Classic American West Coast Boxing

[dagosd2000]

Day Of The Dead

I read where they killed the brother of Julio Cesar Chavez. Bandits broke into the back of the home of Rafael Chavez in Culiacan,Sinaloa and demanded money. Rafael Chavez gave one of the robbers money,but it appears that the amount didn't satisfy the thieves. They demanded more, and when Rafael resisted,he was shot three times in the head. He was murdered in front of his family.This information was gleaned from the police report in Culiacan,the hometown of the Chavez family.Rafael Chavez ran a clinic in Culiacan for drug and alcohol abusers.The clinic serves around 250 addicts.Julio Cesar Chavez said that everyone knew that his brother was dedicated to helping people suffering from substance problems.Julio Cesar Chavez has battled with drug and alcohol abuse during his life.

Julio Cesar Chavez has now been informed by the FBI that there are individuals in Mexico who are threatening to kidnap him and his daughter. This information was relayed to the FBI by government officials in Tijuana.Chavez says he has made overtures to Mexican state authorities,but the responses have been inconclusive. They have told Chavez that one of the men who made the threats was recently released from prison.Chavez says that he is being virtually "ignored" by the Mexican government.He is angry and upset and afraid.

This story may or may not shock the reader.As far as I'm concerned it does not make me gasp for breath. We all know that Julio Cesar Chavez was Mexico's greatest boxing icon. That means something to some people,but to the ruthless, it says that Chavez and his family are targets.Being a hero in Mexico doesn't insure that you'll walk the streets with adulation. With fame and glory, wealth accompanies,and that will necessitate to looking over your shoulder.It will also require employment of an entourage of bodyguards.

The famous ranchera singer Vicente Fernandez had to finally relocate to San Antonio ,Texas to escape the wrath of the monsters who had kidnapped his son,Vicente Jr. He was held captive for four months. The kidnappers chopped off two of the son's finger.The ransom was paid.Fortunately, they released the son,but the father then gathered his clan and moved to the United States.

Adrian Gonzalez who now plays first base for the Los Angeles Dodgers ,had to take similar action to protect his family. Gonzalez grew up in Tijuana,but wanted to play high school ball in San Diego.He knew that he had the goods to get drafted into the Majors.A fellow teacher and friend of mine in the district by the name of Dave Gonzalez coached the baseball team at Eastlake high School in Chula Vista.Adrian played on that CIF Championship team. He was drafted by the Padres for the big money. Coach Gonzalez told me that when Adrian signed his contract,the cartels in Tijuana were making threatening phone calls . KIdnapping for ransom money was the message. Adrian had to relocate his family north.

There are very wealthy people living in Mexico.So what goes on with them?They pay and they pay big time to the cartels for protection.They also travel surrounded by bodyguards.When they have to be driven somewhere,the bulletproof vehicles are fortified by men with automatic weapons and shotguns. Sometimes I'll drive through a rich neighborhood in Tijuana and I can always tell where someone lives who needs to be on his guard.A half dozen or so button men carrying AR 15's stand outside the door.Carlos Slim,not only the richest man in Mexico but in the world,has to bend to this kind of lifestyle.

I've often heard that Mexico "needs a revolution."Well,they had one. It was a covert, slow work in progress,but they had one.It used to be that the Spaniards,the aristocrats,the old political families,the highly educated,and the wealthy businessmen controlled the fortunes on Mexico.On the surface it may still seem that way,but in reality it's a country ruled by the cartels.And now they fight between themselves to be the boss. There will never be just one cartlel that runs things. There'll always be wars going on for that power.The killings will never cease.

So who are the men that compose these gangs?They weren't elitists.They were never the chosen few. They were born in abject poverty at the lowest rungs of the Mexican social strata. They lived in broken homes rife with violence and abuse. They walked on dirt floors.They had no money.From their environment they learned violence.I'll use the cliché "law of the jungle" to make my analogy. They seperated themselves from their fellow downtrodden with a sociopathic tenacity that was the only way to rid themselves from despair.The Chapos,the Quinteros,the ex cops who were run out for overstepping their authority.The ones who were once on the bottom are now at the mountain top and that mountain is a volcano. They've moved in on law enforcement and the politicos. Their bedrock was controlling the drugs. Now they control everything:big business,politics,the entertainment industry,tourism. They even have their "own' music bands that glorify them in song.Patron saints are blessed by the church to protect them.It's a way of life now that the country learns to live with. It's fruitless to worry about it unless you're in a situation like Julio Cesar Chavez.Just leave well enough alone.

What's sad about all this is that the guys running the show now ,who have that history of what it was like to have nothing, are now in a position to straighten things out,but they won't.Oh,they may build a bridge in town or a little park here and there,but that's mostly wind and smoke.A night club with glamorous women and plenty of action is more to their liking.

Julio Cesar Chavez wants action to find the culprits and havethem pay the penalty for his brother's death.To make it look good, they may arrest someone,perhaps some patsy who they say did the shooting .It's really out of Julio Cesar Chavez's hands. His fame will only work against him.

The day of The Dead in celebrated on November 1st in Mexico.All the adult spirits come to the cemetery to visit their families. The families will put on the graves what their beloved deceased cherished the most in life .I'm sure Julio Cesar Chavez , with his family,will be at his brother's gravesite. I don't know what they'll put there.Probably something simple.Something innocent maybe that reflected the heart of a brother whose mission in life was to help people.


http://imgur.com/fEPGm7k

Julio Cesar Chavez

I have an interesting footnote to this story. This is another example how things operate in Mexico. A close friend called me up one night and told me that his nephew was in the Tijuana jail and if I would go down with him to help get his nephew out of the slammer. My friend figured I knew my way around down there and could speak the language. My friend said he wasn't told why his nephew was in jail. My friend wasn't allowed to speak with his nephew.

We drove down to the old Tijuana jail on 8th Street. Tijuaneros referred to the jail as "Calle Ocho." When we got to talk to the captain he had told us that the kid was arrested for having a" weapon." My friend asked what was the weapon. The "weapon "turned out to be a bullet. Later,after we finally got the kid out,the kid told us that he kept a bullet on the the dashboard of his car. It was used as a paperweight.The nephew said he left his car parked on the street.Evidently, a cop saw the bullet on the dashboard.He waited for the kid to return to the car and then arrested him.

Guns and ammo are strictly taboo in Mexico. I've never seen a gun store in Mexico. The penalty for having an illegal firearm is very severe.The police captain said that my friend's nephew was no longer at the Tijuana jail. He had been transferred to the police station in the Rio.However, in order to proceed to get the kid's release, we had to pay the captain a thousand dollars.With this problem facing us, we returned to San Diego,went to the bank the next morning ,and my friend withdrew a thousand dollars from his savings.We returned to the Tijuana jail and paid the captain the thousand. We expected to see the kid and get his release. But the captain said we would have to go to the station in the Rio to get him freed.The kid was supposed to be locked up there.

We went to the jail in the Rio and had to speak with another captain. Well,do I need to go on any further? We got the same scenario from this guy. Your nephew ain't here and in order to go on blah blah...another grand. Back to San Diego. This time I told my friend to close out his savings account.We went back,were told to go to another station because the kid was there not here.This went on for two more trips to different police atations with the same "bite" put on us by two more of Tijuana's finest.

I guess they figure that they couldn't get anymore blood from the rock and finally gave the kid his walking papers. In total,it cost my fiend his life savings...6 G's.Oh,and by the way,the cops never gave the kid's car back

http://imgur.com/kaOJFNw

The old Tijuana jail. Torn down around ten years ago.

[dagosd2000]

Another Employment

"You wanna' be what?"
"I want to be a fighter?"
"You're out of your f--kin' mind."
That's what my father said to his half brother, Anthony, when he approached his big brother to tell him of his desire to be a professional fighter.I was there sitting in the living room in my grandfather's,Diamond Joe's, house at the corner of Polk and Oakley Boulevards.
"You want to wind up punch drunk?"asked my father.
He shook his head .He couldn't believe what his younger brother was proposing.

As Diamond Joe Esposito was walking towards his house after attending a union meeting accompanied by his body guards,the Varchetti brothers,a car pulled up alongside.Two mnen leapt from the automobile brandishing shotguns and opened fire at my grandfather as the Varchetti brothers hit the ground.56 garlic soaked slugs were removed from Dimey's lifeless body.My grandmother went to Capone to try to make sense of all this.All Big Al could say was "It was a mistake."

My grandmother squandered my grandfather's fortune.The Outfit,I must admit,had their grubby paws scooping away what was left of my grandfather's assets. Several years later my grandmother married a character by the name of Ladero.I wasn't around then. They say this Ladero was a real fast talker and younger than my grandmother.He was also a small time hood.A stick up guy who was looking to latch on to what was left from my grandmother's inheritance.The union resulted in the birth of my uncle Anthony.

He didn't resemble anyone in the Esposito family. The Espositos were stocky and squat . Anthony was slender,tall,and athletic looking. He was very handsome and light skinned and inherited his father's gift of romancing women off their feet.He had a boyish charm that my mother thought was alluring.My father was always on him.My father hated ,Ladero,and eventually ,with some Outfit juice, got immigration to deport him back to Sicily. That was another thorn in my father's side. His mother had married a Sicilian. Neopolitans ,like my father in the southwest side, always told everyone that Sicilians were half African.After they put Ladero on the boat back to Palermo,my father,who was moving up with the Outfit, made his half brother legally change his last name to "Esposito."

Anthony was my grandmother's favorite kid. Diamond Joe forced himself on her.She and her family had no say to resit the marriage. My grandfather ran things in the Patch.His word was law.Besides,he took care of my grandmothers family. All 23 of them. Ladero was different with her. She genuinely loved the guy even though he was a heel.When he got the boot back to the "Boot",her only child with Ladero,Anthony,became her cherished child. Honestly,my grandmother was a very gruff woman. She swore and taught her pet parrot,Chico,to cuss like a pirate. She cheated at cards.The Catholic Woman's Club 86'd her because she always had an ace up her sleeve at the poker table. The cab companies wouldn't take her fare anymore because she'd fall out of the cab onto the curb after the ride was over and then sue the cab company.(I don't think she ever collected a nickel).She briefly(along with her daughter, my aunt Jeanette)was fired from the clerical department at the DMV for taking bribes to tear up pending parking tickets.She was the only person I saw who got away with insulting my father,her oldest child, in front of everybody.I never saw him flinch. It was like he never heard the discouraging words.

Anthony was different .She spoiled him and he became very close to his mother.He looked after her and was always nearer logistically and emotionally.She knew that a phone call would bring Anthony to the doorstep in minutes.Anthony was married at least two times that I can remember. I know he had a son and a daughter. His wives were Anglo girls who were very nice and loved Anthony very much,but like I said,Anthiony's eye was always on the search for something else wearing a skirt. His wives didn't want to deal with that. They took the kids and left him. He didn't seem to mind. He had his mother.

Unlike Anthony's two brothers Esposito,my dad and his younger brother Chuck,Anthony was gifted with athletic abilities. He loved sports and tried his hand at baseball and basketball.He had good coordination,reflexes,and agility.He made it look easy.Everytime I watched him play he was the best athlete out there.He had a cup of coffee with the Baltimore Orioles. He was on the same farm team as another Italian kid, Tito Francona.But Anthiony broke his knee and washed out with baseball.I think it was around that time he went into the boxing gym.I never saw him fight or even train,but evidently he thought he had a chance being a pug.That's when my dad shook him up.

