Classic American West Coast Boxing

[dagosd2000]

Shiny Leather

I wonder how many weekly fight cards are still around in America? I can't recall when San Diego has had a boxing show on a steady basis during the week. When the old Coliseum went dark in the early nineties and Jerome Navarro took over the building from his dad turning the place into a furniture store,that was the coup d' gras for the weekly boxing card. Across the border in Tijuana,that used to be a very hot fight town,it's practically all dried up. The Fausto Gutierrez Auditorium provides its floor for mostly youth sporting events like basketball and volleyball. Bobby DiPhilippis,who from time to time has a boxing show at the Four Points Sheraton in Kearny Mesa,works with Memo Ayon in TJ staging fights at the local bars around town.

The closest venue in San Diego to watch the fights is at one of the Indian reservations where you have to drive 50 or so miles on those unlit winding roads into the foothills in east county. Very seldom is anything going on out there,and if there is,nothing has made me want to get in my car.Locally, there's little excitement about the sport.The boxing gyms have consolidated with the MMA stuff. The trainers lack the knowhow.The fighters aren't as polished. They put the big fights on cable TV and charge an arm and a leg. Fighters who should have packed it in a long time ago stick around because they can get away with stuff with just what they've acquired with experience. Hopkins,Toney,Holyfield are some fighters that milked it because they knew the opposition out there wasn't of that high a caliber.A few promotors have cornered the market. They hype a fight like Mayweather/McGregor duping the public to pay through the nose to watch it on their flat screens. I'm tired and long for the past that will never never reappear.

The weekly shows at the Coliseum weren't exactly "important" fights. The Coliseum was a venue for the fighter starting out,working his way up,or for the pug that was in the twilight of a career. Kenny Norton and At Hafey proved their worth at the Coliseum, eventually moving on and upward. Denny Moyer and Bobby Chacon threw some of their last punches inside the ring at the Coliseum.

Sometimes,I'd go by myself to watch the fights at the old stucco structure. Most of the main events were pretty good. They may not have featured a top ten guy(that was rare),not to mention aa champ. I'd have to check the record books to find the last time a championship fight was staged at the Coliseum. I know there were no title goes in my lifetime. I'll reminisce about a fight I saw years ago.it was kind of a title fight,a California lightweight title fight. The two boys were a couple of cuities:Paulie Armstead and Jimmie Fields. I had a seat near Armstead's corner. The two fighters entered the ring without any pretensions,all business like another day on the job. Armstead wore the white satin trunks with the white piping,Fields the black trunks with white piping.Both wore black boxing shoes,standard robes with their names on the back,and there were no tattoos. I remember the ring lights seeming very bright. The handlers put the boxing gloves on their fighters in their corners.As they took them out of the box, I could catch a whiff of the new leather.As the cornermen pulled the black gloves on their fighters,I was mesmerized by the shiny glow on the leather from the ring lights.The seconds wrapped lots of white tape very carefully around and over the laces. The referee brought them to mid ring with their seconds,gave them instructions,the boys touched gloves(there were no stare downs),and they turned to their corners prancing on fresh legs and shaking out their arms. The gong sounded,they turned,touched gloves again,and went to work

Like I said,both boys knew what they were doing in there. They circled each other on good feet. That's what I think is the big difference today:fighters don' have good footwork. They stumble around.Their hands and feet aren't in sync. Near the end of the first round there was a pretty good exchange. These guys didn't pack the big punch. They relied on skills. They worked in the middle of the ring. Head movement,shoulder feints,good jabs working combinations off their leads,slipping and countering:it was beautiful to watch. Once in a while one of the two would catch the other one flush.The spray from their heads would glisten in the ring light. The referee had an easy night.I don't think he seperated the two more than a few times. Armstead was the slightly better man that night. He earned a good decision. There were no boos nor protests. I left the arena sated and satisfied.

I really long for those simpler times of boxing:the weekly cards,the polished fighters,the knowledgeable fans,the old arenas.Try to tell a young whippersnapper today about the shiny leather on those boxing gloves , they'll look at you like you've lost your mind.


Paulie Armstead

[dagosd2000]

Strong,Young,Courageous

The great fighters start out this way:they're strong,young,and courageous. But the average and mediocre have these qualities;even the the guy who should have never climbed into the ring in the first place can be seen as having the three.But fighters,after honing their skills in the amateurs(or maybe not),turn pro to make money. There are some that know that they'll never be champ.There are some that get to the top,then fall and keep on going. Now, it's strictly for the money.They still have the guts,the courage.Sometimes you wonder if that courage tries to compensate for the youth and the strength that has long ago vanished. Maybe that fighter is more courageous at the end.

The most significant fighter of the 20th century,the fighter who was more recognized around the world than any president,king,or other athlete or celebrity during his time,Muhammad Ali,whether you loved him or wanted to see him get his block knocked off,was that fighter. He still is looked at in the same light today. The young Ali,the strong Ali who could move like a lightweight in the ring for 16 rounds,and the Clay/Ali who upset the world ,made the world take notice. African tribesmen,Asians living in remote villages,Arabs in the middle of the desert,women and children,the person who didn't know a boxing glove from a box of crayons knew who Muhammad Ali was.

In the beginning he could back up what he said he would do to his opponent.When the world was changing and he became a spokesman for that shift,he shocked the world for a second time by refusing to go into the Army. The old guard wouldn't let him fight again,but he became the real life anti hero,not some Cool Hand Luke charcater in a movie. The Beatles and the Stones still were singing their songs.Ali had to wait around for a time. He got rusty.He wasn't fighting anymore.Idleness ,and time were aging him,but he was still had the courage and strength The anti Ali's that thought he couldn't take a solid hit,saw Ali flatten out when he came back and get tagged plenty. The hopeful thought he could catch lightning in a bottle,but with every step,Ali was slowing down. He couldn't float away from punches,instead he was getting hit,hit hard. His stregnth and courage were trying to compeste for his waning youth.

Somehow he drew deep from his inner self to overcome the thresholds of defeat to win more championships.He came through against the great, strong ,young,and courageous,but after another retirement(this one he decided),he almost met his death. Larry Holmes would have had that on his conscience if the Nation of Islam hadn't told Dundee to throw in the towel.Ali's strength and courage(along with Holmes's blows) would have sent him to his maker.Then at the end,when he had the courage still,the youth and the strength a memory,he finally passed away, What was left at the end was the courage. Courage is something we all can have up the end. It's a quality ,unlike strength and youth,that's a struggle to attain ,and then to hold onto.



Strong ,Young,and Courageous

[dagosd2000]

Can't Have One Without The Other

I don't know who did more for the other guy's legacy:Jake LaMotta's life, portrayed by Robert DeNiro in Raging Bull, or DeNiro's Academy Award performance of The Bronx Bull. It seems that every time they say something about LaMotta they always couch the dialogue that his life was made into the movie Raging Bull that won Robert DeNiro an Oscar. And when they reiterate the film career of DeNiro ,they frame it with his award winning role of LaMotta, the middleweight champion of the world.

Before Raging Bull hit the screen,Jake LaMotta was mostly known by fans of the fistic sport. Jake took a back seat to his Brooklyn buddy of the streets,Rocky Graziano. Paul Newman,in the 50's played the role of Graziano in the movie Somebody Up There Likes Me. I thought the flick was charming and kind of funny,but I never thought it belonged in the paragons of film annals.. A sandy haired white boy Newman playing the swarthy grease ball Graziano was unimaginable for my take. Granted, Rocky was no PHD,he was a tough punk of the neighborhood, but to hear Newman talk trying to emulate Brooklynese wasn't kind of funny.it was ridiculous. It made Graziano look retarded.But I don't think Graziano cared. It put his face on more than things like Ring Magazine and wanted posters. He played Martha Raye's boyfriend on her weekly show. I saw him on that series Car 54.He was often a guest on talk shows.He WAS funny and charming,and he was no dummy, even though he knew he had to work that schtick on the public. Yeah,Rocky made people laugh.

Jake, however,was not such a funny guy. He had the same rough back round as his running mate Rocky. They both spent time in the stir.They robbed and mugged guys. They liked to steal. They were both champs. But Jake trusted no one.He wanted it that way. He thought trusting and caring and doing stuff for anyone was being soft. Sooner or later,the person you had feelings for would stick a knife in your back. They didn't want Jake in the movies or a guest on Johnny Carson. He beat his wives,probably all seven of them,although by the time he wed number seven he was in his 90's. But I bet he tried to take a poke at her. With that said about Jake,you have all the fuel to make a monumental movie,if you have the right people.

Robert DeNiro read the semi autobiography, Raging Bull, and then handed it over to Martin Scorsese. Both grew up in the Apple. Both were Italian(DeNiro was 1/4 Italian.He always seemed to me he had more dago blood in him than that),fill the supporting actors and extras with Italians and fight people,shoot it New York,,and you have an Oscar for Bobby,and Scorsese gets a bum decision for best director. But whenever I think of Scorsese making those movies with all those Italians in it,I have to say it's no stretch. Showing an Italian how to act is like showing him how to eat spaghetti. C'mon man!

