BoxRec

Rick Farris wrote:Skid Row . . .

Everything changes. I guess change is good, it gives us something to look back on. Skid Row is certainly not full of warm memories for most, just pain , suffering, desperation, a last stop on the journey thru life for some who had lost their way.

As a kid, Skid Row was home to the Main Street Gym, so it would it would become a place I would know, and in an odd sense, respect. As much disrespect the inhabitants of Los Angeles Skid Row got from society, I chose to respect these old bums, the young drug addicts shaking in an alley desperate for a "fix", the glorious transvestites who paraded the block in their over-the-top fem attire, and even the cops, who would make their rounds every couple of hours in a paddy wagon. In those days, the police would just scoop their unconcious bodies off the sidewalk or out of the gutter and load them into their wagon, then take them "sleep off" their night of drinking in jail for awhile.

For those lucky enough, shelter could be found down the block at the Midnight Mission, or around the corner at the Union Rescue Mission. Food would be served there, but the beds would fill up early in the evening for those hoping to sleep on something softer than concrete.

I was twelve when I saw Skid Row for the first time. I'd see it when my grandfather or dad would drive me to the Main Street Gym for my Saturday morning workout. During the weekend, the Johnnie Flores Gym was closed, and I wanted to train around the best in the world when I had the chance. There was no better place on earth for me to train in the company of world champions and top contenders than the Main Street Gym. One day a week was not enough for me, but my dad and grandpa wanted sundays for themselves and knowing my penchant for getting into trouble, they did not want me to walk around Skid Row by myself.

I found that the local RTD bus system had a line that went from a bus stop off in front of Burbank High School, on San Fernando Road, directly to the L.A. Times Bldg. on the corner of 2nd & Spring St. downtown. The Main Street Gym was right around the corner from the Times building. To hide my travel plans from my mother, I'd load my gym bag with a baseball glove and a hard ball, giving the impression that I was headed up the hill to the park for some "batting practice", etc. The round-trip bus fare was exactly sixty cents, and took less than an hour one way.

I'd wake early on Sunday morning, pack my bag, and head for the bus stop a couple blocks away. The 24G line would take me south on San Fernando Road, thru Lincoln Heights, across the L.A. river to North Broadway. When we'd pass thru "China Town", below Dodger Stadium, the bus would cut over to Spring St. and head south to the L.A. Times building where I'd depart the bus and walk over to Main St. and down one block to the gym.

I took great pride in being a boxer. And I wanted the residents of Skid Row to know that I wasn't just a little punk white kid from the Valley (as if they cared), so I'd always tie my training gloves together by the laces and sling them over my shoulder as I walked. It was kinda like a "jail house routine", I didn't face anybody off, kept to myself and kept moving. I didn't want my mom getting a call from the LAPD to come pick her son at the police station. It didn't take my mother long to figure out what was going on and soon I was allowed to make my Sunday workout travels without sneaking around. The deal was I'd have to bring my little brother, Rob. I would train four days a week at Flores Gym in the Valley, and had both Saturday and Sunday at Main Street.

My brother and I would wander Main Street after my workout, checking out the pawn shops, an underground pool hall between 4th & 5th Streets. There was a Mexican cafe a few doors down. More than once I looked thru the cafe window as I passed and would see the likes of George Parnassus with a couple of managers and a world class Mexican boxer or two. The street was loaded with low end porn theatres and galleries and directly across the street from the gym was an ancient burlesque house, a place I always wanted to slip into but never could. By the time I was old enough it was long gone.

Many years later, I would quit boxing and find work in the film industry. At the time, when I was breaking into the business at Universal, the studio was very busy and I would work on a variety of their TV productions. When I was on the crew for TV series such as "Baretta" or "Kojak", it was common for us to film on Skid Row.

Baretta filmed a lot around 5th & 6th, in the Main and Spring Street area. We'd do a lot of work at the old King Edward Hotel, less than a block from the Coles French-Dip Sandwich restaurant.

This was when I would see Skid Row after dark, for the first time. This is when the street really got wild. Hookers, both straight and transvestite, would do their thing everywhere and anywhere.

The one thing we hated about filming on Skid Row were the alleys. Those alley's are known to us in the industry as "Shit Alley". The reason is obvious, it's where the derelicts would relieve themselves. As a lighting tech, when we'd rig the alleys with cable, we'd have to be careful where we laid it.

Usually, shooting in "Shit Alley" required a water tank truck full of water and bleach, to spray the area in attempt to disinfect it prior to our rigging. Another interesting thing about those alleys are the rats! Skid Row rats often lager than the average house cat, and they are everywhere.