"You're 21 years old,"lectured my father."You've never even been an amateur.You go to the gym and some rummy trainer tells you you're gonna' be another Rocky Marciano.You're gonna' wind up being a stumble bum.You should have stuck with baseball.Look at Tito.He's with the Orioles.You want to be a fighter?You'd have to go along with us if you want to make any money.Fighting is a lousy racket."
"But I think I could be good at it,"pleaded Anthony.
"You'll get the s--t kicked out of you."
"I told Ma.She's OK with it."
"She's even dumber than you,"said my father losing his patience.
Anthony's head was staring at the floor.
"Look,Anthony.Why don't you come along with us. I'll talk to Mooney.He'll get you something solid. Work with us. Why get you're brains scrambled for nothing.?"
Anthony kind of nodded.That seemed to be the end of the discussion.

Anthony got hired on as a cop in Chicago.He drove a patrol car. I remember he looked very handsome in his uniform.During one of the riots in the south side during the 60's, he left his patrol car in the street when he thought he was going to get overrun. We were living in California by that time. One time he came out to California to visit us. He said he wasn't a cop anymore.He told my father that he wanted to open a lounge on the north side near Wrigley Field.I also remember him talking about the Godfather movie.He was enthralled with it.He kept asking my father if Don Corleone was like Diamond Joe.My father finally had listened to enough of Anthony's clamor.
"Look, Anthony .Shut up with all that crap about The Godfather. That movie was full of s--t.I couldn't watch it after awhile. It was horrible. It never happened that way.Those Hollywood guy don't know what they're talking about."
Anthony changed the subject. He talked about the bar he wanted to open in Chicago. He wanted to name it,A Taste of Honey.My father didn't pay much attention to him.After chatting about this and that,Anthony left to go back to his motel. My father turned to me.
"Wants to open a bar in Chicago.A Taste of Honey.He got fired from the police force for shaking down numbers guys.They'd never give him a license.He can go to his mother and talk about A Taste of Honey."

http://imgur.com/PNwgzEf

Don Corleone

[dagosd2000]

Punches Versus Politics

There's a video of Freddie Roach being interviewed by an Aussie reporter in the island continent about the recent fight between Manny Pacquiao and Jeff Horn. Roach was asked about what he thought about the decision.He said it was close. It could have gone either way. The reporter wasn't trying to start anything with Roach. Straight forward questions and Roach supplied honest assessments. He thought that it might be too much for Manny to juggle his political position, state senator in the republic of the Philippines, and being a professional fighter. Roach said that when he was training Manny in General Santos City,Manny wasn't getting the kind of work necessitating being prepared to defend his title properly. Sparring sessions weren't as vigorous as Roach had wanted,Manny was being called away to attend to his political obligations. Roach said that Manny wasn't ready. He couldn't execute like the way Roach wanted him to perform.Roach said that he'd sit down with Manny to assess his boxing future.Asked if there were to be a rematch,Roach said that he wouldn't mind having the fight in Brisbane again. Everyone in his entourage was treated splendidly. The fans and the city were great. The question and answers were conducted calmly and without any tinge of bitterness or wanting to start another" fight",this time outside the arena.

I've always thought very highly of Freddie Roach.When he reminisces about his first pupil,Mickey Roarke the cocky movie actor,Roach as certainly climbed an impressive ladder training some great names in boxing.Pacquiao is his blue chip guy.Roach ,as we know,has been fighting the Parkinson's disease. wIth medicines.Most of all, his best therapy is training his fighters.Manny Pacquiao's fighting career has certainly been a tonic for Freddie. If Pacquiao should opt out of boxing and focus on politics,there would be a big void left in Roach's lifestyle.But perhaps Roach, being afflicted with a degenerating disease, knows that there are higher ideals to aspire for on life's pathway.I hope Manny thinks the same way.

I was listening to Steven A. Smith,the ESPN sports analyst talk about Pacquiao during the pre fight hype. Smith said,with the exception of Muhammad Ali,no fighter has made such an important impact on his country than Manny Pacquiao. I guess if you flippantly throw in Muhammad's name into that comparision,you won't get any flack. I disagree with Smith with his analogy. Manny Pacquiao is a state senator that ,in his last two elections, has gotten 70% of the vote.First of all,if you want to compare the United States with the Philippines,Pacquiao being an elected official, in the land of Pinoy,has a monumental task in front of him. Granted,he's not the showman like Ali,but Muhammad got a lot of people caught up with his charm. Sometimes his philosophical rhetoric was flimsy even though it got a lot of laughs. He got out of the draft,eventually getting his appeal to go through the courts and his conviction overturned,and then having his license remitted. He had the money to persist.In the meantime he lectured,fought a fantasy fight with Rocky Marciano,and appeared on every talk show on television,More books have been written about him than any other athlete who ever lived.Many say that what he did took courage. I dodged the draft. Nobody said I was courageous. I think of those boys who were ambushed in the jungles of Vietnam and many of them returned to their country and were spit on.

But Ali had his detractors. He was that great showman,but if he had run for a political office,he couldn't have gotten to be elected dog catcher.Ali is always quoted as saying"No Viet Cong ever called me a n----r."I'm sure if Ali would have been a soldier over there,he would have heard the N word and a lot worse. God forbid if they would have captured him.They would have found him hanging from a tree with his" you know whats" stuffed in his mouth.

The Muslims knew that getting to Ali to fall into line would be a coup. Ali turned his back on Martin Luther King and sided with Malcolm X.Then when X was getting too popular in the Nation of Islam, Ali was told to distance himself from him. He complied.He knew better. He didn't want to wind up like Malcolm.

So Manny Pacquiao is walking the walk.He's in the trenches. He can't be a great fighter anymore. If nothing else, Father Time is ringing his bell. He has a more important mission to fulfil. The Philippines is a lot more screwed up than the United States ever was. Freddie Roach knows that the vicarious fans that live their lives through fighters have other battlers out there they can go nuts over.

Ali wound up with Parkinson's like Freddie Roach. Later in his life as the disease was eating him Ali up,he distanced himself from boxing. Peace on earth by people loving each other became a greater purpose. He put all his trophies in the barn .Those artifacts lived with the pigeons and the mice.I bet also,he and Freddie Roach got to know each other.

http://imgur.com/Dc7E0yy

Freddie Roach

[dagosd2000]

Tricolor

http://imgur.com/kmemkS5




http://imgur.com/fZN62ov





http://imgur.com/4TdvMqI



https://youtu.be/1oHiljdikCk


https://youtu.be/tOCCvN8YDuc


https://youtu.be/xlocV47cR2g


Three beautiful fighters.Three beautiful voices.Three beautiful colors.

[dagosd2000]

Spanish Fly

Tomorrow my wife,my granddaughter Amanda,and I will be going to Cadiz,Spain for two weeks. We go there often. Amanda joins a Flamenco workshop,my wife likes to lounge around on the beach,and I partake in one of my main hobbies...observing people. It was a few years ago.i was resting in my hotel room after observing some of the prettiest women in the world tanning themselves on one of the Spain's topless optional beaches when I flicked on the TV. I wasn't paying much attention to what was on. Television isn't consumed in Spain like here in the U.S. The bodegas have one TV set mounted on the wall ,and unless there's a soccer game going on,the boob tube is turned off. I was kind of drifting off into a restful nap when I heard something from the set that perked up my ears. Some group had taken a survey about who were the most famous Spanish celebrities. Under the category of "Sports" I was very surprised to see the name of Pedro Carrasco listed as the number one hombre. I thought it over for awhile and couldn't believe how Carrasco could be considered that big a deal.I'm not an expert on Spanish sports legends,but I'm thinking "how about Nadal the tennis player or Ballesteros the golfer? DeStefano was considered one of the great soccer players in the world.Fernando Alonso was a Grand Prix champion.Miguel Indurain won the Tour De France five times.C'mon man!"

I remember when Mando Ramos crossed the pond with Jackie McCoy and his dad to defend his title against Carrasco.Pedro,I guess ,was that prototype European fighter during those days who stood straight up and worked his jab and resembled an amateur fighter with his offense compared to a Roberto Duran who wanted to eat your liver in the ring. He had run up a long string of "W's", but you chaps in GB know how it goes in Italy and Spain. Those boys stick to fighting in their mother country picking their way with win after win in a lot of 8 round fights against lukewarm opponents. Looking at Carrasco's resume prior to the Ramos fight,the only name that I recognized was the old Cuban pro,Angel Robinson Garcia. Pedro was pretty protected from getting in there with a guy who could bust him up. He was a good looking kid and he liked being seen with Spain's show business stars,particularly the ones of the weaker sex.

The fight wasn't broadcast "live" that I remember. When I heard that Ramos had lost his title,I was surprised. Then the reports came in about it was a "controversial decision."Mando was disqualified. The ol' Spain?Italy way of making everything turn out "right."When I finally saw the tape,I practiced some my choice cuss words.

By now you know my guy was Jose Napoles. But that win they gave him on the DQ against Armando Muniz was the greatest robbery since the Brinks job.But I have to rank the shafting they gave Ramos in Espana a couple of notches higher(or lower)than what transpired "contra "Muniz in Acapulco.At least Jose was still on his feet after Berumen the referee judged that Armando had fouled the "chata" head Cuban.Carrasco was on his back when he won the championship. Look at the YouTube video. Ramos totally outclassed Carrasco from the opening bell.He was decked four times.After one of the knockdowns the ref pulls Carrasco to his feet! But the stars weren't aligned correctly in Mando's galaxy. Pedro staggers to his feet to have his arm raised and now he's the big conquistador of his country. Forget Manolete,Carrasco was the number one matador.Spain went ape over the guy.

The WBC, that sanctioned the fight, ordered a return fight in Los Angeles in 90 days. I have to admit,the return go and the rubber match(held in Spain)were pretty close.Carrasco came up short in those two fights,both decisions.But evidently the glamour was still in the halo that hovered over his head.He married a famous singer, starred in motion pictures,and became a considerably wealthy ex champ.

Pedro died about 15 years ago.He was only 57. I still can't figure why he got voted the most popular sports figure of Spain. Even Jose Legra(who emigrated from Cuba) was a hell of a better fighter than Carrasco.But fighting is the most macho of the macho sports, and Spain being a macho man's country found that one of their own wearing a title belt,no matter how uncomfortable it fit,had bigger "cajones" than any "toro" in the bullring.Let's face it.How big do your balls have to be to hit a tennis ball around?

http://imgur.com/JsXnFYM

A young Pedro Carrasco

[dagosd2000]

Ooops

I've been watching this dog and pony show in Toronto of Mayweather and McGregor on the television. Just realized that I've been misspelling McGregor's name. I've been spelling it "MacGregor".I guess that's Scottish? Conor is Irish. Didn't mean to offend anyone.

[dagosd2000]

Stone Cold

I returned from Spain yesterday. More specifically,the port city,Cadiz,the oldest city in western Europe. My wife and I go there with our granddaughter Amanda who takes a flamenco workshop class with her teacher ,Miguel Vargas, who she has been teaching her for 12 years. Amanda is a big girl now. She's able to go by herself. She studied last year in Paris as a foreign exchange student for three months. But my wife Maria and I enjoy going to Spain,especially Andalucia ,where the pace is slow and relaxed. Traditions are still pretty much the same as they've always been. The more industrialized north is considered too caught up in the rat race by Andalucians. They like their life style the way it is. The hands on the clock don't have a grip on southern Spain.