For my pickiness,Raging Bull was a better movie than Somebody Up There Likes Me.When Paul Newman is recalled for his cinematic achievements,his role of Graziano is kind of laughed off. DeNiro,on the oher hand,will always be joined at the hip with Jake LaMotta,and and visa versa. Hey Jake,if you made it in the end,you're enjoying a nice dish of linguini with white clam sauce and a nice glass of chianti. If you didn't,it's a seaweed sandwich and a cup of saltwater



Robert DeNiro as The Raging Bull

[Chuck1052]

Shiny Leather

I wonder how many weekly fight cards are still around in America? I can't recall when San Diego has had a boxing show on a steady basis during the week. When the old Coliseum went dark in the early nineties and Jerome Navarro took over the building from his dad turning the place into a furniture store,that was the coup d' gras for the weekly boxing card. Across the border in Tijuana,that used to be a very hot fight town,it's practically all dried up. The Fausto Gutierrez Auditorium provides its floor for mostly youth sporting events like basketball and volleyball. Bobby DiPhilippis,who from time to time has a boxing show at the Four Points Sheraton in Kearny Mesa,works with Memo Ayon in TJ staging fights at the local bars around town.

The closest venue in San Diego to watch the fights is at one of the Indian reservations where you have to drive 50 or so miles on those unlit winding roads into the foothills in east county. Very seldom is anything going on out there,and if there is,nothing has made me want to get in my car.Locally, there's little excitement about the sport.The boxing gyms have consolidated with the MMA stuff. The trainers lack the knowhow.The fighters aren't as polished. They put the big fights on cable TV and charge an arm and a leg. Fighters who should have packed it in a long time ago stick around because they can get away with stuff with just what they've acquired with experience. Hopkins,Toney,Holyfield are some fighters that milked it because they knew the opposition out there wasn't of that high a caliber.A few promotors have cornered the market. They hype a fight like Mayweather/McGregor duping the public to pay through the nose to watch it on their flat screens. I'm tired and long for the past that will never never reappear.

The weekly shows at the Coliseum weren't exactly "important" fights. The Coliseum was a venue for the fighter starting out,working his way up,or for the pug that was in the twilight of a career. Kenny Norton and At Hafey proved their worth at the Coliseum, eventually moving on and upward. Denny Moyer and Bobby Chacon threw some of their last punches inside the ring at the Coliseum.

Sometimes,I'd go by myself to watch the fights at the old stucco structure. Most of the main events were pretty good. They may not have featured a top ten guy(that was rare),not to mention aa champ. I'd have to check the record books to find the last time a championship fight was staged at the Coliseum. I know there were no title goes in my lifetime. I'll reminisce about a fight I saw years ago.it was kind of a title fight,a California lightweight title fight. The two boys were a couple of cuities:Paulie Armstead and Jimmie Fields. I had a seat near Armstead's corner. The two fighters entered the ring without any pretensions,all business like another day on the job. Armstead wore the white satin trunks with the white piping,Fields the black trunks with white piping.Both wore black boxing shoes,standard robes with their names on the back,and there were no tattoos. I remember the ring lights seeming very bright. The handlers put the boxing gloves on their fighters in their corners.As they took them out of the box, I could catch a whiff of the new leather.As the cornermen pulled the black gloves on their fighters,I was mesmerized by the shiny glow on the leather from the ring lights.The seconds wrapped lots of white tape very carefully around and over the laces. The referee brought them to mid ring with their seconds,gave them instructions,the boys touched gloves(there were no stare downs),and they turned to their corners prancing on fresh legs and shaking out their arms. The gong sounded,they turned,touched gloves again,and went to work

Like I said,both boys knew what they were doing in there. They circled each other on good feet. That's what I think is the big difference today:fighters don' have good footwork. They stumble around.Their hands and feet aren't in sync. Near the end of the first round there was a pretty good exchange. These guys didn't pack the big punch. They relied on skills. They worked in the middle of the ring. Head movement,shoulder feints,good jabs working combinations off their leads,slipping and countering:it was beautiful to watch. Once in a while one of the two would catch the other one flush.The spray from their heads would glisten in the ring light. The referee had an easy night.I don't think he seperated the two more than a few times. Armstead was the slightly better man that night. He earned a good decision. There were no boos nor protests. I left the arena sated and satisfied.

I really long for those simpler times of boxing:the weekly cards,the polished fighters,the knowledgeable fans,the old arenas.Try to tell a young whippersnapper today about the shiny leather on those boxing gloves , they'll look at you like you've lost your mind.


Paulie Armstead

According to the records on the BoxRec website, there were boxing clubs which staged weekly shows in San Diego as early as the middle 1910s. From 1915 to 1918, Gritton's Arena was the site of such shows. The Dreamland Arena was in operation from 1918 to 1925. Beginning in late 1924 and shortly after the Ten-Round Law was enacted in California, weekly boxing shows were being staged at the Coliseum.

I remember that weekly boxing shows were taking place at the Olympic Auditorium as late as the early 1980s. But by then, the Olympic was often dark at times. The Forum Club had weekly boxing shows at various venues in the Los Angeles area as late as the early 1970s. In Las Vegas, weekly boxing shows were being staged at the Silver Slipper as late as the early 1980s. For a time, Don Elbaum was staging weekly boxing shows in Atlantic City during the 1980s.

- Chuck Johnston

[dagosd2000]

Maiden Voyage

I like to have my camera handy with me. I never know when I might stumble upon something that will get away from me and not have the opportunity to get a second crack at it,or it might be something that ain't going nowhere,but I get the inspiration to capture it through the lens. The latter happened to me the other day when I went with my wife to Tijuana to visit our daughter and the grandkids. After getting kisses from the little ones and enjoying a nice lunch of quesadillas made by our daughter,my wife said she wanted to go to "centro" to buy her chiles in the mercado. I'm not much anymore for following her around all over the place to go shopping so I told her that I'd be waiting for her sitting at one of the tables in front of The Hotel Nelson having a cup of coffee. I like to sit there watching the people walk by. The Hotel Nelson is on the corner of 1st and Revolution.Across the street from 1st Street is the infamous red light district,The Coahuila. At the corner of Revolution where it meets 1st street is end of the "tourist" section.So if I'm looking to my right,I see the Americans strolling in and out of the curio shops and restaurants.If I turn my head to the left,I see the fallen flowers of the night standing in front of the bawdy bistros trying to lure the lonely upstairs to one of the decrepit hotels on the block. Funny,even though both lifestyles are connected together geographically,rarely do the people of either ilk enter into the other's space.

As I was sitting there in front of the Nelson with my head on a slow swivel letting my thoughts meander through time,it dawned on me that right next door to the Hotel Nelson was an old footprint of a haunt that I'd frequent from time to time when I was in my invincible youth,The Convoy Club.I remember they had a bow of a ship hanging above the front door of the place. Back then I was around junior high school age. The San Diego Police had a sub station right at the border as you would enter TJ. They were there to check to see if anyone under the age of 18 was trying to taste the illicit flavors in a town where it was strictly forbidden in Leave It To Beaver San Diego. A lot of us had phony ID's,but if asked by the cops to show proof of age,this ruse never worked. San Diego's finest then would call you parents on the phone or send a letter to your house explaining that little Johnny Boy was caught trying to enter sin city wanting to get drunk and find one of those fallen flowers to spread some male pollination. Sometimes we'd hide a few in the trunk of the car. Sometimes we got away with it.Sometimes mommy and daddy would be notified. I looked old for my age.I never had a problem getting through,and when I did my hormones would shift into overdrive.

The Convoy Club was a dance hall for the American kids. There weren't many dance spots on Revolution Street. You see Revolution Street was contoured for the wild and horny American male:high school and college kids,servicemen,adolescent working stiffs,surfers.Only the pretty loose gringo girls would want to be a date for a guy, and then they'd want to go into a place like The Convoy Club to dance and drink the night away.I wasn't into dancing that much,and besides, after getting a snoot full at the Long Bar polishing off a big pitcher of Mexicali beer for 75 cents,I would find my way over to one the cat houses like the Blue Fox(I didn't know if the real name of The Blue Fox was The Blue Fox or the Green Note.The Green Note shone in neon above the door. There was one of those sandwich board signs beside the entrance with a wily fox holding a drink glass that read "Welcome To The Blue Fox."We always called it the Blue Fox.Sounds a lot more intriguing.).Anyway, for a paltry sum you cold get you horns trimmed from some girl who'd sit on your naked lap in a booth in some dark corner for a couple of bucks(or your wallet lifted if you weren't on your guard),and then end the night getting a ham torta at one of the various stands on the block for a quarter.A crazy night on the town for under a saw buck.What would Ward Cleaver say to that?