I would always get a kick out of lighting the alley directly behind the old "Alexandria Hotel", and I've done it many times, as recently as last year. I recall that in the early 80's, I was a new lighting director, and was shooting a TV movie with actress Dyan Cannon. Dyan knew I had boxed and would always ask me to escort her from her motor home to the set, after it was lit and ready to film. That wasn't my job, we had production assistants for that, however, she liked to talk about the area and I had a few stories. Anything for Dyan Cannon, she is one of my all-time favorites to work with, and I've worked with her a number of times over the years.

Another memory took place right behind the Rosslyn Hotel, in the alley behind Main Street. In Michael Landon's last film project, a pilot for a new series that would have been called "Us" (Landon died a few months later so the series never to be), we shot a scene late on a friday night behind the hotel.

As we filmed in the alley, a couple of the hotel "residents" decided to urinate in cups and throw them down on the cast. Landon was furious and saw the window from which a cup had been thrown from the 5th floor. Michael never considered himself "special" like a lot of actors, just a blue collar film maker who would stand up to those who crossed him.

I see Landon heading over to the front door of the Rosslyn, he was angry and was going to get the person who threw it. I didn't try to stop Michael but decided to walk with him. Mike was possibly biting off more than he could chew. I told my assistant to grab one of the cops and luckily Landon was persueded to "forget about it".

Skid Row is not the same anymore. Today you have Starbucks, the old hotels are now upscale lofts and the bums have been replaced by trendy women in designer skirts, walking their pure bred canines.

I guess change is good, but I really miss Skid Row, the way it once was.


-Rick Farris

Randyman wrote:

kikibalt wrote:

Chuck1052 wrote:Alberto Davila was one of my favorites because of he had such a beautiful boxing style. I also enjoyed seeing Frankie Duarte in action because he came to fight and had all of the heart in the world, but his big fault was that he was so easy to hit.

I was in the cheap seats during the second bout between Davila and Duarte, so I may not have had the best possible view. But it was my impression that Davila was winning by a margin before the bout was halted.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck...I was sitting ringside for that fight, and I agree with you that Davila was ahead in the fight, for not the cut I think Albert would have won the fight, I don't think he would have stopped Frankie though....Great fight either way....

Frank, we had to be seated somewhat close. I was sitting near Alberto Sandavol and spent much of the time talking with him. You had to be nearby.

Like you and Chuck, I thought Davila had the edge. That's what made it a tough loss. Not taking anything away from Duarte. He had a big heart. It ranks as one of the best.

Randy

kikibalt wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:Skid Row . . .

Everything changes. I guess change is good, it gives us something to look back on. Skid Row is certainly not full of warm memories for most, just pain , suffering, desperation, a last stop on the journey thru life for some who had lost their way.

As a kid, Skid Row was home to the Main Street Gym, so it would it would become a place I would know, and in an odd sense, respect. As much disrespect the inhabitants of Los Angeles Skid Row got from society, I chose to respect these old bums, the young drug addicts shaking in an alley desperate for a "fix", the glorious transvestites who paraded the block in their over-the-top fem attire, and even the cops, who would make their rounds every couple of hours in a paddy wagon. In those days, the police would just scoop their unconcious bodies off the sidewalk or out of the gutter and load them into their wagon, then take them "sleep off" their night of drinking in jail for awhile.

For those lucky enough, shelter could be found down the block at the Midnight Mission, or around the corner at the Union Rescue Mission. Food would be served there, but the beds would fill up early in the evening for those hoping to sleep on something softer than concrete.

I was twelve when I saw Skid Row for the first time. I'd see it when my grandfather or dad would drive me to the Main Street Gym for my Saturday morning workout. During the weekend, the Johnnie Flores Gym was closed, and I wanted to train around the best in the world when I had the chance. There was no better place on earth for me to train in the company of world champions and top contenders than the Main Street Gym. One day a week was not enough for me, but my dad and grandpa wanted sundays for themselves and knowing my penchant for getting into trouble, they did not want me to walk around Skid Row by myself.

I found that the local RTD bus system had a line that went from a bus stop off in front of Burbank High School, on San Fernando Road, directly to the L.A. Times Bldg. on the corner of 2nd & Spring St. downtown. The Main Street Gym was right around the corner from the Times building. To hide my travel plans from my mother, I'd load my gym bag with a baseball glove and a hard ball, giving the impression that I was headed up the hill to the park for some "batting practice", etc. The round-trip bus fare was exactly sixty cents, and took less than an hour one way.

I'd wake early on Sunday morning, pack my bag, and head for the bus stop a couple blocks away. The 24G line would take me south on San Fernando Road, thru Lincoln Heights, across the L.A. river to North Broadway. When we'd pass thru "China Town", below Dodger Stadium, the bus would cut over to Spring St. and head south to the L.A. Times building where I'd depart the bus and walk over to Main St. and down one block to the gym.