During the day Amanda would attend her dance classes.My wife loved to lie on the beach and bask in the sun's rays. I for the most part would split time between the beach and the watching my granddaughter dance.After the last class would finish around 6 o'clock,Miguel, the students,their families and friends would then go to any of the many tapas bars and restaurants to enjoy the local food and refreshments. Spontaneity would often grab hold.Someone would begin clapping and then one by one each student would arise from his seat and dance a buleria. A crowd would rapidly gather and the cheering and "oles" would echo through the plaza. The headiness of the dancing,the food and drink,and the beauty of the ancient Spanish buildings painted a masterpiece of the Andalucian way of living.

One night after indulging in various fish tapas that included calamari,swordfish,tuna,and sardines and anchovies; relishing the local finos,Miduri,and Cruz Campo and Mahoe beer, the group wanted to walk through the west end of the Cadiz where the stone streets are narrow and the old Spanish buildings look down on the slow walking people looking casually for a bodega so they can sit in the light and drink as the dusk turns into night.One evening as they were all sitting around a table in a bar that was full of people,I decided to leave them and find a place that was less crowded. They had their dancing to hold them together as a kind of a bond, By the time the liquor was taking affect, I felt more as an outsider. My wife didn't want to follow me.I said I'd walk back to the hotel by myself. That I would only have little to drink. I knew they would carry on much longer.

I began walking through the maze of dark crisscrossing streets that had the names of the streets on tiles on the sides of the buildings. The store were all closed by this time. Only a lighted bodega where you could hear the noise echo from the inside told of any signs of life to the darkened narrow streets. The ocean breeze blew through the pasajeros and I could smell the briny ocean air.I soon realized that I was lost. At the end of a street where I was walking I saw a little light peer out of a doorway.As I reached the opening.I looked inside. The bodega was empty except for the camarero standing behind the bar.I impulsively walked in.

Like the typical bodega, there was no music coming from a jukebox. There was a small television on the wall,but it was turned off.The inside was sufficiently lit,but not so much as to reveal everything. There were no tables.Only a row of stools at the bar.The camarero put his hands on the counter and looked at me.
"I'll have a fino ,"I said.
"Manzana?",he asked me in a gravely voice.
"Yes,manzana."
The camarero was thick through the shoulders, He sported a big black mustache that covered his upper lip. His face was fleshy,iron gray eyebrows hovering over receding black eyes.His hair was graying at the sideburns and his hairline was beginning to recede.As he put the glass of fino in front of me,I saw that his hands were thick as were his short fingers.After setting the fino down,he put a plate of cracked olives next to the glass.

I noticed that the walls of the bodega were entirely covered with pictures.There were the sepia type.Old picures, mostly of soccer players and teams,bullfighters.and group and individual poses of people none that I could recognize. As I was scanning the photographs,there was one that finally leaped at me. It was a picture of a boxer. He was standing in the ring.The referee was raising the fighter's hand. I motioned for the camarero.


"Another fino?"he asked.
"No amigo,"I said pointing to the picture of the fighter."Isn't that Jose Urtain?"
"Yes it is.So you know of him?"
"A little."
"I promoted some of his fights when he was beginning his career,"said the camarero straightening himself.
"He had a long streak of victories,"I said.
"Yes,but that was an illusion."
I had remembered that Nat Fleischer had put Urtain on the cover of his Ring Magazine. Fleischer had touted Urtain as the strongest fighter who ever lived.Fleischer was a quirky guy.He didn't give much credence to the modern age fighter.He really screwed up the count in Lewiston by telling a foggy Joe Walcott that Liston was on his back for something like 18 seconds after Ali had "hit" him.I would have liked to see that one go on a bit more.
"I read that he had incredible strength,"I said.
"He did.He was very strong. He was a champion at lifting stones,but lifting stones doesn't translate into being a great fighter."
"He did have a powerful punch though,"I said trying to bolster Urtain's legacy.
"Oh yes. He could hit with tremendous power. But he telegraphed his punches. He was a very crude fighter.He had no skills to speak of."
"He had a lot of consecutive wins."
"But they were against very weak opponents. He had no amateur fights. It was all a mirage."
"Then he lost to Cooper."
The camarero put his hands back on the bar.
"We all thought that Urtain would knockout Cooper,"said the camarero looking down."But it was not close.It had been a dream."
"I saw the replay. Urtain kept his chin out there and Cooper's left hand had no trouble finding it."
"Cooper was a European fighter that had fought a lot of good heavyweights. He was mostly unsuccessful,but he had fought better men than Urtain.Urtain was hiding in Europe.Then Cooper exposed him."
"They talk a lot about Cooper putting Clay on his back. I got to admit,I think it was the hardest one shot ever landed on Clay,but I think Cooper's greatest effort was against Urtain."
The camarero then put his elbows on the bar and leaned close to me.
"Listen amigo,"he said slowly."There is no room for failure in Spain.We even put Columbus in irons. Urtain could not redeem himself after Cooper. He lost a lot after that. He ,what you Americans say,lost face with the Spanish public.He had once been in high favor with Franco.Then afer Cooper, he fell into oblivion."
"Didn't he commit suicide?"I asked the old bartender.
"He was alone.We turned our backs on him.After his death I quit promoting fights and left Madrid."
"That's a sad story,"I said.
"Here in Cadiz there has never been that much interest in boxing.They rarely discuss it."
"But then I walked in,"I said with a little laugh.
"But you would have never mentioned if I didn't have Uratin's picture on the wall."

http://imgur.com/f3NMrts

Jose Urtain

[dagosd2000]

Boxing For Fun

I love doing my crossword puzzles just about everyday. I don't like the real easy ones.There's no challenge to that.I like the more difficult ones. I get this booklet that has three different levels of difficulty . At first I was getting stumped most of the time on level 1. Levels 2 and 3 were impossible.But now ,after a few years of working at it,I can go through the booklet and solve around 70% of them. The other day I had my nose buried in a crossword and they wanted a four letter word for "Boxing for fun." I figured pretty quick that the answer was the word "spar." It worked,but that's the first time I'd ever run across anyone thinking that "sparring" was "fun." I've sparred with some of the fighters around the different gyms in San Diego over the past.I never thought of it as being fun.You see I was never serious about boxing. I didn't want to take it up as a profession. It was too much sacrifice. Besides,to learn the skills competently takes a lot of time and dedication.I was usually a body they sent up there to fill in when good sparring partners were at a premium that day.

I've gone through the story of the time Ken Norton ,within three seconds,gave the left side of my nose a permanent indentation, that to this day I run my fingers over remembering that was the moment I decided I was going to stick to football. Speaking of Kenny Norton,I remember watching him train in one of the Town and Country Hotel's banquet rooms in Mission Valley.He was getting ready to fight Ali. Ali woukd train in the same room,but Ali would work before Norton. It was free to watch the two go through their workouts. Ali would pack the crowd to the doors.He had a good string of wins since his loss to Frazier. Muhammad had put the likes of Patterson,Quarry,Chuvalo,Foster,and Ellis in the loss column. Ken Norton ? This was a "gimme". Like Ali said to the throng as he was strutting around the ring in that banquet room,"Norton will be fartin' after I get done with him."

Well,Ali did more grandstanding to his audience than rigorously putting much physical effort into his training regimen. What struck me(and everyone else that was there especially to see The Greatest)were his sparring sessions. The three that were to put him through his paces were Alonzo Johnson,Billy Daniels,and Tony Doyle.Well,everyone wanted to see Ali "float like a butterfly." All we got was a big stuffed turkey. Ali would lean back on the ropes and hold his arms to his sides and let his trio of sparring partners tee off on him.Once in a while he'd show off his old footwork to please,but I think that was the problem:Ali was old. His legs weren't fresh anymore. He wasn't light on his feet like he used to be in the 60's. Like a turkey,he couldn't fly.But when he could"float" a little,the crowd went wild. What I think people didn't realize was he couldn't maintain that pace anymore.That's why he was leaning on the ropes having his sparring partners sock him at will.Ali knew he was gonna' get hit a lot when as he continued his quest to retake the title.But the pounding he took during his sparring sessions took just as much a toll on his body as the shots that landed on him in his sanctioned fights.

Norton on the other hand trained like a man on a mission. After Ali would wrap it up,the crowd filed out to the parking lot. Me and a few of the aficiandos,would stick around and watch Kenny. Eddie "Bossman" Jones was Norton's workout partner. Norton wanted hard fast work from the "Bossman" and he was willing and able to provide. They went at it in the center of the ring like all the chips were at stake. Still,what chance could Norton have against Ali? I think what pissed Norton off more than anything was that the San Diegans were rooting Ali on instead of backing their local charge,Norton.

Norton had stopped Henry Clark in a previous fight that I thought Ken was going to lose. He had this stamina problem. It was psychological.Norton,on cue,would hit the wall in the 5th round. But against Clark,a fighter that resembled Ali in stature and skill( a little),couldn't finish the fight. Norton had something left in the tank. I remember he was seeing a shrink by the name of Dr. Dean to overcome this hang up about gassing half way through a fight.

Well ,Ali probably had wished that he could have put Norton under in San Diego. Instead,Norton gave him a beating. Frank Rustich,the local ref,was looking pretty hard in that 12th round about stepping in. I asked him about if he thought about stepping in. He told me,"If it would have been anyone else but Ali,I might have. There was a lot of money riding on that fight."

When I think about Norton and Ali,I first think about how Ken Norton could have killed me if he wanted to during that sparring session I had with him. Then I think of Ali training like he did in that banquet room in San Diego. Hell,Billy Daniels,Alonzo Johnson,and Tony Doyle-move over and let me get in there and give The Geatest him a few whacks.

http://imgur.com/vUYiVzY

Ali getting ready to spar.Fun? I don't think so.

[dagosd2000]

A Different Question

I've run across a few fighters in my time.All shapes and models.Ones with more numbers in the loss column.Some who were all time greats.I got to know some pretty well. Others,a little. Then there were some that were no more than a pass and a glance.One thing though I always adhered to,especially if it's a first encounter-I don't jump in with a slew of questions about their fighting careers or about boxing.

When Burke Emery was still holding court at his bar,Champs, in my neighborhood,there'd always be the pushy types that would singe his ears about "Who was the best guy you ever fought?"Who's the best fighter out there today? What did you think of Archioe Moore?" -and so on.It was all rhetorical anyway.These posers already "knew" the answers. Nothing Burke would say could change their minds. Burke was a nice enough guy not to want to change the subject,but I could tell he wasn't listening too intently. His answers were short and glib.Now ask me who I'm up against in the dart tournament tonight.Burke was absorbed with playing darts.