So let me take you back to The Convoy Club. You know who honed his musical skills there?Carlos Santana, He played in the house band. It was mostly Little Richard and Chuck Berry songs. Of course he wasn't the big star that he is today. I read an article about how he began playing in the streets of TJ as a kid with his father and uncles going from bar to bar asking the customers if they wanted to hear any particular song for a peso or two. They were typical street musicians that are still very common In the streets of Tijuana.He said he'd play in groups in the cantinas for the girls who came out on the stage to dance,and even go "all the way" sometimes right there on the stage.Take my word for it. He also said that when the sun would finally begin to rise and the lights and doors would shut down,he'd go with the girls for breakfast somewhere,and then it was back to where you came from, sleep,make sure the kids were OK(many of those girls had a housekeeper) and then begin the routine all over again. Then he said that those women got bad reps,but they did what they did to put food on the table for their kids. They had no old man for means of support. He went on to say he respected them as much as "the Queen of England."

Anyway,I'm sitting in front of The Hotel Nelson waiting for my wife. I got up ,camera in hand,and took a picture of what once was the venue for Carlos Santana. It's a chi chi bar now and I bet they don't play any Little Richard songs inside.I bet they don't even have a band.What would Ward Cleaver say to that?


The Convoy Club 1961 .Carlos Santana is back there somewhere.



The Convoy Club today.The Hotel Nelson is to the right in the picture.


Tijuana Street Musician




The original Blue Fox was a restaurant in Tijuana during the 20's. Later,they opened a cantina and called it The Blue Fox. This image was on the cover of the restaurant menu. Later, they put the image by the door of the cantina. When they were talking about "eating",they weren't referring to rolled tacos

[dagosd2000]

The Last Year

The last year Sugar Ray Robinson fought in the ring he had 14 fights.Here's a guy who's 44 years old,having engaged in close to 200 bouts,endured more than 1300 rounds,and in his final contest if he beats Joey Archer, they're promising him a shot at the title.I saw that fight on TV.It wasn't close. Archer,a guy who couldn't break an egg,clipped Robinson somewhere on his body.The punch must have had a delayed action fuse inside Joey's glove because Robinson hung in mid air for a sec and then fell down.We knew he wasn't going to win after that.it was like Ali against Berbick..The brain synapses weren't communicating with the muscles.There were short circuits,Robby was on the deck.It was his last time we'd see him fight professionally.

That last yerar,1965,my dad took me down to the bullring in Tijuana to watch Robinson fight the popular local Memo Ayon. Ayon had been around a little.He had around 20 fights on his resume.Most notable on that list was a draw against Denny Moyer and he was stopped by Nino Benvenuti. But Robby was old by the time he faced Ayon,his legs couldn't carry him through anymore.Those brain synapses were frayed.He couldn't pull the trigger.With that said,Robinson could have stepped out of the ring with a win,but the only way that could have happened if he had KO'd Memo. That wasn't going to happen. Ayon was the bull in that ring that night,and athough he would never reach the heights of a Sugar Ray Robinson,he heard all the "oles ".He got a standing ovation when they touched gloves. After the decision was announced and the aficianados jumped with joy believing they saw something that amounted to a paramount victory,they put Robinson's satin robe over his shoulders,he sort of smiled knowing that he was going to get the short end of the stick,and left the ring hearing some Mexican colloquialisms for the for the word "negro".But I also caught a few "n----rs" echoing .Fight fans are notorious for getting carried away in the hysteria.

But Robby didn't end his career that night. Memo Ayon,after that night inside the plaza de toros,never won another fight. They thought they might have had something with him after the Robinson fight,but his next encounter was with a hot, prime Luis Rodriguez in Los Angeles. The Nose was the matador that night. Memo felt the sword.He was in over his head.

I wonder how many times in 1965 Sugar Ray Robinson thought what he would have done with a Memo Ayon or a Joey Archer if he had been just ten years younger.There's no fountain of youth,especially if a fighter is trying to find it inside the ring. Look at the records of the greats in the last year of their careers.I wish I could say it was somewhat bitter sweet.On one hand I could name Tunney,Marciano,and Floyd.You can add Monzon's name. Salvador Sanchez's life was cut short when he was still on top,but these are the exceptions. For the great Sugar Ray,when he's seen on YouTube against a Joey Archer,how can you watch it all the way to the end?


The great Sugar Ray

[dagosd2000]

Somewhere Between Heaven And Earth

The majority of the homeless population in the downtown area of San Diego has been squeezed in between the East Village section of the city ,by the ballpark and the library,and a few blocks east on Commercial and 16th Streets that's on the border of Barrio Logan. There,the rescue missions provide a kind of safety net for them. It's a conglamorate of drug addicts,alocoholics,the sick,people down on their luck,the confused,most without the hope anymore of being saved.It's a slow meandering of going through the motions of scoring,begging,stealing,working a con,getting a handout to make it through the day, waiting for the next SSI check to arrive at the post office,and it's still not enough to exist on the street;a lost society in free fall and why should they care what anyone else thinks.

At the corner of 16th Street where it ends and then turns onto Logan Avenue that goes through Barrio Logan,there's Al's Taco Shop right there as you turn the corner on the right side of the street. Al's has been there as long as I can remember. I used to go there after football practice when I was at City College. The shop is a hole in the wall. Go through the door and it's just a counter a few feet inside,no tables or chairs. Al is always behind the counter cooking up his rolled tacos in a big pot of boiling manteca. That's all he has:those greasy rolled tacos that drip manteca when he takes them out of the pot,and you can either get them to go and he puts them in a brown paper sack that leaks the manteca, or you can eat them at the counter on a paper plate that sops up the hot lard. The tacos taste wonderful. Al has sodas on hand to wash it all down. I hadn't been there in years.I drive by all the time.I got the urge that day,not only for the tacos,but to see if Al was still there. Al used to be a fighter back in the day. I saw him fight at the end a few times at the Coliseum. He put on the gloves mostly in Tijuana. I saw him fight on the undercard at the Municipal Auditorium. I'd say he was a fair lightweight. He'd probably say he wasn't any good,but that's how he got his money together to open his taco shop.

There was plenty of space in front of the shop so I parked right in front.. I could smell the familiar aroma of the manteca that is very common if you frequent a Mexican neighborhood or go to Tijuana. Though cooking with that stuff will harden your arteries,the flavor it gives to what you're cooking can't be matched by any other shortening. It's kind of a no brainer.

Well to my surprise there he was behind the counter in that steamy kitchen cooking up a slew of rolled tacos in one of the big pots that was on his large old stove. As I moved towards the counter,Al looked himself as I'd seen him before. He was a little heavier He still had a full head of hair.It was gray at the temples.His dark skin looked supple still.His dark eyes had a cheery look as always. His squashed nose on his oblong face told you he was a fighter. His lips were full,but inside his mouth when he talked you could see the spaces between his teeth. Al was wearing his big white greasy stained apron. His brow was sweating..He looked like he was enjoying himself. When he heard my footsteps he turned his head to the door.
"Hey," he beamed."I haven't seen you in a long time. Where have you been?"
"I got the urge for rolled tacos,"I said.
"Well you came to the right place. Nothing's changed."
"That's good ,"I said."Why spoil a good thing."
"As long as the customers are happy,I'm happy too."
I ordered five tacos to eat at the counter. Al dropped a big handful of tacos into the pot.Right away the I could hear the cracklng and popping.Manteca was splattering on Al's apron.
"Al,remember when Earl Faison used to come in here and order all those tacos?"
"Yeah.He'd park his car outside. It took him five minutes to get out of his car."
"When he blew out his knee,that was it for him."
"If he had lasted he would have made the Hall of Fame.He used to come in here and eat 20 tacos at a time. I had that deal if you ate 15 you didn't have to pay. I had to put an end to that because of him,"Al said laughing.
"I once ate 15,"I said anxiously.
Al pulled out the hot tacos from the big iron pot with his tongs and put them on a paper plate.
"Anything to drink?"
"I'll take an orange soda."
I chomped down on the tacos.They were hot , dripping with the grease, and tasted wonderful. I looked up at Al as he put more tacos into the pot
"Al," I said chewing away."Didn't you once fight Ismael Laguna?"
"No. I was in the prelim when he fought Saldivar in Tijuana."
"That was in the bullring?"
"!964. It was a big fight back then,"he said attending to the boiling pot of cooking tacos
"I saw Saldivar fight once,but I would have liked to have seen Laguna. He was a hell of a fighter."
"If he hadn't been a Panamanian he would have fared better He had to fight a lot of good fighters in their hometowns."
"What was the fight like between him and Saldivar?"
"I don't know. I didn't see it. I was in the dressing room. I fought the crowd chaser."
I finished up eating my tacos real fast. If I'd been younger,I would have ordered five more.
"Did you enjoy them?"asked Al.
"Just like old times. Nothing has changed."
Al the put his hands on the counter and bent his head near mine.
"You know they're here don't you."
"Who's here?"I asked.
Al had a different look. He had lost his joviality.
"The aliens have finaaly taken over,"he said seriously." They control everything.Our governmant.The whole world
"When did this happen?"I asked meekly.
"When old man Bush became president .He's one of them.Ever since that they've taken over."
I didn't know what to say.
"They're all in on it. Clinton ,Bush's son.Obama,Trump. If you ask any questions they'll kill you."
"So what's going to happen?"
"They want to make slaves of us."
In a blink of an eye,I couldn't believe how the conversation had changed its tone.
"There's nothing we can do?"
I wanted to get out of there.
"Nothing.If you try they'll kill you.,"said Al straightening himself up.
"Well,"I said."I guess I'll be going then."
"Well it was good seeing you again,"said Al,the smile returning to his face"When will I see you again?"
"If I get back to the neighborhood."
I walked out the door to my car.As I got in,I could see Al dropping a handful of tacos into the pot


