw him fight that wasn't impressed..
I never met a person who shook his hand and spoke with him, that wasn't impressed.

Frank knew him before I did. Damn, he was a great amateur, one of the best to come out of our tough era. He immediatly went to the top as a pro, big long win-KO streak. It took the cagiest vets to slow down his incredible energy in the early days. Just 18 months after his pro debut, Mando was a vet when he lost to the great Emile Griffith in a close one in January, 1972 at Anaheim Convention Center. Raul Soriano provided other lessons. He'd lose close ones to Palomino for the title, but it was his challenge of the great Jose "Mantequilla" Napoles that made it's biggest mark in history. He was robbed in Mexico, then clearly beaten in the rematch. Years later, Mando revealed that Napoles once came to him after a WBHOF event. In Spanish Napoles told him, "I just want you to know I had nothing to do with the decision." The two have been friends ever since.

As President of the WBHOF, Mando is good for boxing and boxers.


-Rick Farris

[kikibalt]

Today Connie and I went for a Sunday drive, we ended up at one of our favorite spots, Tom's Farms, which is about half ways between L.A. and San Diego ( I-15 and Temescal Canyon ), its about 12 mile south of Corona, while there I was thinking that it would be a nice place to get together on a Sunday and spent the day with the guys and wives from the thread that live in SoCal, The Randy De La O's, Rick Farris's, Roger Esty's and the Gato's, I know it would be hard for the guys from outside the area to make it but, if you can you're more then welcome, and if I missed anybody, you too are welcome.
There is eats and drinks, stores for the ladies to spent the money.

I'll post some pictures and you can see for your self.

[kikibalt]

Before we got to Tom's farms we stop at Don-Pepe's, which is about 3 miles south of Corona, for menudo, good but, they don't put pata in it.

[kikibalt]

Connie at Don-Pepe's



Me at Don-Pepe's

[kikibalt]

You can go for a buggy ride.

[kikibalt]

Eat burgers.



See Harleys

[kikibalt]

Tom's Farms

[kikibalt]

1948 Chevy low rider

[kikibalt]

Thats Connie on the right by the lamp post

[kikibalt]

Connie at Tom's Farms

[kikibalt]

I hope I don't bore you guys with my photos.

[dagosd2000]

Today Connie and I went for a Sunday drive, we ended up at one of our favorite spots, Tom's Farms, which is about half ways between L.A. and San Diego ( I-15 and Temescal Canyon ), its about 12 mile south of Corona, while there I was thinking that it would be nice to get together on a Sunday and spent the day with the guys and wives from the thread that live in SoCal, The Randy De La O's, Rick Farris's, Roger Esty's and the Gato's, I know it would be hard for the guys from outside the area to make it but, if you can you're more then welcome, and if I missed anybody, you too are welcome.
There is eats and drinks, stores for the ladies to spent the money.

I'll post some pictures and you can see for your self.

Frank
That sounds like a good idea.

[dagosd2000]

I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TIME IT WAS

Sunday,a nice time to go out to eat with the family. Maybe stay around the house. Have a Bar B Q. Relax,because tomorrow is a work day. And of course Sunday is a day of the sabbath for many people. Many businesses are closed. A day of rest.

But how about the guy who doesn't know what time it is? What day it is.Forgets the month. Working off adrenelin ,and when that's spent it's either crash and get some sleep,maybe for days,or find something to put in your body to keep on going.

We talk about music a lot on the thread. I really think musicians today are more civilized than let's say 40 or more years ago. Musicians today are dedicated to their music to the extent that any drugs or alcohol would diminish their performances.

I read when Charlie Parker would scold the younger cats not to use drugs.
"Don't copy me on that score. Don't use that stuff."
But when followers see their genius doing something,they mimick.

They committed Charlie Parker to Camarillo State Hospital in 1945 when he ventured out from the Apple to Los Angeles. He broke down in some hotel on Central Avenue(almost burning the place down)and the judge had him committed. After 10 months he came out clean. His first recording session was for Dial Records in Hollywood. His performances are clean like his body. They are improvisations that are solid and forcefull.

But everytime I listen to that date,there's something missing. Oh,I can tell it's Charlie's alto. That was undeniably his sound. But the ideas. Brilliant,but without the pathos. The suffering and screaming and laughing wasn't heard. It was like listening to Mozart. Charlie wasn't blowin' snakes that afternoon.

It wasn't long before Charlie got back to shooting up. Like the song,"This Time The Dream's On Me." If someone wasn't turning him on,he blew his night's take on the stuff. His playing? Uneven at times. Undependable. But the agony and torment and joy that was inside this man came out through his horn with ideas that will never be heard again in our lifetime.

Black people don't know him. Musicians do. Amanda's Flamenco teacher is a Yard Bird nut. All the dope that guy put in his body fed the creativity that was swirling around in his mind. Sometimes when he was on a slow burn(coming off the stuff) he didn't play that well,but he'd excuse himself and tell the band he'd be back in an hour.

Smoothed out, he'd be blowin' snakes.

[Rick Farris]

Today Connie and I went for a Sunday drive, we ended up at one of our favorite spots, Tom's Farms, which is about half ways between L.A. and San Diego ( I-15 and Temescal Canyon ), its about 12 mile south of Corona, while there I was thinking that it would be nice to get together on a Sunday and spent the day with the guys and wives from the thread that live in SoCal, The Randy De La O's, Rick Farris's, Roger Esty's and the Gato's, I know it would be hard for the guys from outside the area to make it but, if you can you're more then welcome, and if I missed anybody, you too are welcome.
There is eats and drinks, stores for the ladies to spent the money.

I'll post some pictures and you can see for your self.

Frank
That sounds like a good idea.

Yeah. We're in.

[dagosd2000]

I hope I don't bore you guys with my photos.

Are you kidding? We all have our side stories that we tell on here. The original thread was about Indian Red. Then we started talking about other fighters. When the mood strikes us,we talk about other things. The moderators have been stand up guys. They let us go on. We don't get out of line. If we just had to keep talking about boxing,this thread would have died a long time ago. We don't get caught up arguing about the merits of Muhammad Ali as a fighter and human being(as an example) that I see running through dozens of threads on the forum. We're all pretty healthy here.