My take on fighters is always let them lead with the topic of the sweet science. If Burke would mention something about one of his fights or what was the scene like today compared to his era,then I might respond ,but then I'd hunker down and listen. But I figured a guy like Burke certainly had more insight and some great stories to tell than I could ever wrangle up.So I'd listen.More than likely it was a an interesting anecdote that was worth putting out on the forum.Like the one when he was running the bar in Montreal and at closing time he'd lock the doors and charge the inbibers a buck and a half a head to watch the Brits and the Frogs square off in a free for all. That was a hell of a lot more interesting than asking him what he thought about Archie MooreNow speaking of Ol' Arch.When I'd give him a hand at his ABC Boys Club in Nat City,I never once brought up the subject. He was more intent on teaching the kids what he had accumulated from his vault of fighting experiences since prehistoric days. He also(and I mean this emphatically)was more concerned about the moral paths those youngsters would go after they left his gym. But sometimes he'd reminisce.Funny,I've heard him say the best fighter he was in there with was either Charley Burley,Rocky Marciano, or Ezzard Charles. If he had anything to say about Ali,it was muttered under his breath. One time someone in the club asked him what was his toughest fight. The Mongoose leaned his forearms on the upper strand of the ring ropes,a towel draping the back of his neck, and said dejectedly,"I've been married five times." So if I'd ask him who was the toughest guy he ever fought,he might answer,Short Hogue.

Denny Moyer finished up in San Diego. Boxing was only a meal ticket. By the time I'd gotten acquainted with him he'd had faced off with some of the all time best:Griffith,Robinson,Rodriguez,and Monzon to drop a few names.But by that time Denny's boyish face had a look of parchment. He did a lot of drinking then and he always had an entourage of elbow benders (me sometimes)when we'd raid one of the local watering holes near the old San Diego Coliseum.One time an inquisitive bartender asked Moyer if he was "tired of fighting".
"If I ain't fighting,I'm drinking.When I'm done with fighting I'll open a bar back where I'm from. At this point I drink better than I fight."
Let the fighter open up is my tenet.Why bore him with a question he's been asked a million times like "Was Sugar Ray Robinson as good as they say he was?"

When I tracked Jose Napoles down in Ciudad Juarez ,Mexico ,he was puffing on a Cuban puro sitting on a chair in front of his house in one of the poorer barrios of the city .I didn't even introduce myself. This was a few years ago. I've seen some videos of him recently. He's slipping pretty fast. His wife is essentially his caretaker.I asked him how are the girls in this neighborhood.I could tell he didn't care what I talked about.
"Muchas chulas,"grinned Mantequilla.
Then I asked him if he could still "get it up."
He laughed and took a drag on his stogie.
"Seguro,campeoon.Claro."
He said he had a gym several blocks away from his house.(It's a house that friends let him live in).He told me he trains his stable of fighters there everyday. Well,I was at that gym,Roma,when I was looking for him. They told me that the gym was closed. The old champ was incapable of managing the place anymore . Besides,he didn't have any fighter to manage or train anymore.Jose talked mostly about his wife.He said he saw her one day walking in the neighborhood and knew she was the one. He kept repeating that she was out shopping and that she should be back soon. Before leaving I told him he was my favorite fighter. I'd never seen such a beautiful style inside a boxing ring. The total package. Then the old Cuban rose from his chair and put his cigar on the sidewalk. He came up to me face to face.i could see the scar tissue that surrounded his brows.
"Campeon."he said with seriousness."I always looked at an opponents shoulders."
Then he took his hand and touched my left shoulder and slowly moved it over to my right shoulder.Better than wanting to know if he could have beaten Sugar Ray Leonard.

Fighters want people to know there is something else inside their being besides fighting with boxing gloves. They sense that here is a guy who isn't out for something else. No ulterior motive. Play it that way and the relationship will go the distance.Besides,you'll have a more interesting story to tell.

http://imgur.com/grfncAk



http://imgur.com/S5st7cf

[dagosd2000]

Ivan The Great

Got to post this. My granddaughter's husband has ventured into the world of promoting wrestling matches in Tijuana. The Hollywood kind. The kid's name is Ivan. He's married to the youngest daughter of my daughter,Rosa,who lives in Canon Jhonson ,the old colonia northwest of downtown TJ. Ivan is a real go getter.He works three jobs up here in San Diego. The work is all related to the hotel industry along the Embarcadero on the waterfront. Because he's bilingual,they've put him in charge of setting up the banquet rooms and organizing the help in the kitchen. He does this at three of the big hotels at the Embarcadero. I know one is the Marriot.I'm not sure the names of the other two.

Ivan is a real personable guy. He's got big plans and dreams . He lives with his wife (my granddaughter Erika) and their three kids-Erik,Isabella,and Dariel in the colonia up the hill from Canon Jhonson,Indepedencia. The great grandkids are little still and Ivan wants to show the world that he's going to provide for them with every ounce of his sweat. He talked to me awhile back of wanting to open a restaurant in TJ,but now he's shifted his plans with this wrestling promotion bug. I thought he'd have better luck with the restaurant,but like he told me there's a lot of competition with eateries in Tijuana.

Tijuana was once a hotbed for boxing and wrestling during the 60's through the 80's. But between the Mexico's economy going in the tank and the big name Mexican fighters performing exclusively in the U.S.,boxing has just about dried up in TJ.There are a few cards held in some of the bars around town. Every so often there's a fight in the Autitorio on the Boulevard,but the main event usually consists of the girls throwing leather at each other. There's not much wrestling going on either,but it's a safer bet for an aspiring promoter. The overhead isn't as high as putting on the fights and there is a multitude of "underground" wrestlers in the city. The grapplers are mostly younger kids,I'd say in the teen to early 20's range,but there are some older dudes who don their capes and masks and perform their acrobatics.Underground wrestlers are a sort of cult in TJ. Here we have Trekkies. In Mexico,underground wrestling is a way of life and an escape from the the comparisions of what life is like on the U.S. side with all its affluence,and Mexico,a countery where upward movement is for the privileged and the narcos.Wrestling has always been very big in Mexico. Stars like El Santo,Rey Misterio,Blue Demon,and Mil Mascaras were as popular with kids down there like our young people up here have a passion for the stars in the NFL and NBA.

When I was at that private school on the hill,Cetys, I used to lift weights at a gym in Colonia La Mesa called Olympico. One day a couple of wrestlers wandered in wearing their suits and masks. They noticed me lifting and approached me with an offer if I'd be interested in trying my hand at wrestling. They said the matches were on Friday nights at the Auditorio in TJ and Sunday nights in Mexicali. I was a big strong guy and a gringo so there was the potential there for making something interesting.Besides,I could clear 300 smackers a week. That was five times what I pulling in coaching football at Cetys.They invited me to the Auditorio to instruct me on how it was done. If you've never seen the lucha libre,it is a very acrobatic endeavor. Flying off of ring ropes onto prostrate opponents spread out on the mat,leaping onto the concrete floor outside the ring ,hurling chairs at one another,and mastering various flips and somersaults. The bottom line was that my body didn't bend the way to execute all those maneuvers. I told them I wasn't their man.

Last Sunday was Ivan's first promotion. He rented out the Rancho Grande Bar.The bar is located on Revolution Street between 5th and 6th Streets.Many years ago I saw Jose Napoles and his salsa band put on a show there.This was after he had hung up the gloves. His wife had a beautiful voice.The bar is upstairs looking down on all the foot traffic.On a weekend there is plenty of movement.The show was to start at 5 thirty Mexican time,so you recalculate that to gringo hours and you're lucky if the first match starts at 6. But what's the rush? Mexico has got it tough enough. Why became a slave to time?

Ivan employed a lot of family when it came to collecting money at the door and selling snacks at the counter. The bar handled the booze and soft drinks.My little nieces,nephews,grandkids and great ones were holding trays of candy,popcorn and cupcakes circulating the floor. I don't know what the split was there. Ivan had security guards walking the floor and standing in front. He allowed various vendors to walk the floor selling balloons , whistles,and masks. The Ranch Grande had a pretty good turnout. I'd say three quarters full.That was around a thousand sceaming nuts. Adults were nicked for 4 bucks U.S. and the kids 2. I'm sure the overhead wasn't like it would have been if Ivan had gone the boxing route. I couldn't imagine the wrestlers making more than a few pesos.But the joint was noisy and the fans wre definitely getting their money's worth. There isn't the anger displayed at a Mexican wrestilng match,with the wrestlers and the fans like there is here stateside. It's all a laugh.In a way it's a metaphor for Mexico. A children's game for a nation of children. Now don't give me both barrels because of what I just said.That's one of the allures I have for Mexico. Though Mexico has plenty of violence for sure,there is an innocence that peremeates their society. It's a simple way and what comes,comes. You know,Que sera ,sera. Why stress about things you have no control of?Death is unavoidable and the Catholic church has assured them that their is place in heaven for the faithful.

The wrestlers were more than accommodating to pose for pictures with the fans. I watched my grandkids and great grandkids run around laughing and having a good time. There were no neurotic mothers trying to saddle them down, Up here there would be lot of people who would look down their noses at that child like behavior.The lack of discipline. Mexican mothers let their kids run free.You can make a good case for what that manifests into-good and bad. But I didn't go to TJ to watch Ivan's first stab at putting his show together and be critical. That would have not been appropiate. Besides,Que sera,sera.
http://imgur.com/WfU6hJR

Ivan making sure my nephew ,Oscar, counted the money correctly

http://imgur.com/FMc4hPj
My granddaughter Erika,her sister Cruz's husband Jaime,my granddaughter Cruz,Ivan,and my great granddaughter Cindy


http://imgur.com/LvHnMV6

Inside the Rancho Grande. I forgot to mention. The name of Ivan's enterprise is Tijuana Wrestling Entertainment


http://imgur.com/BmLXbqr

My great grandson Angel. Looks like a wrestler already.


http://imgur.com/vAlNyQz

It ain't Hulk Hogan,but who cares?

[GregoliGranddaughter]

Hi All,
I'm reaching out to this group because there were a couple of mentions buried on this long and interesting thread of my beloved grandfather, the late and great Charlie Gregoli. As some of you hopefully recall, he was very active as a boxing manager in the 50s and early '60s, most notably as the one-time manager of Willie Vaughn (now that's a story...!)

Gramps and I were very, very close (he helped raise me and my brother). He passed in 1979, and I still miss him terribly. Lately I find myself wanting to know more about him and his boxing days. You see, I inherited his love of the sport and my husband and I even have our own little boxing blog https://www.facebook.com/BoxingAfterDinner/. Not sure if anyone in this group is connected with Don Fraser, but I remember at one point back in the day he had been a pal of Gramps, and apparently even dated my Mom (Fran Gregoli) briefly many, many years ago (she passed in 1991).

If any of you have info, details or recollections you would like to share, please post or private message me. Even though he had a heart of gold, I know Gramps could bluster, and be very difficult at times--and also had a temper, so feel free to tell me all! Everyone has their own perspective.

You can read my short tribute to Gramps https://boxingafterdinner.wordpress.com/legacy/.

Thank you so much!

[dagosd2000]

Hi All,
I'm reaching out to this group because there were a couple of mentions buried on this long and interesting thread of my beloved grandfather, the late and great Charlie Gregoli. As some of you hopefully recall, he was very active as a boxing manager in the 50s and early '60s, most notably as the one-time manager of Willie Vaughn (now that's a story...!)

Gramps and I were very, very close (he helped raise me and my brother). He passed in 1979, and I still miss him terribly. Lately I find myself wanting to know more about him and his boxing days. You see, I inherited his love of the sport and my husband and I even have our own little boxing blog https://www.facebook.com/BoxingAfterDinner/. Not sure if anyone in this group is connected with Don Fraser, but I remember at one point back in the day he had been a pal of Gramps, and apparently even dated my Mom (Fran Gregoli) briefly many, many years ago (she passed in 1991).