Ismael Laguna

[dagosd2000]

A Performance Worth Mentioning

I know Archie Moore was very proud about his role of Jim,the runaway slave,in the movie The Adventures of Hucklebarry Finn,but I don't know exactly why.I never heard him expound on the matter. He showed that he was up to the task.There was a hint he would be nominated for an Oscar in a supporting role.Funny,Moore had as many lines as the young Eddie Hodges who played the part of Huck Finn,but it only crossed the award committee's minds to consider him for the supporting actor prize. As usual with screen adaptations from books,The Advenures of Huckleberry Finn on celluloid is different from the wood pulp version written by Mark Twain. The film is entertaining. It didn't rile any feathers when it was released in 1960.It didn't garnish any awards from the Academy. Moore held his own in good company with veteran troupers like Tony Randall Andy Devine,Finlay Currie,Neville Brand,and Buster Keaton. I'm pretty sure Moore prided himself with being able ,especially to the unbeknownst,to deliver his lines professionally.

I always thought Twain's book was demeaning to blacks. The old illustrations of blacks,especially Jim,was that Stepin' Fetchit' rubbery looking,dancing,black as the ace of spades jester. But writers like Twain,Jack London,Ernest Hemingway,and D.W. Griffith's production of Birth of A Nation, never drew criticism for their depictions of black society when they were recceiving accolades from their peers.White America thought it was all hunky dory. Sportswriters were some of the worst. Then Jack Johnson comes along and wins the most coveted prize in sports,flaunts it in the face of John Q. Public,and so they make up a law to throw him in jail.

Archie Moore,born and raised in the south,knew what Jim Crow was all about, Lynching blacks somehow didn't move FDR or congress to enact legislation against it. But the time I helped Moore out in his boy's club,he NEVER submitted to any old atereotypes. He always displayed pride and dignity. He wasn't a man you wanted to act the fool around.He was as mature an individual as I have laid eyes on. He spoke eloquently and intelligently.He listened to you and showed his manners. There was nothing silly or juvenile in his personality.

Contrast all that with Ali.When the two generations met in Los Angeles,it was a slaughter. I don't think there were many who even thought that if Moore was 20 years younger,he would have lasted longer.That victory and the rapid shift in the black movement, validated the social transition. That shift also played on young whites. If Ali had of bean whupped by Moore ,Liston,and later Foreman, maybe Ali wouldn't have been as big a symbol of the Civil Rights Movement. When Frazier beat Ali in "The Fight of The Century,the Klan was even shouting hallelujah,but then the determined Muhammad rebounded to win the next two.

Archie Moore didn't beat Ali. He was never heavyweight champ. He played a part in a movie of an Uncle Tom slave to a white boy.Today,young blacks(and even their fathers and grandfathers)wouldn't pay a dime to watch that movie, let alone to see Archie Moore.Neither would I. You see,Archie Moore was miscast in that role. He had a lot more going for him.I only wish more people could have seen it.


Archie Moore

[dagosd2000]

Taking A Little Off The Top

Just Off The Top Of My Head:I remember talking to Trudy Latka,the wife of the late referee and lightweight who was a frequent sight at the local fight venues in Los Angeles. Somehow I told her that I was a history teacher.She said that her husband was also a history teacher at the middle school level for the LA Unified School District. She told me that they assigned her husband to schools in the rough neighborhoods. I guess they figured an ex pug like Georgie Latka could conduct his classes with a semblance of law and order.BTW,Mrs. Latka says she still once in a while gets a royalty check for her husband's part as a referee in the movie Raging Bull.

When Muhammad Ali was in town to get ready to fight Ken Norton,I asked him if he brought along his wife and kids. He told me that they were at the zoo that day.
"I hear you got a pretty nice zoo in San Diego"
He also added that he made sure he booked a room for his wife(Belinda-wife #2) on the opposite side of the hotel from where he was staying.
"I don't want to worry about getting the urge in the middle of the night and wanting to go over there,"he said shaking his head.

David Love was a local middleweight who I could never figure out.He was on a lot of cards at The Coliseum. He was tall and had a long reach.He'd win one and then lose one. Some of those loses were against mediocre competition,I thought.He went back east and took care of Bennie Brisco,Boogaloo Watss,and Willie Monroe-no soft touches. Angelo Dundee was very "high" on him.Tiger Smalls told me he runs a gym by San Diego State College.

Mike Quarry fought a few fights in San Diego. I don't remember a fighter getting "booed" like him.I saw Quarry beat a very popular Mexican kid named Amador Vasquez one afternoon in the ballpark in National City. They stopped the fight on a "cut."I thought the crowd was going to go after Quarry,but brother Jerry,the wives,and Ma and Pa Quarry were more than willing to take on all comers.Quarry beat another local favorite,Ronnie Wilson several times. That didn't enhance his appeal with San Diegans.I saw one of his last fights.It was at The Coliseum against a guy named Pete McIntyre who had only a few fights under his belt,more losses than wins. McInTyre cut Quarry up pretty bad and gave him a trouncing. They called a stop to it.The crowd that was packed to the rafters got what they wanted that night.Me?Well,I didn't exactly want Quarry to win,but the beating he took was hard to stomach. BTW,I don't remember seeing any other Quarrey's there that night


Big brother Jerry after the Norton fight

[dagosd2000]

Felicidades

I remember when Roberto Duran mugged Ken Buchanan to win the lightweight championship of the world.I'd never seen a fighter ,at that weight, intimidate opponents like Mr. Hands of Stone. He was relentless with his assault. But he wasn't crude.He was a great defensive fighter,but he'll always be remembered for being a non stop punching machine.He was in the same mold as Armstrong,but unlike the gentlemanly Henry, outside the ring,Robert wouldn't shut his motor down after the final bell. He wanted to beat up the world. There was a story going around that when Jerry Quarry went down to Duran's turf in Panama,He crossed paths with Manos de Piedra. Of course Roberto had to show his people that he wasn't afraid of this big Irish gringo .Roberto, in the back of his mind, maybe thought he could whip Jerry,or at least he was going to show him that he was an outsider and to get out of Dodge. Roberto's compadres stepped in between the two before we could get a decision.

In the Latino community,Duran was the most macho of the machos. He was a Pancho Villa with boxing gloves. He was bigger than life. He was a star. I saw him on TV once sitting in a bar next to a really beautiful gringa.This was before the rematch with Leonard. The interviewer asked him who his companion was.
"Thees ees my girlfriend,"he boasted.
Now Roberto was a married man with kids,but in Macholandia and to have the esteem he had warranted,this was nothing to hide from the world.This wasn't Monica and Bill.He wasn't trying to deny anything. This was bragging rights. The aficianados had their hero. They wanted to be like him.It was vicarious. Beat the white guy,the black guy,the Asian. We got Duran.Who can you put up there?Other Latinos got their shot. Dejesus put the first loss on Roberto's record,but Ronrto kept his fire.Panama didn't lose their idol to idleness. Duran came back to stop Esteban twice.

Then Duran moved up in weight to take on the Olympic glamor boy,welterweight champ,and all around nice guy, Sugar Ray Leonard.Duran never took his foot off the gas in Montreal. He was now the king of 147 pounders. Then,in the rematch,water was thrown on this comet.Duran was the thrower by throwing in his title because,he said,he had a stomach ache. In Macholandia that was unforgiveable.No one was buying that. His boxing career was never the same.

But today,after time has at least healed the wound,but left a scar,Roberto Duran has settled back to Panama. He hears some jeers from passerbies once in a while,but this is where his home is. This is where he lives with his with his wife,his childhood sweetheart.They've been together for over 40 years. Her name:Felicidades. That means "congratulations" in Spanish.Shenever left him. All the novias,the drugs and alcohol,she never left his side. He waited for the little boy to grow up.

Roberto Duran is not the "killer" anymore. He's old. He's a grandfather. He's got his family and his most prized possesion,more valuable than any title,any victory. He has Felicidades.

When Duran was on top of the world,I always was hoping that someone woukld knock him off that pinnacle.Eventually that happened. Duran contributed a lot to that fall.But today I like the guy. He's come down to earth. Life is too short to be angry. You see him now and he looks happy.Felicidades had a lot to do with that. "Congratulation" senora. You must be quite a gal.