If any of you have info, details or recollections you would like to share, please post or private message me. Even though he had a heart of gold, I know Gramps could bluster, and be very difficult at times--and also had a temper, so feel free to tell me all! Everyone has their own perspective.

You can read my short tribute to Gramps https://boxingafterdinner.wordpress.com/legacy/.

Thank you so much!

I sent you a PM in your email that may help you. Good luck

[dagosd2000]

You Don't Want To Go There

"Anyone sitting here?"asked the big black dude in a slow deep heavy voice. There was another big black dude standing behind him. They were a couple of older guys.I'm guessing around my age,70 or so.
"No,go ahead,"I replied.
I was sitting on the aisle. It was the sports room at the Sam's Town Hotel in Las Vegas.I was there to watch Prince Smalls,Tiger's boy,fight his most important fight. He was going up against one of Mayweather's fighters,Xavier Martinez.Both boys were undefeated.It was a crossroads fight. Both weighed in at the featherweight limit.
The two black guys squeezed by me and sat down one seat separating me from them. They could have passed for brothers. Both big men,well over six feet,carrying a lot of heft. The guy who asked if the seats were taken was wearing a loose fitting pastel blue leisure suit.He had on a pair or of high top Nikes that must have been a good size fifteens.I noticed his hands.They were huge with thick fingernails. His face was light skinned brown with layers of jowls. A white goatee ,finely trimmed ,accentuated his purplish lips. His hair was white with specks of gray combed straight back. His brown eyes were sunk in from his fleshy cheeks. He was sweating heavily. His friend didn't have the goatee and was wearing a baseball cap that had the football Raider logo on the front-the football player with the patch covering the eye.His green leisure suit jacket was open down the front.I could see the beads of sweat on his chest.His face was darker ,and fleshy also.Both men slouched back in their seats.They were panting heavily.
"These ain't bad seats for general admission,"I said to the guy next to me.
"Naw. Me and Cyrus come here all the time to watch the fights. Gives us something to do," he said catching his breath.
The room at Sam's doesn't have a bad seat.Maybe a thousand seats. GA is about 60 feet from the ring. The crowd was big and noisy. Looked like a regular group.
"I'm up from San Diego.My friend is here with his son.His son is fighting in the semi main.His father trains him."
"Really. What's his name ?"asked the big man next to me with earnest intent.
"Prince Smalls.He's undefeated like the guy he's fighting."
The big guy next to me elbowed his friend.
"Cyrus. You hear that? This guy's here to see his friend fight tonight. "
The guy's buddy turned his head to look at me.
"What's his name?"
"Prince Smalls. He's fighting the semi main."
"Well, me and Cyrus gots root for him to win."he exclaimed in a jolly voice.
Just then a cocktail waitress walked by us down the aisle.
"Sweetheart,"called out the guy next to me."We need a couple of wine coolers."
The waitress nodded.
"My friend's from San Diego,"he said to Cyrus."Can I get you anything?"
"No thanks. But I got these two drink vouchers at the desk when I checked in.You want them?"
The black dude held out his massive outstretched hand.I put the vouchers in his palm. He put the vouchers inside his jacket and pulled out a flask.He took a big swig and handed the flask to his friend.His friend rose from his seat.
"Rollo,I'm going to get some hot dogs and some popcorn. Can I get you anything?," he asked me as he sidled by .
"No thanks.I'm good."
A vendor holding a plastic bucket full of beer packed in ice was standing a few rows down from where I was. Rollo took notice.
"Hey!,"he shouted."Two beers!"
The vendor walked over,uncapped the bottles and poured the beer fast into two paper cups and handed the contents to the big outstreatched mitt of Rollo's.Just then the cocktail waitress came back with the wine coolers.Rollo pulled a bunch of crumpled bills out of his jacket and paid the kid with the beer and the waitress.
"My friend from San Diego. You watch the fights much?"asked Rollo as he was organizing his drinks with his big hands.
"Not as much as I used to,"I answered.
I could see his friend Cyrus juggling bags of popcorn and a bunch of hot dogs in a carton tray as he ambled up the aisle. I got up to let him through. He plopped in his seat heavily. Both men began digging into their dogs and popcorn.They wiped their mouths and foreheads and threw down the napkins in the aisle. Between chomps the two big men swigged on the beer and wine coolers haphazardly.Rollo would take out the flask,pour the liquor into his mouth some of it dripping down the sides,and then hand the flask to Cyrus who copied the ritual.The two big men were eating and drinking furiously.
"My friend from San Diego,"said Rollo coming up for air."Do you think there are any good heavyweights out there?"
"There's this Anthony Joshua kid.And of course Klitschko."
"I don't know them. I don't think there's been a good heavyweight since Tyson.,"said Rollo getting back to his inhaling the food and booze. Cyrus looked like he was racing him.
"I mean an American heavyweight,"said Rollo."There's no American heavyweights anymore."
"Have you ever heard of Deontay Wilder? He's an American heavyweight. He's undefeated."
"Who?"
"Deontay Wilder."
Rollo poked Cyrus in the side who was buried in his hotdogs and popcorn washing it down with the cup of beer.
"You ever hear of this Wilder?"
"Who?"
"My friend here says he's a American heavyweight. We got to look him up."
Cyrus went back to destroying the refreshments. The cocktail waitress passed by again. Two more wine cooler orders were taken. Then Rollo brought out the flask again. Popcorn that missed their mouths was scattered on the floor along with mustard stained hot dog wrappers and empty beer cups. Rollo saw the beer guy again and shouted loud enough at him that the people sitting on the other side of the ring could hear the blast.

The fights progressed at a good pace.The crowd was into it.Rollo and Cyrus were working on getting on a feed and a buzz without a let up. I saw who I thought was Roger Mayweather sitting at ringside with someone.
I nudged Rollo as he was throwing down more debris onto the floor.
"That's Roger Mayweather sitting down there,"I said pointing.
"It is?"came back Rollo.
"Yeah. I hear he's not doing well.Does Floyd ever come here to see his fighters?"
"I've never seen him,"said Rollo.
"I put a bet down in the casino on the McGregor fight."
Rollo straightened himself up.
"You know something,"he said carefully."I know Mike Tyson. He lives here in Las Vegas."
"Really?"
"The guy who helped Tyson write his book introduced me to him.He's building a house outside of town."
"What's he like?"I asked.
"Like I say,I don't know him that good. He seems to be pulling himself back out of it."
"Does he ever talk about boxing?"
Rollo grunted.
"Hell no. Don't even ask him about boxing. Especially about what he did. He'll tell you to read the book. If you keep it up,he'll throw you out. I stayed on his good side by not talking to him about boxing."
"Wonder why he's like that?"I asked.
"Don't know and didn't ask,but if you start up on that,he'll tell you once and that's it."

As the card enveloped Rollo and Cyrus were feeling no pain. Their stupor set a wall between me and them. They were somewhere far away from me. When Prince Smalls finally stepped through the ropes,i leaned over to Rollo.
"This is the guy I came to watch,"I said."His name is Prince."
"Hey Prince!," shouted Rollo."You got to stick and move! You got to stick and move!"
You could hear Rollo's shouting above all the racket inside the arena.The fight started off pretty good for Prince. He WAS sticking and moving,but then he began winding down. This Martinez kid was catching up with him.Prince was surviving was all. But Rollo never let up.
"Prince! You got to stick and move! Stick and move Prince! You got to stick and move son!"
Rollo's ranting became an embarassment,but he kept it up and kept it up. After the final bell,there was no doubt about who had won.
"Prince! I told you to stick and move!"yelled Rollo.
After the decision ,I got up.
"It was good talking to you guys,"I said to Rollo and Cyrus.
The floor in front of them looked like a trash dump.They were sweating bullets.They looked at me with contorted expressions.
"Look man,"said Rollo. "Remember.When you talk to Mike Tyson,don't bring up anything about boxing."

http://imgur.com/zazTR1Z

Mike Tyson

[GregoliGranddaughter]

We live near Ventura, which was such a fantastic change after the San Fernando Valley. You will def. miss some of the best weather in the world...as well as proximity to boxing-centric Oxnard. But then so many of them have moved on as well (Mikey Garcia, you'll always be a homie to me!)

[dagosd2000]

After Church

I saw James Kinchen today at The Helping Hands Of God Church. He is a minister there. After the service we got to talking. He told me that Bobby DePhilippis was his manager here in San Diego. Bobby and James were inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame in 2012.I told him that Bobby was going to be honored at Rick Farris's West Coast Boxing Hall of Fame ceremony in October. I said to James that Bobby is promoting fights in Tijuana.James knew of Philippis's promotions here in San Diego. In fact I saw James at one of Bobby's cards at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel in Kearny Mesa.James responded by saying that Memo Ayon is DePhilippis's partner in this venture in Tijuana. I then said that I saw Memo Ayon fight Sugar Ray Robinson in the downtown bullring in Tijuana. James gave me a funny look. Then I realized that he must have been referring to the son.Memo Ayon Jr.
"I know that Ayon is a big shot lawyer in Mexico." said the Heat.
"That must be it,"I said. "The father would be retired by now."
I looked up Memo Ayon on the Boxrec records. He was born in 1939 and shows that he's still living,but I think James is referring to the son.I know the son became a referee in Mexico.

James also threw in an interesting story regarding Don King. James said that when he was starting out as a young pro,King had approached him and wanted to manage his career. King had a "boot camp" for his proteges out in the boondocks in Ohio. It was a barrack style of living. James told me a lot of the young fighters there were doing drugs and getting drunk. James told King he wanted out.He didn't want to be around that stuff.King tried to make him stay. James told King that he hadn't signed anything and "I wasn't no slave."So James left King and wound up in San Diego with DePhilippis.


What James and I talked most about though was the Helping Hands of God Church. As I was walking out the door after the service,I heard James call me.
"Roger,I want to thank you for coming. It's good to see you keep tabs on us."he said happily.

"James.I came here originally to tell you that a friend of mine is interested in doing an interview with you,but after sitting through that first service,I became hooked."
"I was on a path going nowhere,"he said."Then I found the Lord."
"I was on that path too,but I didn't realize that I had lost my faith."
"Well,it's good to see that you've got back on the right track."
"It's still not easy,but now I have some guidelines, and if it's something I can't handle,I put it in God's hands."
"That's all we can do,"said James.
"It makes it easier. I'm not ashamed of opening up.You read in the Bible about people talking with the Lord. They say that doesn't happen today. People want to see concrete proof. A face.They want to get it on tape.But it happens .It comes from within."
"Brother Roger,"said the soldier of the Lord."It's always good to see you."
"Likewise pal. God bless your family."

http://imgur.com/ArkXAfO

Don King.Here's a guy who needs to get back on the righteous path.

[Chuck1052]

We live near Ventura, which was such a fantastic change after the San Fernando Valley. You will def. miss some of the best weather in the world...as well as proximity to boxing-centric Oxnard. But then so many of them have moved on as well (Mikey Garcia, you'll always be a homie to me!)

Your grandfather was the manager of Willie Vaughn. a popular Los Angeles boxer of the 1950s? Wow! I welcome you to this thread. It is too bad that Hap Navarro, a matchmaker at the Hollywood Legion Stadium during the 1950s, passed away a few years ago. Hap was a virtual walking encyclopedia on the subject of California boxing and generously shared his knowledge on BoxRec and the Cyber Boxing Zone.

I certainly enjoyed living in Ventura County, but my personal finances compelled me to move to Arizona. As of now, I am enjoying living in Arizona even if it gets very hot during the summer. But it is generally much more cool from 4 a.m. to 8 a.m. than it is during the rest of a given summer day in Arizona. As a result, I get up early, take a long walk and get most of my business done before 8 a.m. Having a good air conditioner makes life much more livable during a hot Arizona day. But electrical bills are extremely high if you are using an air conditioner on a constant basis.

- Chuck Johnston

[dagosd2000]

http://imgur.com/57Mn2Vt

Hap Navarro

[GregoliGranddaughter]

Hi Chuck, Thanks for the welcome, and wishing you the best in Arizona. I'm actually up in Ojai so you know it's just as hot as Arizona up here during the summer with high AC bills!

Interesting thing about Ojai: Most of the residents here have no clue about the town's legacy as a boxing training camp. Although I grew up in L.A. (Hollywood and the Valley), I knew about Ojai as "that place that Gramps sometimes took his fighters to train." He liked to get them away from the distractions of the city (or as he put it, "booze and broads." A far cry from the Don King scenario described above!). Gramps favored a place with a little altitude to really push their conditioning (reminds me of Abel Sanchez' Big Bear camp.) I saw, buried somewhere deep in this very long thread, a note from Hap Navarro about Gramps and Willie... and Ojai!

"Gregoli took him [Vaughn] up to Soper's Ranch to train for a serious test against the California 160 lb. champion, Charlie Green...."
Well Soper's Ranch is only about 3 miles from where I live! So in a way I've come full circle.

It is really too bad I didn't start this project of my family's boxing history sooner. I would have loved to chat with an old-timer like Hap. I'm sorry to hear he is no longer around. I will def. look up Don soon, thanks for the info, Dabosd2000. Love your portrait of Hap--in fact all your portraits and stories are so interesting! I was very sad to hear of Willie's passing several years back as I would have liked to meet him, too. I heard so many stories growing up. Willie was like a son to my grandfather, and it broke his heart when Willie made the choice he did. Gramps knew it wouldn't go well for him, and from what I heard it pretty much tanked his career. Gramps never got over it, and I guess Willie regretted it because every once in a while Mom would get a call from him, very emotional, and he'd ask her to tell Gramps to forgive him. It made her so sad, and it was a touchy subject in my family. My aunt is still living, and has fond memories of when Willie started to work and train with Gramps. She said he was really very young at the time, and also she remembers him as very sweet and always so polite. Mom and my aunt became good friends with him--Auntie says she used to teach him how to improve his reading!

I am a writer professionally (I even did a sports project for ESPN once!), and it's been in the back of my mind to perhaps use some of this real-life drama as the basis for a story one day. We shall see. In the meantime, I appreciate reading all this great info and reminiscences everyone has shared over the years. Thank you and keep it up!

[dagosd2000]

Hi Chuck, Thanks for the welcome, and wishing you the best in Arizona. I'm actually up in Ojai so you know it's just as hot as Arizona up here during the summer with high AC bills!

Interesting thing about Ojai: Most of the residents here have no clue about the town's legacy as a boxing training camp. Although I grew up in L.A. (Hollywood and the Valley), I knew about Ojai as "that place that Gramps sometimes took his fighters to train." He liked to get them away from the distractions of the city (or as he put it, "booze and broads." A far cry from the Don King scenario described above!). Gramps favored a place with a little altitude to really push their conditioning (reminds me of Abel Sanchez' Big Bear camp.) I saw, buried somewhere deep in this very long thread, a note from Hap Navarro about Gramps and Willie... and Ojai!

"Gregoli took him [Vaughn] up to Soper's Ranch to train for a serious test against the California 160 lb. champion, Charlie Green...."
Well Soper's Ranch is only about 3 miles from where I live! So in a way I've come full circle.

It is really too bad I didn't start this project of my family's boxing history sooner. I would have loved to chat with an old-timer like Hap. I'm sorry to hear he is no longer around. I will def. look up Don soon, thanks for the info, Dabosd2000. Love your portrait of Hap--in fact all your portraits and stories are so interesting! I was very sad to hear of Willie's passing several years back as I would have liked to meet him, too. I heard so many stories growing up. Willie was like a son to my grandfather, and it broke his heart when Willie made the choice he did. Gramps knew it wouldn't go well for him, and from what I heard it pretty much tanked his career. Gramps never got over it, and I guess Willie regretted it because every once in a while Mom would get a call from him, very emotional, and he'd ask her to tell Gramps to forgive him. It made her so sad, and it was a touchy subject in my family. My aunt is still living, and has fond memories of when Willie started to work and train with Gramps. She said he was really very young at the time, and also she remembers him as very sweet and always so polite. Mom and my aunt became good friends with him--Auntie says she used to teach him how to improve his reading!

I am a writer professionally (I even did a sports project for ESPN once!), and it's been in the back of my mind to perhaps use some of this real-life drama as the basis for a story one day. We shall see. In the meantime, I appreciate reading all this great info and reminiscences everyone has shared over the years. Thank you and keep it up!

Thanks for the kind words(please call me Roger). Best of luck on your future story. I'll be sure to read it.

I was in Ojai several years ago.The California Boxing Hall of Fame was doing a fundraiser at a golf course. Play golf alongside an ex pro fighter for a donation. I brought some of my artwork there and donated half of what I sold to the CBHOF. Here are some pics.

http://imgur.com/5QW9S9Y

Danny Lopez and me. His brother Ernie had just passed and Danny was telling me how good it was to be reunited with his brother after Ernie was "missing "for so many years. He was found residing in a homeless shelter suffering from the dementia. All Danny would say about that was "He took a lot of shots."


http://imgur.com/TBspmmP

Some of my paintings.Jerry,Joe,Rocky,and Marilyn(she wasn't a fighter)




http://imgur.com/SsR3JB4

The event also featured the little guys going at it.

[dagosd2000]

No Bull

Rodolfo Gonzalez once told me he wanted to be a bullfighter.As a kid growing up in his home state of Jalisco, his family put Rodolfo under the tutelage of the maestros of the sport that Hemingway described as "the art where the artist is in danger of death and which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honor." Kinda' sounds like boxing too. But Gato said that after getting catapulted into the sky once too often by the enraged bulls' horns,he thought he'd drop in to visit his cousin Jose Becerra,the bantamweight champion of the world. Gato was 14 years old and believed getting socked with a boxing glove was less dangerous than getting gored by a 2000 pound bull. With no amateur record ,Rodolfo was tossed to the bulls(I meant fighters)who were older and more experienced fighting ,often in bullrings in the numerous pueblos and villages in central Mexico. But Gato had that Papa Hemingway code of "brilliance in the performance" and went on to win a part of the lightweight championship. Instead of blood in the sand, it was blood on the canvas.

I heard the other day that Tijuana bigshot,Hank Rhon is building a plaza de toros next to his race track,soccer stadium,and sports book on the Boulevard in Colonia Hippodromo. Rhon also has one of the most exotic zoos consisting of rare beasts and birds. Rhon likes to match bears against pit bulls ,a la the Roman gladiators, and charge admission. Rhon,a man who has many wives and children from his seraglio, is one of the most powerful men in the country. He was once the mayor of Tijuana. He was thinking of running for governor,but he had to beat a gun rap(it was an arsenal that could have been used to conquer Guatamala),but Rhon is a man with a lot of clout.It may happen.I don't think the charge would stand in his way.

There's a bullring out by the beach in TJ in the colonia, Playas. It took the place of the old downtown bullring that was razed in the 1990's. I saw a lot of great fights and great fighters go at it in that old structure:Ray Robinson,Jose Napoles,Ruben Olivares,Davey Moore. The crowd would be as raucous as the fights. Dead rattlesnakes flung around ringside,blood soaked womens' panties thrown in your face. Sometimes a human being would be hurled in your lap. Firecrackers going off,beer bottles and chairs launched into the ring after an "unfavorable" decision ,and not to mention an occasional knife fight. Somehow there's a correlation between Bull fighting and the human kind.

Inside the bullfight arena,the matador must show courage or he is banished from the "art." He makes his passes and stands his ground,and in the end makes the fatal thrust. But it is equally significant that the bull be brave also. It doesn't mean much to kill a sissy bull. I've attended a few bullfights. I really don't like bullfighting,but it was a time when I had to show my "macho" side by convincing my male friends that bullfights were a spectacle for the brave hearted. One afternoon,I was relieved to see a lucky bull get a reprieve. The animal was maniacal. Ferocious as any beast on the face of the earth. As his life ebbed,he didn't want to succumb. He snorted and foamed,grunted and kept on charging. With the banderillas stuck flopping around in the nape of his backside,he violently held his blood soaked head erect so he could make another charge at the son of a bitch that was trying to kill him. The aficianados became rapt with the bull's courage,at one with him (Hemingway would like that analogy). People were screaming. People were crying. I was crying. Then the brave matador,sensing the this struggle against death,held out his hand to the crowd. We wanted the bull,the dumb beast that with a unsurmountable defiance,to live. To live and never fight in another arena.They opened the gate for him.He was still angry and wanted to fight. Everyone left that stadium totally spent:the aficianados,the matador,the bull,and everyone who breathed life inside that bullring that late afternoon. I went home never to watch another bullfight again.

My granddaughter, Amanda, is a Flamenco dancer. The dance is a homage to the grace of the matador's movements. But Flamenco is more to my liking. There's no blood. There's no death. But when I watch Amanda dance,I do have to admit a tear now and then will run down my cheek.
http://imgur.com/VIqhCLU

My granddaughter ,Amanda, in Spain



http://imgur.com/2SC1SBN

Rodolfo Gonzalez


http://imgur.com/8ngaNDi

The immortal,Manolete,.Some say he was the greatest killer. He was killed ,though, in the bullring.

[dagosd2000]

Twilight In The Park

I'm going to step out of the ring for this post. The other evening I went to Balboa Park to take in one of the summer Twilight In The Park concerts. The concerts are held outside at the Spreckles Organ Pavilion. The beautiful instrument is the largest outside organ in the world. On Sunday afternoons and on Monday nights they have organ concerts free to the public. But the Twilight In The Park concerts use the stage in front of the organ as the venue for the entertainment that is featured Tuesday,Wednesday,and Thursday evenings from 6;30 to 7;30.Again it's also free to the public.

Balboa Park is a sanctuary for me to get away from the every day rat race. I'm retired.but still can feel the stress.One of the ways I try to alleviate this strain is by enjoying the music at the Twilight concerts.San Diego's Balboa Park is a gem.Constructed by 1915 to commemorate the completion of the Panama Canal,the park is graced by beautiful stucco buildings of ornate architecture.The Natural History Museum,the Museum of Man,and the Aero Space museum are three of my favorites to wander around in, especially in the off season, when the tourist crowd is at a minimum. There's the Spanish Village that features Spanish style workshops that showcase various local artists' efforts with paintings,tiles,wood carvings,and ceramic little masterpieces.Balboa Parks' Old Globe Theater is renown for its live theater entertainment:musicals,dramas,comedies,and Shakesperean masterpieces. The park is graced with fountains and statues,floral gardens, and pathways that wind deep into the wooded and green expanses of the grounds. The San Diego Zoo is recognized as the foremost animal residence in the world. Balboa Park is larger than Central Park,and perhaps showing my bias,much more beautiful(there's that word again)and interesting.