The young couple when Roberto was on top


Roberto today with Felicidades.He's on top again



Felicidades -Sonora Santanera. Andale Hands of Stone.Congratulations

[dagosd2000]

Irichelle Duran.Robrto's daughter. I was fortunate to have sat next to her at The West Coast Boxing Hall of Fame banquet in 2016.To the left in the back is" Judo" Gene LeBell,Aileen Eaton's son.

[dagosd2000]

Brief Encounter

Now when I call this piece "Brief Encounter",I'm not referring to that English movie with Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson.I like that movie. I always thought the British actors were as good as ours,but,I don't know,maybe it was because the United States emerged as the most powerful country in the world after World War II that had something to do with it.Maybe it was because England was starting to lose its grip on their empire.But maybe it was because a lot of British pictures were filmed in black and white.Maybe it's all of that and more.All I know is I like English movies made back then. I thought Glynis Johns was as cute as a bug's ear. Rachel Roberts,Mary Ure,Honor Blackman,(you could put her up there with Marilyn Monroe),Olivia DeHavilland and her sister Joan Fontaine. Then there were the male stars:Albert Finney,Jack Hawkins,Alec Guinness,Richard Burton,Trevor Howard(died too young),Peter Finch,and maybe the greatest, Sir Laurence.I haven't even scratched the surface. The directors too. The Brits had some great ones:Hithcock,David Lean,Michael Powell,Richard Attenborough.Just naming a few. So what does this have to do with boxing?Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to say it. That's why I'm not big on awards and rankings Too many people who ,I think,should be making the big money and whose names should be shouted from on everyone's lips, are relegated to the back of the bus.

So the brief encounter I have in mind is actually three brief .face to face encounters between to heavyweight champions. Two of the encounters were boxing matches,that almost killed off the sport,but the brief encounter that piques my interest is a meeting of the two in the locker room after one of them had just fought. You might have guessed by now I'm talking about Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson after the Lewiston debacle.After Patterson had been crushed by the big ugly mean 'ol bear in two fights in less than two rounds,Joe Louis said Liston might be the best heavyweight who ever lived.Then Clay shocked the world in Miami.People still didn't believe their eyes. Sonny said he tore a muscle in his shoulder. Then a rematch in a school gym in Maine and we have biggest puzzle in heavyweight title fight history.

Patterson was at the fight. After the stench cleared,he went to Liston's dressing room. Floyd shared his sympathies. He said he knew how Liston felt. There was an empathy. Floyd looked like Michael Spinks twice against Liston in two title goes.Floyd even made a first by bringing a disguise in a paper bag for the second fight. I can't imagine the stress he must have been going through. But the aftermath couldn't be covered up by a mask.That won't make what happened go away.So after seeing Sonny do whatever he did in New England,Floyd thought it would be apropos to lend a few kind words.

Patterson was talking about this brief encounter. He tried to convey to Liston that he knew what he was going through. Floyd felt badly. He had a gift for being morose. He wasn't exactly Red Skelton. Patterson went on saying he wanted to reach Liston.get a reaction,but Sonny had that impassive look that never divulged anything but a thousand mile stare.If Patterson wasn't Red Skelton,Liston wasn't exactly Jerry Lewis. But Patterson tried and tried to comfort Liston,but all he got was silence. Then Floyd said he gave up and began to walk out the door. As he was exiting,Patterson heard Liston utter something.
"Hey man,thanks."

Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson:two of the most mysterious fighters who ever laced them up. Forelorn,enigmatic.It was a godsend that "The Greatest" came along when he did. He was 4 and O against those two. Their faces on the heavyweight championship had to be erased.Ali brought the sport back to life regardless what you think of him. Look at all the threads posted on BoxRec that have him in a mythical match up with all the greats. How many times his name is shouted with reverence. How many times he's called "overrated."
"Hey man,thanks."

[dagosd2000]

Stopping To Smell The Roses

There's a lot of things I remember about Lewis.I first met him when I was in high school. He called himself "The Shoeshine King".His stand was just off Broadway a half block north on 6th Street. It was a time when downtown was the center of activity. The posh restaurants and stores were downtown. Lower Broadway was geared for the sailors:the locker clubs,the USO club,the dirty movie houses,the small smoky bars with the watered down drinks that they charged too much for,the tattoo parlors,the card rooms,and the arcades with all the pinball machines.The machine I liked was the one they got from the Army Air Corps that was for the tail gunners to train on. It showed the fighters attacking the bomber you were supposed to be inside of. You had to work both handles and "shoot" at the fighters .You looked into the view finder like you were firing a machine gun.Upper Braodway was more for the weekly business clientel.I'd say the cut off was at 3rd Street.North of that there was nothing for the sailors. They usually turned right on 3rd to head south and then they'd find everything they missed in Saigon. But Lewis's shoeshine in upper Broadway ,although didn't look like much,attracted bankers and lawyers,dentists and doctors,people who in those days were making 5 figures.

I used to go to Lewis's stand to get my football shoes shined before a game. We got to be on fruiendly terms quick. He liked to talk about boxing and jazz and what is like when he rode the rails during the depression,all the things he'd seen in real life that I only had read about in books. He was average sized,I guess.His hair was pretty much gray and he still went in for the fried and dyed treatment with the hot lard to get his hair flat. His face was round and full,his deep brown eyes moved attentively like there was always something going on inside his mind.He reminded me of the old style Negro from the south with that deep relaxed tone of voice that he spoke real slow . It always had an air of politeness. Blacks who were born and raised in the south always seemed to be more polite and less angry. His shoulders looked strong and his hands. with those long gnarled fingers, had a history about them.He had a thousand stories to tell and that's what made him the most popular man on the street. Get your shoes shined from Lewis and ask him something and he'd do the talking while he was shining your shoes. Here's a Lewis story I'll run by you. It was a cold wind chill November evening.The business people were in their cars on the road going home.6th street was pretty empty except for me and Lewis's stand.i parked the car out front and got out with my football shoes in hand.
"Hey man,"said Lewis in a big voice."You got a game comin' up?"
"Tomorrow in the day.Came to get my shoes lookin' right."
"Well you came to the right place,"he said.
I hopped up into the seat as Lewis put in the foot pegs for my feet to rest on.
"What'll it be?"
"I want the burn spit shine."
"Must be a big game ,"Lewis said smiling.
"It's the homecoming game."
"Put your football shoes on for me please. I can do a better job that way."

Lewis's wooden stand wasn't big enough for but one seat.He had iold magazine and newspaper clippings pasted up on the inside walls. He had a small record player by his side. Lewis liked to play music when he shined your shoes. it was limited mostly to jazz and blues. Lewis was old school. He liked the Motown stuff,but he preferred the music he grew up with in Kansas City.He didn't have any Motown records.
"What do you want to hear?"he asked.
"You're the best judge of that."
Lewis slipped the cardboard spacers inside the sides of the football shoes.
"I'll put on some Lester Young."
"Didn't you tell me once that you played with Lester Young in Kansas City?"
"That was when he left Basie. He formed a small combo. I played baritone for a while."
"When was that?"
"Just before the war broke out,"said Lewis as he put the 78 record on the player.
Lewis then unclasped a brown old wood box that had all his different colored waxes inside. He then turned open a can of black polish and swiped a good amount of polish on the cloth and rubbed the polish into the leather of the shoes.
Lewis hadn't turned on the record player yet.
"What was it like to see all those musicians in Kansas City back then?"I asked.
"It was marvelous. The joints stayed open all night on Vine Street..There was everything you could ask for there.There was The Reno and the Paseo,Dante's Inferno. That's about the time when I heard Charlie Parker when he first started out."
"That must have been something."
"He hadn't gotten his sound yet. It was that 'Sweet Lucy' sound still. It wasn't until he hooked up with Jay McShann that he came into his own."
"Why didn't you stick with music?"
"Those cats were really good. I'd sometime get on stage to play a solo and I'd get cut out. I mean I couldn't hang with those guys. Besides,I wanted to be a fighter.'
Lewis ,after putting thick layers of polish on my shoes, doused the shoe tops with lighter fluid.He then took out his Ronson. He started the record player.As the music came on,he lit the lighter fluid on the shoe tops. The flame perked up and that made the wax burn into the leather. Lewis then began buffing with a soft rag and began moving his feet in time with the music.
"Does Archie Moore still come by?"I asked him.
"Once in a while. If nothing else just to say hello and talk about old times in St. Louis."
"Did you ever see him fight>"
"I saw him beat Maxim for the title."
"That must have been something."
"The man had waited so long for a shot he wasn't that overjoyed.'
"I never saw him fight in person."
"You know he tried to work with me in St. Louis to be a fighter."
"What happened?"
"I was a better sax player. But he always talked to me about quittin' fighting and going on the road with the cats."
"I guess you can't do both. Being a jazz musician and being a fighter."
"That's for sure.But Archie was one of the best at fighting. Me.Well.here I am shining shoes ."
"What do you mean ?Everybody loves you."
"And I love everybody. I'm happy. That's all that's important."
Lewis stopped buffing the shoes.He took out the cardboard liners and then took out a toothbrush and dipped the brush in black shine and went around the outside of the soles of the shoes with the brush. He had done a masterpiece.
"They look terrific Lewis,"I remarked more than satisfied.
"You better win that homecoming game tomorrow,"he said putting his things back inside the wood box.
"Lewis,there's something I've always wanted to ask you."
"What's that?"
"Why do you always wear a little flower in your shirt lapel?"
"Son,to tell me that's there's things in life that sometimes we take for granted,but don't take the time to see how beautiful they are and make the world worth looking at."
"Yeah.I guess you're right,"I said.
I hopped off the seat ,paid Lewis,left my tip,and walked to my car. As I was walking,I heard Lewis say,"Good luck tomorrow with your game."