Last Tuesday,I took out my menu for the Twilight concert series and saw that a jazz ensemble was going to perform. That piqued my interest. Sometimes I take my poodles with me,but that day my wife,Maria,had the dogs for accompaniment while she did her recycling thing.So I went solo.I was lucky to find a parking space close to the pavilion.Rows of metal benches are lined up in front of the stage. There's room on the rotunda that arcs along side the stage for people who want to set up folding chairs, or they can sit down on the concrete ledges near the back. I found a comfy seat at the end of one the benches.

As I was watching the musicians get their instruments together and tune up,I began to sink into a relaxed ambiance. People began filtering in slowly,mostly old folks,which I imagine like myself,who wanted to get a reprieve from the clash and the clatter of the outside world. While I was listening to the musicians getting it together, a violent crash hit my back. I could tell immediately it was a someone's body. I jerked myself around and saw this old fella',his back to me,trying to lift himself up.A woman stooped down to lift his arm and help him up. I immediately joined the effort.I took hold of the old guy's other arm and we got him erect again.
"Jack."the woman said in a slightly scolding manner,"You can't sit here. The seats are not secured to the ground."
The woman was dressed very neatly and had a distinguished look about her. Her face was concerned. The old guy ,on unsteady legs,looked at me with a smile on his face. He was very fragile.
"Thank you for helping me up,"he said.
He looked very old.Through unsteady eyes he thanked me again. His body was frail and there were red blotches on his arms and hands. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hung loosely on his slight frame. He had on a nice dress shirt that seemed out of place with the rest of him.
"Jack,"the woman who was with him said,"I'll take you over to backside so you can sit down on something more secure."
"I'll help you,"I offered.
"No,I'll be all right. I can handle him."
The woman took a good hold on the old guy's arm and led him to the rotunda. They faded into the crowd that was entering the pavilion. Just then one of the concert's docents walked up to me. She was a pudgy gal wearing a red floppy hat and strings of chalky beads around her neck.There was some sort of ring on each of her fingers of both hands.Each one of her fingernails were painted a different color.
"I saw that that man kicked you in the head.Are you all right?"she asked pensively.
"On no. He fell on my back,"I said. "If he'd kicked me in the head I wouldn't have felt anything,"I said laughing.
"You sure you are all right? Can I get you anything?"
"No,no.I'm fine."
"Did you know that man was a famous jazz musician?"she went on.
"Really?I'm a big jazz fan.What's his name?"
"Jack Costanzo.He played the bongos."
"Is that so? I just got finished watching a documentary on Netflix about Nat "King" Cole. Jack Costanzo was one the guys they interviewed.Nat "King" Cole brought him into his trio."
"He comes here to here the music. He'll turn 96 next month."
"Well,thank you for sharing that with me,"I said.
The woman smiled and walked away.

The jazz group began going through their numbers. They weren't bad. They swung and didn't play that pretentious jazz stuff.They knew how good they were. As they went through their songs people got up and danced with a partner in front of the stage. But I wasn't noticing what was going on that closely. I was thinking of the old guy,Jack Costanzo,that fell on me.I got up and tried to find him,but he either left or I just couldn't find him. I wanted to say that I was a fan of his.He had performed with a who's who of musicians and taught bongo playing to a multitude of Hollywood stars.

That Netfix documentary on Nat Cole must have been produced awhile back,at least the interviews with Jack Costanzo. He was alert and introspective on camera. The Jack Costanza that fell on me was near the end. He looked like he'd had a stroke.But the Jack Costanza in that documentary was funny and incisive. He talked about how "King" Cole had done a "reverse" integration by bringing him into his all colored trio. He said when the las Vegas Hotels wouldn't let the Cole trio stay at the hotels,he protested. So Jack went to stay in the black shanty hotels in the negro section of Vegas where the streets weren't even paved."You know ,"he said."I had a ball."
Yeh,Jack. We all did.

http://imgur.com/boIeQcx

Nat "King" Cole


https://youtu.be/SZTYnFyGhN8


JacK Costanza,Nat "King" Cole with Benny Carter's band. Nat Cole was one of the great jazz pianists.He was there with Art Tatum and Oscar Peterson. But his fans didn't pay their money to hear him play the piano. Here's a taste of what Nat could do with the ivories.

[dagosd2000]

Vincent

I was sitting on a one of those metal benches that are strung along Revolution Street in Tijuana .I was waiting for one of my paintings to get framed at Esther's gallery down the street on 4th avenue. The benches don't face the street. So I was watching the people stroll by the various shops that were slowly opening their doors. It was sunny with a slight breeze,warm.I felt comfortable and relaxed. I like watching the people walking along the streets. There's a lot of Asian tourists that visit Tijuana. They are uninhibited.I see them walking in the Coahuila asking policemen and prostitutes to pose for pictures with them. The Asians are arm and arm with the cops and the prostitutues and everyone seems to be themselves having a good time. Where I was sitting was near the corner of 4th and Revolution. It's in a solid tourist area.Pretty safe.Across from me was "The Casa De Angeles" gift shop. A very chic store that sells artifacts of ceramics,blown glass,crystal,pottery,and paper machete by artists from all over Mexico.These artists don't get paid much for their creations. Many of them are Indians that live in remote villages in the hills and valleys of central and southern Mexico.The owners of these shops in Tijuana, and in the tourist areas of San Diego, travel to these distant areas and commission the Indians to make the wares that are sold,eventually, to the tourists.My sister in law used to make these beautiful hand knitted shawls.I'd watch her butterfly hands and fingers work the knitting needle with a fluid and grace of an artist. The shawls were multicolored with picturesque images of flowers and animals. It took her three days to finish a shawl. After finishing a dozen or so of these shawls,the "lady" from the north would pay my sister in law for her work. I asked my sister in law how much money she made for each shawl. She said a dollar and fifty cents. So I'm staring in the window of "The Casa De Angeles" and see these shawls hanging in the window. They're "on sale" for 60 dollars. I guess that's a deal because if you went to the Mexican tourist section of San Diego called Old Town, the same shawl would run you double the price. No wonder there's a movement to build a wall.

I was kind of dozing off on that bench when a whir of wind startled me. A guy on one of those sting ray bikes screeched to a halt in front of me.
"Hey buddy you want to buy a electric shaver?It's brand new. I'll give you a special deal. I need the money to pay my rent."
He was a Mexican dude and spoke good English. Looked like he was in his 40's. There were gaps in his teeth.Thin lips and a pointed nose on a soft face of medium complexion. His small brown eyes stared off into the street as he propositioned me. A ball cap with an insignia that I couldn't identify covered his head. He wore a white clean T shirt,baggy shorts that hung below his knees and a good looking pair of high tops. His thin soft arms rested on the handle bars as he put his feet on the ground.He had pulled the shaver out from a nylon bag.He was rubbing the shaver on his face.
"It's the newest model,"he said. "I'll gave you a deal.I just got laid off. I need to pay my rent."
"I don't like electric shavers,"I said. "They don't give me a close enough shave. I like using a regular razor."
"But this a new model,"he said shifting his weight."I was working at the general hospital.They laid me off two weeks ago."
"No.I don't like electric shavers."
"It's worth 60 dollars .They gave it to me for my birthday. I'll give it to you for twenty."
"I'm sure if you take your bike down the street some tourist will buy it."
The guy extended his hand.
"My name is Vincent,"he said. "I like talking to you.I got deported two years ago. I used to be a fighter."
"What did you get deported for?"
"I was training to fight Chavez.It was going to be my big break when I got pulled over by some racist cop after I got off work.I was with this guy who asked me for a ride so being Christian I said okay. I don't know why the cop pulled me over.Well,the guy with me bolts out the car and runs away. He leaves this box in the car and the cop searches it and finds a gun and 15 bags of heroin."
"So what happened?"
"I get arrested and I get sent away to Donovan for six years."
"You can apply to come back,"I said trying to offer some assistance.
"I know.I lost my green card.I've hired a lawyer. I spent ten grand with my trial. I was innocent. How did I know the guy I was with had a gun and dope?"
"Sounds like a bum rap."
"They asked my boss and my mother and the boxing commission.I had a clean record."
"You said that you were to fight Chavez?"
"It was all set.I was in great shape. My mother had cancer.i was gong to give her the money to pay for the doctors.When I went to jail she got real sick and died.My family said I caused her death."
"That's pretty bad."
"Look,I got to sell this shaver. I also got a cell phone they gave me for my birthday and what you call?...battery chargers."
"Can't use them."
"I got to watch out for the cops around here. It's pretty safe,but if they catch me selling stuff,they can make it hard on me."
"That's why they become cops...to shake people down."
"I'll tell you something. I know dozens of houses in this town,Not fancy places. Real plain. The old woman sweeping the sidewalk in front. The drug dealers give her a couple of hundred dollars a week so they can stash their guns and dope there.She says nothing. If she does they kill her and all her family."
"If you hang out in the Soriana parking lot I'm sure you'll find someone to sell your stuff."
"My landlord is some old guy who lives in San Ysidro. He's okay with me. He comes by once a week for the rent,but he wants dollars."
"That's against the law,"I said.
"They make up the law here. I got laid off from the general hospital.They never gave me a reason."
"I remember the old general hospital on the road going out to the track.It's a school now. Cantinflas raised the money to build it.Then the president of Mexico put his name on it."
"Is that right? I like talking to you. You know a lot."
I began to get up fiom the bench.
"I got to get going ,"I said to Vincent.
"Look man,"he said with desperation in his voice."I need to eat.I don't want to starve. Is there a mission around here where I can get something to eat. Where they have free food."
"I think there's someplace like that a block down the street on Negrete,"I said picking up my pace walking away from him.
"I've got to get some money to pay my rent."
As I was walking away with my back to him,I said,"I'm sure you'll figure something out ."

http://imgur.com/MNcGxvE

Mario Moreno."Cantinflas"

[dagosd2000]

The Naked Statue

"Where's that statue of the naked woman that used to hang behind the bar?"I asked the waiter.
"It's hanging above the front door as you walk in,"he answered.
It was the night of the Mayweather/McGregor fight so I made my usual trek across the border to watch it for free.I went down to the Coauila.It's always lively there. Everybody had it on-the all night barbershops,the laundry mats,the little aborrotes,the tacorias,in all the run down hotel lobbies,and all the cantinas and bars. I thought I'd go to one of my old haunts-the Burro Bar on Coahuila Street.
"I didn't see it when I walked in,"I said to the waiter.
I sat in one of the arced booths.There was a small round table in front of me. I ordered a bottle of Tecate beer.
"The owner put the statue outside.I don't know why he did that,"said the waiter.
The waiter was a youthful looking kid with a lilt with his walk. He wore one of those shorty bar aprons that waiters wear.He had on clean levis,a nice pair of white tennies,and a tan T shirt. His hair was cropped short,no facial hair,short build,soft brown eyes,and medium complexion.I imagined he was older than he looked.As the waiter walked to the bar with my order,I perused the old hangout where I spent a lot of time and dropped a good sum of money on everything that filled a glass ,and walked around in a mini falda. On Sundays I'd drive down to Tijuana with the wife and kids to visit my mother in law. She was a great old gal from the ranch.I don't think I ever saw her without her Manteca stained mendil.After spending time with her and my sister in laws and brother in laws and nieces and nephews that my mother in law was raising along with my wife providing care and assistance,I'd announce that I was going into town to watch the "games."That meant hitting every bar I could indulge my self in.Looking back at it ,I was pretty much a heel. Could have taken the family out more to dinner instead of staggering back hours later dead broke and drunk. I saw the waiter come back with the bottle of Tecate on a tray.There was a napkin,as always,stuffed into the bottle's top.
"The price in dollars,"I said to the waiter.
He looked up at the ceiling counting to himself.
"Two dollars and fifty cents."
I pulled out three singles from my wallet and put the money on the tray. I held up my hand.He smiled.He then put the tray down and sat next to me in the booth.
"You come here before?"he asked.
"The first time I came here was fifty years ago."
The kid straightened up and gave me an peering look.
"You live in Tijuana?"he asked.
"No. I live in San Diego but I have a daughter who lives in Canon Jhonson,three grandkids and nine great grandkids."
The kid smiled at me and settled down and rested his back against the back of the padded booth.
"I lived in Anahaim for ten years,"he said."Then immigration caught up with me and I got deported."
He didn't seem upset. It was like fate decided it.The kid jumped up from the booth as he saw some customers walk in. I took the napkin out of the bottle top and wiped the rim off.