Lester Young


Lester Young-Ad Lib Blues

[dagosd2000]

A Fighter By Any Other Name

When all the governing boxing commissions stripped Muhammad Ali's title from him after he refused to go into the military,there was one boxing institution that still recognized him as the heavyweight champion. It was "The Bible of Boxing,Ring Magazine.Nat Fleischer,the owner and editor,said that Clay never lost his title in the ring,thus until he is beaten defending his title,he still wears the crown. He was Muhammad Ali when Nat Fleischer made his statement. Well,that's how Nat Fleischer referred to Ali the:,Cassius Clay. Many still called him "Clay". The most common basis, for this refusal to recognize his legally changed name, was that Cassius Clay was his "Christian name" that was bestowed on him by his parents. Ali always said that Cassius Clay was a "slave name." So he made the change.But if he would have opted for something like "Charles Clarkson" instead of the foreign and unChristian sounding "Muhammad Ali,we all would have bought in.Nat Fleischer had the balls to keep him on top of the heavyweight listings,but had the temerity to still call him "Clay."

Floyd Patterson,with his smugness,still called him "Clay." Ernie Terrell was also in that group . When Ali got upset with Terrell and Patterson,he carried them along and gave them both a good beating. Some said that was unfair and unruly on the part of Ali to administer that kind of punishment.If it was as bad as these guys perceptions,why didn't the referees stop the bouts? I never had sympathy for Terrell,and especially,Patterson.He ducked Machen and Folley in place of Cut And Shoot and a guy who never had one pro fight. Finally,after he couldn't take the shame anymore for avoiding Liston...well you saw what happened.

Howard Cosell,a instigator from the get go and who would have been an after thought in sports announcing,verbally laid the guilt on Ali while the both of them were watching the replay in the studio. Cosell,the paramount of opportunists,rode the coat tails of Ali throughout his career.There would have been no Monday Night Football and putting in his arrogant remarks on the big fights if Ali would have sent him off in the beginning..Watch Cosell worm his way to Clay's corner after the Liston fight in Miami fight. He could see himself being joined at the hip with the soon to be "Ali",the savior of the sport. Cosell could see his name in lights.But Cosell,with his law degree dangling by his side,always defended Ali's stance with the Selective Service Administration

When Ali finally got a second chance to fight in the state of Georgia against Jerry Quarry,Tom Harmon,the Heisman winner,was calling the fight. Again,it's "Clay" this and "Clay" that. The entire fight,while it lasted,Harmon called Ali",Clay."Then when the fight is over,Harmon gets into the ring to interview Ali. I couldn't wait to see.
"Hey Champ," said Mr. Touchdown,"how do you feel?"
What a phony. I wonder what Ali would have said to him if he knew Harmon was calling him "Clay' during the fight?

Muhammad Ali was one of the most intuitive people I have ever seen. Even when he was being coached by the Muslims,he still did it "his" way. There was no filter between his brain and his mouth. That's why he was so popular,that and the fact that he was an amazing fighter.Oh hell,if he hadn't have been an amazing fighter,he'd be forgotten by now


Floyd Patterson

[Chuck1052]

According to Dan Cuoco of the International Boxing Research Organization, Ellsworth "Spider" Webb, a middleweight contender during the 1950s and early 1960s, passed away in Tulsa, Oklahoma on November 23, 2017. Among the noted fighters he beat were Dick Tiger, Joey Giardello, Terry Downes, Holly Mims, Charley Joseph, Bobby Boyd, Willie Vaughn. Randy Sandy and Bobby Boyd. Webb lost twice by decision to Gene Fullmer, the second time with Fullmer's world middleweight title at stake. While making an ill-advised comeback in his last pro bout during 1961, Webb was stopped for the only time in his career by Dick Tiger.

As an amateur, Webb was on the boxing teams at Compton Junior College (located in Compton, California) and Idaho State University. While attending Idaho State University, Webb was the N.C.A.A. middleweight champion during 1951 and 1952. He also was on the American boxing team at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics.

Note- Was Webb was the most famous boxer to be on a boxing team at a junior college in California?

- Chuck Johnston

[dagosd2000]

According to Dan Cuoco of the International Boxing Research Organization, Ellsworth "Spider" Webb, a middleweight contender during the 1950s and early 1960s, passed away in Tulsa, Oklahoma on November 23, 2017. Among the noted fighters he beat were Dick Tiger, Joey Giardello, Terry Downes, Holly Mims, Charley Joseph, Bobby Boyd, Willie Vaughn. Randy Sandy and Bobby Boyd. Webb lost twice by decision to Gene Fullmer, the second time with Fullmer's world middleweight title at stake. While making an ill-advised comeback in his last pro bout during 1961, Webb was stopped for the only time in his career by Dick Tiger.

As an amateur, Webb was on the boxing teams at Compton Junior College (located in Compton, California) and Idaho State University. While attending Idaho State University, Webb was the N.C.A.A. middleweight champion during 1951 and 1952. He also was on the American boxing team at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics.

Note- Was Webb was the most famous boxer to be on a boxing team at a junior college in California?

- Chuck Johnston

Sad news. Spider Webb was a frequent face on the Monday,Wednesday,and Friday night main event televised shows.He fought a lot out of Chicago.He was a very good fighter who had enough skills to get a legit shot at a title sooner in his career,,but he was controlled by the mob. A lot of African American fighters in the 50's, who called their base of operations Chicago,were denied their right to fight for a title by the gangsters.. Bob Satterfield ,another black fighter out of Chicago,had the talent to go all the way to the top,but The Outfit pulled his strings. No fighter wants to admit,even much later,that he went "in the tank."There's shame with that. The consequences of not "going along" were very serious:a broken head,repercussions against your family,not being able to get a fight anywhere on earth. So a guy like Webb knew that he could make a little scratch if he "just went along."

There was a gal, a while back ,who wanted to honor her late father who was a fighter. Her dad fought Ray Robinson in Chicago when Ray was the welter champ. Her dad went the full 15 rounds with Robinson. The daughter considered her father's effort that night,the highlight of his career,and wrote a book celebrating her dad's fistic career. Ray "carried" her father that night in Chicago.Everytime Robinson fought in Chicago, after winning the welterweight title,the fights went the distance. That's how the mob wanted to bet it:Robinson ,who had the short odds for the early KO,would get those numbers stretched so the wise guys could lay a bundle on the fight to go the distance. My father who was in on "the lock" all those times,would lay a big bet with his bookie. The bookies in Chicago would take a bath.They couldn't pay off so they'd go to the mob. The mob would lend them the money to pay off,but now the bookies were in so deep with those guys they could never pay the money back,even when they won.It was like in Raging Bull:If you win, you win, even if you lose, you win

R.I.P. Spider Webb.Thanks for sharing,Chuck

[dagosd2000]

Unto God

I liked going down to the 32nd Street Naval Gym in National City when was I still in my prime. My friend Gary got me started.He was a pretty good amateur heavyweight and he used to go there to train.One day he asked me if I'd like to go along with him. Sure,why not? However ,I think the purpose of Gary's invite was that he needed a guy to spar with. I was big and in pretty good shape,but I didn't know a thing about how to box. For a summer I was Gary's punching bag.I didn't really mind though. I liked the atmosphere in there. The dank smell of the sweat that had embedded the canvas and leather.the iron ring posts,the beat up metal lockers,the paint chipping off the walls. It was a real gym to me.It was all boxing. There were a few weights:dumbells and some benches and a York barbell set.But it was fighters of all ilks that took over the place:some good ,and guys like me,mostly curious.Hanging around was enough for me most of the time.I picked up a few things.There were no women in skimpy outfits to distract anyone. It was a time when there were no female fighters. I really liked going down. there.

It wasn't too long ago that I had a yen to revisit the old place. I drove to the gate at the base. I could see the gym from the sentry post. It looked like it had a good facelift. On the outside of the building there was a big sign that read,"Ye Olde 32nd Street Naval Base Gym." The Navy guard asked in a gruff tone of voice what was my purpose.
"I want to see the gym.I used to come down here when I was a kid."
"You don't have a sticker.I can't let you in,"he said sternly looking at me.
"How about if I take a picture with my camera?"
"If I see you taking a picture of anything on this base I'll confiscate the camera and you'll come with me to see the captain."
That was enough for me. I turned the car around and went home.

Last week went to Barrio Logan to eat tacos at this place on the corner of Logan Avenue and Sampson Street. The name of the place is "Salud!"Best street tacos in the Barrio. I'm sitting there massacreing a plate of six rolled tacos when I hear this voice.
"Hey Roger,"
I look up and see a familiar face.I don't make trhe connection right away,but i know ,after a few word exchanges,it will come to me. It was a Mexican guy around my age. He stood in front of the table where I was eating.Things were starting to come into focus.
"Didn't you used to fight at the Coliseum?"I asked him.
"If you want to call it that,"he said laughing.
"You're Eddie Martinez.Sure I remember you. You used to train down in National City at the Navy base."
"The 32nd Street Gym.You used to come in with Gary all the time. When you guys would spar everyone would stop what they were doing to watch."
"That's only because we were the only two heavyweights who would go in there,"I chuckled.
Eddie Martinez was a regular at the Coliseum He fought prelims earning his way up to main eventers.He was a lightweight with some good skills ,but lacked a punch. He won more than he lost. He had a few opportunities to get into the rankings,but fell short.I remember him as always being happy,a smile on his face,and a good word for everything. He didn't look much different except that naturally everything had aged with time,but I could see the years were gentle with him.I asked him to join me. The cute little Mexican girl waitress came over to our table. Eddie ordered the same as me:six rolled ones.
I told him that I had tried to drop by the gym again,but was turned away.
"Times are different today,"he said."With all this terrorism crap,They won't let civilians in anymore like they used to. Besides the gym is like one of those 24 Hour Fitness gyms. All machines.No more boxing.It's more of a pick up joint."
"That's the way it's going,"I said.
"We had some pretty good times there,"said Eddie."Remember Jimmy Rosette?"
"Yeah.He was a good fighter."
"And Chuck Haynes."
"He was pretty slick."
The cute girl waitress brought over the rolled tacos. Eddie ordered us a couple of Modelos.
"Eddie,remember that kid whose father brought in?He wanted his son to learn how to fight."
"You mean Billy. That white kid."
"Yeah. Billy. His father was some kind of war hero and wanted his son to learn how to fight."
"That was really somethin'.The kid you could tell didn't want to do it."
"I'm surprised his father didn't take him to the recruiting office,"I said.
"The father didn't want him going to Viet Nam,"said Eddie."The father said Viet Nam was a scam to make the rich guys richer."
"That kid suffered a thousand deaths in that gym.His father would leave him there.The kid took a beating. He couldn't fight worth a lick."
"Then his old man would come back for him and ask him how he did."
"The kid would always say'all right',but you could tell he hated it.I wonder whatever happened to him?"I asked.
"He ran away from home and joined the Marines,"
"Really?"
"He had to get away from his father."
"What happened after that?"
"He wound up being a MIA."
"That's terrible,"I said.
"The story was his platoon got ambushed. He got wounded but was going back to get the other wounded back to what was left of his unit. The last time he went back he never came back. They never could find him."
I stopped eating.
"I think they put him up for The Congressional Medal of Honor but I don't know if he got it."
"And the father?"
"Who knows.I left the gym shortly after that. I didn't hear anymore about it."

We finished eating. We continued talking .I brought up the subject about today's fighters.Eddie said he hadn't kept up with it for some time. The cute girl waitress came over with the tab. I told Eddie not to make a move.We shook hands and gave a good abraso. It was getting dark outside.The sun was settling down slowly,changing colors as it disappeared behind the ocean.


My father,Cpl. Joe Esposito USMC Ist Division 5 Corps. Landed first wave at Pelilieu and Okinawa .Semper Fi

[dagosd2000]

Happy birthday to a man with a lot of guts. He began his message in the deep south in a time when there was very little civil rights legislation,and what there was,was less enforced. He advocated peacefull protest.He put himself in harm's way,was jailed,beaten,harassed by the feds.and had enemies within his movement.He deservedly earned the Nobel Peace Prize.When the Black Muslims emerged and the violent racist black groups like the SLA and Black Panthers showed their violent side,King was never critical. They assassinated the man and then covered everything up. Time gives one time to make a more honest evaluation.M.L. King stands heads and shoulders above the others. King was no Uncle Tom like a lot of the younger blacks during the Civil Rights Movement thought of him. I would have liked to have seen Stokely Carmichael or Bobby Seale headquarter themselves in Mississippi and say what they had to say THERE instead of at Berkeley or Harlem. King will always be the man in my book.

[BoxBuzz]

Nicely Stated

I can live in a world that sends us all the Reagans, Bush's, Clintons, Obama's and Trumps we can elect.....(I consider them all flawed leaders).....As long as it keeps peppering the pot of our existence with a few King's, Gandhi's and Lincoln's along the way. These are the types that allow us to find the energy to forgive ourselves, recognize both our successes and failures, and gently yet doggedly pursue a way to keep this human adventure evolving for the good. Reminding us of the best in ourselves and our neighbors, and assisting us all in discovering reasons (and perhaps methods) not to hate, fear....or wipe ourselves off our own map.

Yipes....did I leave Mother Theresa out? I'll say 10 hail Mary's, and ask forgiveness......she surely deserves a nod as well.

[dagosd2000]

Nicely Stated

I can live in a world that sends us all the Reagans, Bush's, Clintons, Obama's and Trumps we can elect.....(I consider them all flawed leaders).....As long as it keeps peppering the pot of our existence with a few King's, Gandhi's and Lincoln's along the way. These are the types that allow us to find the energy to forgive ourselves, recognize both our successes and failures, and gently yet doggedly pursue a way to keep this human adventure evolving for the good. Reminding us of the best in ourselves and our neighbors, and assisting us all in discovering reasons (and perhaps methods) not to hate, fear....or wipe ourselves off our own map.

Yipes....did I leave Mother Theresa out? I'll say 10 hail Mary's, and ask forgiveness......she surely deserves a nod as well.

Very Nicely Stated.
Buzz,all my life I've been pissed off at one thing or another. I've had to have it my way. i want to control everything in my path. Sarcasm and put downs were my philosophies.In my advancing years I was seeing that I was destroying myself. I know I can't get the past back and make things right,so I'm trying to go out of this world sort of born again. It's a work in progress. BTW:here's another guy we can put on that list:Jesus



I painted this one a while back. I call it "Happy Jesus."
He's with the children of all the different races. He found happiness being with children.All we have to do is look there to start to build a foundation for a better world.

[dagosd2000]

While On My Way Over

"That cab driver across the street told me you might know where I could find Mantequilla Napoles,"I said to the cab driver who was talking to the other cab drivers who were leaning against his taxi.
"I don't know for sure,but these guys know where his gym is,"he said.
The cab driver I was talking to was average in appearance:short hair,medium build,didn't have the strong Indian features.He spoke in a calm voice.He had a mustache and goatee.He looked like he was in his 30's. He seemed very relaxed.

I had parked my car in the parking lot on the El Paso side in the "Little Chihuahua" section of El Paso. The parking lot was half empty. It was only a couple of bucks to park your car for six hours in the lot. One of the two bridges that spanned over the Rio Grande River into Ciudad Juarez was about a hundred yards from the parking lot. I had in my hand the painting I did of the fighter and wanted to give it to him. I was surprised that there wasn't but a few people I saw crossing over the bridge . I only saw one car drive over passing me by. There was a woman in uniform standing on the other side of the bridge. I held out the painting.She gave me a strange look as I walked by her. At the first corner I saw a taxista lying on the hood of his taxi.He had taken off his shirt and was sleeping.
"Excuse me,I said awaking him."I'm trying to find Mantequilla Napoles. I know he lives in Juarez."
The cab driver rubbed his eyes and took a good look at me.
"I want to give him this painting,"I went on.
"I do not know where he lives,but those guys over there,"he said pointing across the street ,"will know.They shoot pool with him."
That's when I crossed the street and found the cab driver and his friends who said he could help me find Jose Napoles.