One of the girls walked to the juke box searching for some music to play. I remember wiling away my life in joints like the Burro listening to the music the girls would play on the juke box. That's generally how I got an understanding of Mexican music.The girls then would play romantic ballads,sad songs that had beautiful words and melodies. The singers like Pedro Infante and Javier Solis had beautiful voices and they sang beautiful songs. Jose Alfredo Jimenez was also a favorite. Then there were the trios:Los Panchos,Los Diamantes,and Tres Ases. My favorite trio was Los Tecolines.But after dreaming off into nostalgia land,maybe a tear here and there,a cumbia or a bolero would blast the melancholy away. Sonora Santanera or a tropical number from Mike Laure would get everyone out on the dance floor.

The girls back then you could ask to go to the room. They weren't bad looking. They were friendlier than the girls at the more hard core cantinas like the Adelita,but they weren't as good looking and they were less expensive.I didn't go to the Adelita too much. It was very business like without any time for intimacy.Wham bam-now leave.The women in the Burro that night were more or less there to dance with the men. No women would think of going to a bar in the Coahuila unescorted.The men were mostly middle age,some older,dressed cleanly, wearing T shirts,khakis and unpolished leather shoes or work boots. Some needed shaves.Some were missing a few teeth.Most of them went to the Burro to get drunk and dance with the women.The women were mostly older,overweight,and dressed in whatever they could put together to make themselves feel attractice. .Some of their dresses fit too tightly and looked ridiculous,but I don't think that mattered too much. One woman liked to flash her gold teeth. There was one old guy that sat closely to her putting his fingers in her mouth to rub her teeth. She just squirmed and laughed.Some of the women were younger,but most looked like they had traveled across the expanses of Mexico and now were dancing and slinging drinks at the Burro.If you bought a woman a drink,she'd split the money with the bar. That's called the "ficha." But most of the men didn't buy drinks for the women. They wanted to dance with them.They wanted to dance real close and grope their butts.The girls didn't seem to mind. I think it cost a dollar to dance .Sometimes some young bucks on the prowl would pop their heads inside and then quickly turn and go away.
I finished off my beer.I saw the kid coming back from the bar.
"You want another?"he asked.
I said I did. As he walked to the bar,I went to the head. I could smell the familiar Pine Sol smell as I approached. They throw buckets of Pine Sol all over the bathrooms in those joints-on the walls,on the floors,in the urinals and toilets.It makes it more tolerable,that with the booze.As I walked back to the booth,I saw the familiar image of the Virgin of Guadalupe at the end of the counter behind the bar. She was illuminaed slightly by a candle.With the racuous beginning to build that corner seemed very tranquil. No one was sitting in front of her.All the bars and houses have that icon on a table,a passageway,or in a corner adorned with candles and flowers.I saw the kid come back with the beer on the tray.He took a seat.
"Did you know that Maywesther is guaranteed 100 million dollars tonight,"I told him.
He sort of smiled.He didn't say anything.
"I bet five dollars on Mayweather,"he said.
The crowd was building. The music was very loud. There were a lot of people dancing.The television sets were on,but you couldn't hear the sound over the music. I noticed that the TV picture showed the inside of the dressing rooms of Mayweather and McGregor.Their hands were being taped. I said to the kid that I was going to watch the fight at the bar.The only open stool was in front of the Virgin. I took my beer and sat down.The fighters were walking towards the ring. I still couldn't hear anything because of the music.I looked around.The dance floor was crowded. The song they were dancing to was very sensuous and rhythmic.You could see the joy on the faces of everyone. They were rapt in the music and the dancing swaying back and forth in sync with the rhythms. I looked down the bar. it didn't seem that any of the men were paying much attention to the fight.They were talking amongst themselves. The fight began and still no one changed their focus.A woman came up to me and asked if I could give her money for the juke box.I asked her what she wanted to play. She said"Grupo Kual."I had never heard of them,but it was of no importance. I just wanted to watch the fight.

The fight went along. Between rounds I looked over my shoulder. What they were doing was what mattered.-dancing,laughing,conversing. Night after night they came to the Burro and lived that way. They were grounded in the Burro Bar.A fight just passed by.A fight of that magnitude was out of their realm.It was of little interest.And before the fight finally ended,I was with them.

The fight,I thought,was pretty good.The kid anxiously rubbed up against me after it was over.
"I win 5 dollars,"he beamed.
"Congratulations,"I said.
"Will you come back to watch Canelo fight?"he asked happily.
"I'll try to make it amigo."
I put a five spot on his tray.The kid shook my hand.I could see him get a little emotional.I got up to leave.I looked the Burro over again. No one had broken stride.Outside the front door,I looked up. Sure enough,there was the naked statue of the woman. I thought maybe there would be more interest when I came back to watch Canelo fight.

http://imgur.com/Kk7POCC

Conor McGregor
http://imgur.com/er8lS7j
Inside The Burro Bar. The guy holding that flashing thing is a metal box that has two buttons and two wires with grips on the end. You hold onto the grips and the guy turns on the current. As the electricity shoots up your arm,eventually,you can't let go. If you max the machine out,you don't pay.If you are electrocuted in the process,it's also on the house.

http://imgur.com/cq5yJTS

The Coahuila


http://imgur.com/bFpMPam
My hot dogs
http://imgur.com/80pMRoK
The naked statue

[dagosd2000]

Rumba Quimbumba-Grupo Kual


https://youtu.be/hRLy25cnODM

Read my previous post. This was the song that triggered an epiphany with a reset of my take on a mega fight like Mayweather and McGregor. I guess you had to be there.

[dagosd2000]

Man Around Town

I don't think I ever saw Archie Moore around South East San Diego with anyone. Oh,I'm sure he must of had the company of family and friends,but he wasn't an Ali or a Ray Robinson type who traveled with the entourage. His ego didn't need that.Ali and Robinson weren't as erudite in a way that ol' Archie was. You know I used to lend him a hand at his ABC Youth Club for boys( I believe it was out on Federal Avenue in National City).He liked to talk a lot,but it was mostly about topics other than boxing ,maybe something philosophical. He loved music,especially jazz.I bumped into him at Huffman's Barbeque while he was enjoying his lunch and he asked me to join him.He was in the mood to talk about jazz.I've told the story. He knew I had an interest in the music so he opened up with it.He dropped out of fighting for a short spell to go on the road with the tenor player Lucky Thompson and his group. Archie plucked the bass fiddle. But he couldn't pay the rent playing the bass so he went back to what he was a master at-prize fighting.

When I was playing for the Ghetto Messenger's (I was the only white guy on the football team),I ran into the ex champ at C&M Meat Packers.They were sponsoring a football team that was in our league.I went out there to see one of their employees ,and a friend of mine, who was also on their football team. There was Archie at the counter with a stack of chops,ribs and chickens all wrapped up in butcher's paper.He was telling my Mexican friend that he was gearing up to put on a neighborhood feed on his block in front of his house. Archie was always considering opening up a barbeque chicken restaurant in the neighborhood. He had this secret recipe for barbeque chicken that also included the Pentagon secrets for his barbeque sauce.

As he got older his body became more squat and hunched,his hair thinned, and what was left of it was white. He changed his facial hair(he settled on the goatee) and liked to wear different hats. But he always was dignified. He wasn't sarcastic.He never was cruel. He didn't like Ali because of the way he talked.Clay first went with Archie to his camp in Ramona after the Olympics. That experience was a fizzle. Cassius did things his way which was a 180 from Archie's take on life. Then there was Cassius's insults and accurate prediction of disposing The old Mongoose in their fight in Los Angeles. Clay shuffling his feet over a fallen old man was rubbing salt in the wound. But even if Clay hadn't been with Moore in he foothills of San Diego or hadn't finished him off in the predicted "Moore will fall in 4",Clay would have still left a bad taste in the old guy's mouth. Joe Louis heard the mockery of the Louisville Lip. Later there was a reconciliation. That didn't happen between Moore and ,later, Ali. I'm sure Ali would have wanted to extend his hand. He became more humble in time,but all the time in the world wouldn't have mattered to Archie Moore.

There's always been that chasm between the light heavyweight division and the ultimate top spot above the 175 pound class. If Moore had beaten Marciano( Arch said the ref gave Rocky a Tunney count in Yankee Stadium.Not many buy that)or if he could have beaten a young Floyd Patterson(perhaps Moore's worst showing in his life.Still have thoughts about that one),then maybe the Old Mongoose might not have settled into one of the "common blend in with the neighborhood folks." If he had been a heavyweight champion there might not have been the neighborhood block parties or catching sight of him at his son's football games when the kid was on the roster of the local junior college squad.His boy's club might not have taken place.Archie might not have been around for a down on his luck fighter or someone else he knew that needed a few bucks. The local merchants who ran their little family businesses might never had the pictures taken with the ex champ, who was a local regular, to put on the walls of their establishments.

If Archie had been the first light heavy to succeed with winning the ultimate crown,he might not have stayed around. He'd been in the annals with the Johnsons,Dempseys,Louises,Marcianos,and the rude mouth kid,Ali.Archie Moore was a fighting globe trotter,but if he'd been the heavyweight champ he might have still been the globe trotter-the celebrity kind after his career was over.

Did I ever tell you the time Archie Moore opened up a stand at the annual Martin Luther King Day Festival at Ocean View Park?He was selling his barbeque chicken with the secret recipe and the Pentagon Paper barbeque sauce.The smoke and aroma sifted through the whole park that day. The lines stretched around the block .Arch was plopping hot chicken parts on paper plates along with scoops of homemade potato salad,red beans and rice,mac and cheese,cole slaw,and fried okra.I wanted to tell him that I was glad the ref gave Marciano a long count,but then I knew Archie wasn't in for that kind of humor.


http://imgur.com/aRPmMOW

The Old Mongoose