I heard him talking to the others. They told him where Napoles's gym was that wasn't far from where we were standing.
"Get in,"he said."I know the way."
His cab was dented up and had rust spots on the chassis.The paint had faded from all the heat of the Juarez sun.. I got inside the cab.The front seat was broken.There was a straw mat on the seat where the upholstery had worn out. Wires dangled under the radio
"Are you comfortable?"he asked me.
"Yes.I'm all right."
"His gym in not too far from here."
"Do you remember Jose Napoles?"I asked him.
"No.But I've heard of him.He used to own a bar,but it's closed now.."
"He was one of the greatest welerweight champoins."
"Was he better than Chavez?"
"It's not worth arguing. He was my favorite fighter.I've always wanted to meet him."
The taxista drove almost parallel along the border. The section of town we were in was bleak and empty,not many people walking outside,very little traffic. A lot of the houses and apartments looked abandoned and boarded up. The same with the local businesses. As dismal as it looked,it was quiet. Then the taxista slowed the cab down and began craning his neck.
"Here it is,"he said.
He parked in front of a desolate looking building. There was a hand painted sign on the front that read"Gimnasio Roma,banos de vapor,gymnasio de box,salon de belleza" We walked inside. The cement structure walled room was practically vacant. Cracks and fissres zig zagged on the floors and walls.Much of the paint had chipped away. Sitting at an old wooden desk was a young woman. She was very plain looking.Her clothes and hair looked drabby,I got the impression that it wasn't worth the effort for her to look more presentable.A typewriter was on the desk in front of her. A kid sitting on one of those Sting Ray bikes was next to her.He was rocking the bike back and forth
"We are trying to find Jose Napoles,"asked the cab driver to the girl.
"He's not here,"she answered impassively."He doesn't come in anymore.'
"Doesn't he have a gym in this building?"I asked her
"Not anymore. It's locked.No one can get in except the landlord."
"I'm trying to find him,"I said beginning to lose hope."I want to give him this painting."
Her and the boy glanced at the painting.
"I don't know where he lives now. He used to live around he corner from here,"she said.
Then the boy moved his bcyicle between me and the taxista.
"I can find out,"he said anxiously." I'll be right back."
He walked his bike outside. I heard him talking to someone. I heard a voice say,"You mean Manteca?He used to live over there.He always walked around smoking his cigar."
The man the boy was talking to was laughing as he talked.
I never saw the man the boy was talking too. There were more words exchanged,but I couldn't catch te gist of it. I had given up hope. Then the boy came running back inside.
"I know where he lives.I can show you,"he said enthusiastically.

I got back inside the cab with the boy.He told the directions to the taxista. He sped the cab a few blocks,then made a right turn,and then slowed down looking back and forth. He stopped the cab in the middle of the street and jumped out. Now i'm thinking i'm getting set up for something. I saw him talking to an old lady. He rushed back to the taxi.
"Around the corner,"he said.
He turned the cab hard around the corner onto a little side street.There.opening up in full view was Jose"Mantequilla" Napoles sitting on a chair puffing on a cigar. He was the only person on the street.
"I don't believe it.There he is like he's waiting for us."
The cab driver and the boy said nothing.



Jose and the taxista

[chrisjs1985]

Cool story and painting. I'm a big fan of Napoles. He had such a great style.

[dagosd2000]

Cool story and painting. I'm a big fan of Napoles. He had such a great style.

Thanks Chris,I'm glad you liked both.

[dagosd2000]

The Arena 72

One of the fight venues in Tijuana I've never talked about much was The Arena72. It was located between the government Prepa Federal High School and the Caliente Racetrack off on a side street. Before I get going with The Arena 72,the Prepa Federal High school was built on the old site of the famous Aguas Caliente Casino that flourished during our Prohibition days,You can still find a few statues and minarets from the old casino on the grounds Americans like Sunny Jim Coffroth had a piece of the action. The Hollywood celebs,sports figures,and high rollers frequented the casino for obvious reasons. What you couldn't get legally in the U.S. ,Tijuana was more than happy to provide. A tunnel ran underground from the casino about a mile away to the racetrack. Then the socialist minded Lazaro Cardenas became president of Mexico and shut down the casino.The track stayed open though.it was open all year round and featured the 5-10 wager where if you picked the winners in races 5 through 10 you won the jack pot This is probably a more interesting story than me telling you about the Arena 72,but I wasn't around during Prohibition and besides you can read books and articles about the casino and racetrack ,and the Foreign Club on Revolution Street. I used to drink in the Foreign Club when there wasn't anymore shows or gambling. That was in the early 60's. I was at the old Caliente Racetrack the day before they burned it down to force the American, Johnny Alessio out.It was the most beautiful racetrack in the western hemisphere.

Getting back to The Arena 72.I always thought the place was a little like the Coliseum in San Diego,an arena I thought didn't feature the best fights in town,yet had some pretty good names appear on the cards.I remember seeing Zarate, Zamora,J.L. Ramirez,and Baby Vasquez fight in The Arena 72. They would put these guys against a club fighter to more or less get a workout.Gato Gonzalez told me he fought there between his fights with Suzuki.He needed a tune up before the rematch.

The Arena 72 was a great place to see a fight,not that big a place,every seat had a good close view of the ring.The arena would full up with smoke and noise,plenty of beer flowing,the aficianados were in their element The Arena 72 was a venue for the up and comers and the fighter on his way down. The arena shut down around 20 years ago. Fighting is on its last legs in TJ just like about everywhere else.Mixed Martial Arts is the going thing down there. The good Mexican fighters hone their skills in their native land.If they show promise,a promotor on this side will take care of the formalities about having them come stateside.

It strikes me funny how much an impact the United States has on Mexico. i was in Las Vegas in November. The Latin Grammy's were held at some swank hotel on the strip. i'm thinking,why don't they have the Latin Grammy's in Latin America? Mexico City or Rio? Canelo fights Triple G on Mexican Independance Day in of all places, Las Vegas. That's about as far from the Mexican culture as I can imagine.

But maybe I got this all wrong. I'm old.My mind is still too far in the past. The younger Mexican doesn't want to be associated with the past. He wasn't around then. Pedro Infante,Lazaro Cardenas, Pancho Villa,Jose Napoles:those guys are either old or dead.Life is lived in the present and the future is out there for the young. For the old guys like me?Well,did I ever tell you about the time I saw Baby Vasquez fight at the Arena 72?Oh,it was a glorious time.


Baby Vasquez

[dagosd2000]

January

"Anybody that lies to you thinks you're stupid,"I remember Ed the bartender telling me one night at Champs,Burke Emery's bar.
By that time Burke was in a home. He didn't recognize anyone anymore. They said all he asked about was when his girlfriend Shirley was going to come by and visit him,but Shirley had died a while back. Burke wasn't even aware of it..At the service all he asked about was "Where's Shirley?" All those shots in the ring....
"I remember Burke used to say that all the time,"I said.
"That's where I picked it up from,"said the bartender.
After I heard Burke had passed away,I stopped going into Champs. When they had to put him in the home,I didn't frequent the place that often anymore. When he died I quit going altogether.

When Jose Torres died,I told Burke.I don't think he kept up on much at that time.Burke gave me a blank look,didn't say anything. You could see that the dementia was taking over. Torres beat Burke up pretty good that night at the St. Nick's Arena..I remember watching it on TV. Torres was the fast rising Puerto Rican fighter who was rapidly capturing the Puerto Rican audience,along with another countryman fighter,Carlos Ortiz.Torres would eventually go on to win the light heavyweight title. After the Torres fight Burke was up and down. At the end,like most fighters,he was pretty much down,finished trying to be a contender. He wound up in San Diego with a few Canadian fighters like the Hafey borthers and Ronnie Wilson that he trained and managed. He had his own gym for a time in North Park. He told me the Mexican fighters would run off with his gear.But Burke he wasn't sore. Here's Burke.
"Hell those guys had nothing so they stole my stuff," he said with a chuckle.
Kind of gives you an insight on what it was like for him growing up. He bartended in Montreal and told me by closing time the "frogs' and the "anglos" would square off against each other so they got together and decided they could make some money with these impromptu battles. Let Burke tell it.
"We charged everyone who wanted to watch a buck and a half and locked the doors,"said Burke smiling again.

Shirley oversaw the bar and took care of Burke. Burke liked going in his place. It was actually his place and Shirley's. Burke liked to play darts and get in the tournaments on Friday nights. I don't think he ever won one. Once in awhile he'd mention something about fighting,but it wasn't his opinion about anyone or anything.He was sore though about his fight with Chic Calderwood in Scotland. I guess Calderwood had opened up Burke's cuts and they stopped it. He thought it was too soon. One of those hometown decisions. He told me that there was a Canadian fighter by the name of Gus Mells. Burke again
"We used to call him Gus 'Smells' ",laughed Burke.
Burke always got a kick out of tellng that story.

Sometimes I'd see some wise ass drunk play around with Burke,you know,tease him. These guys were real careful though. They knew if Burke thought that they were making fun of him,he'd loose his temper. Physically,Burke, you could say, was a good distance from his prime,but for some reason if he got upset,he'd take on the world.I saw him one afternoon lose it with the beer delivery guy who parked his truck hogging up about five parking spaces out front. I don't hink the driver meant any harm,but when Burke saw his truck parked outside,I thought he was going to make a sudden comeback.

I pass Champs everday in my car. They kept the name on the front. I'm not sure, but someone on either Burke's side of the family,or it might be Shirley's, owns the bar now. The other day,I had the urge to drop in Champs. But without Burke to talk to,knowing that he's gone,I decided to just keep on driving. Besides, it's January. I can't wait to get this month over with.