I took great pride in being a boxer. And I wanted the residents of Skid Row to know that I wasn't just a little punk white kid from the Valley (as if they cared), so I'd always tie my training gloves together by the laces and sling them over my shoulder as I walked. It was kinda like a "jail house routine", I didn't face anybody off, kept to myself and kept moving. I didn't want my mom getting a call from the LAPD to come pick her son at the police station. It didn't take my mother long to figure out what was going on and soon I was allowed to make my Sunday workout travels without sneaking around. The deal was I'd have to bring my little brother, Rob. I would train four days a week at Flores Gym in the Valley, and had both Saturday and Sunday at Main Street.

My brother and I would wander Main Street after my workout, checking out the pawn shops, an underground pool hall between 4th & 5th Streets. There was a Mexican cafe a few doors down. More than once I looked thru the cafe window as I passed and would see the likes of George Parnassus with a couple of managers and a world class Mexican boxer or two. The street was loaded with low end porn theatres and galleries and directly across the street from the gym was an ancient burlesque house, a place I always wanted to slip into but never could. By the time I was old enough it was long gone.

Many years later, I would quit boxing and find work in the film industry. At the time, when I was breaking into the business at Universal, the studio was very busy and I would work on a variety of their TV productions. When I was on the crew for TV series such as "Baretta" or "Kojak", it was common for us to film on Skid Row.

Baretta filmed a lot around 5th & 6th, in the Main and Spring Street area. We'd do a lot of work at the old King Edward Hotel, less than a block from the Coles French-Dip Sandwich restaurant.

This was when I would see Skid Row after dark, for the first time. This is when the street really got wild. Hookers, both straight and transvestite, would do their thing everywhere and anywhere.

The one thing we hated about filming on Skid Row were the alleys. Those alley's are known to us in the industry as "Shit Alley". The reason is obvious, it's where the derelicts would relieve themselves. As a lighting tech, when we'd rig the alleys with cable, we'd have to be careful where we laid it.

Usually, shooting in "Shit Alley" required a water tank truck full of water and bleach, to spray the area in attempt to disinfect it prior to our rigging. Another interesting thing about those alleys are the rats! Skid Row rats often lager than the average house cat, and they are everywhere.

I would always get a kick out of lighting the alley directly behind the old "Alexandria Hotel", and I've done it many times, as recently as last year. I recall that in the early 80's, I was a new lighting director, and was shooting a TV movie with actress Dyan Cannon. Dyan knew I had boxed and would always ask me to escort her from her motor home to the set, after it was lit and ready to film. That wasn't my job, we had production assistants for that, however, she liked to talk about the area and I had a few stories. Anything for Dyan Cannon, she is one of my all-time favorites to work with, and I've worked with her a number of times over the years.

Another memory took place right behind the Rosslyn Hotel, in the alley behind Main Street. In Michael Landon's last film project, a pilot for a new series that would have been called "Us" (Landon died a few months later so the series never to be), we shot a scene late on a friday night behind the hotel.

As we filmed in the alley, a couple of the hotel "residents" decided to urinate in cups and throw them down on the cast. Landon was furious and saw the window from which a cup had been thrown from the 5th floor. Michael never considered himself "special" like a lot of actors, just a blue collar film maker who would stand up to those who crossed him.

I see Landon heading over to the front door of the Rosslyn, he was angry and was going to get the person who threw it. I didn't try to stop Michael but decided to walk with him. Mike was possibly biting off more than he could chew. I told my assistant to grab one of the cops and luckily Landon was persueded to "forget about it".

Skid Row is not the same anymore. Today you have Starbucks, the old hotels are now upscale lofts and the bums have been replaced by trendy women in designer skirts, walking their pure bred canines.

I guess change is good, but I really miss Skid Row, the way it once was.


-Rick Farris

Rick...When I was a young teenager, 13-14-15 years old my friends and I would ride our bikes or take the street car downtown to hang out on the back door of the Follies Burlesque Theatre, the backdoor man and the "Ladies" would pay us to make booze and cigarettes runs to a store on Main St. the guy running the store was ok with that, made a little cash and got to see titties...

kikibalt wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:Skid Row . . .

Everything changes. I guess change is good, it gives us something to look back on. Skid Row is certainly not full of warm memories for most, just pain , suffering, desperation, a last stop on the journey thru life for some who had lost their way.

As a kid, Skid Row was home to the Main Street Gym, so it would it would become a place I would know, and in an odd sense, respect. As much disrespect the inhabitants of Los Angeles Skid Row got from society, I chose to respect these old bums, the young drug addicts shaking in an alley desperate for a "fix", the glorious transvestites who paraded the block in their over-the-top fem attire, and even the cops, who would make their rounds every couple of hours in a paddy wagon. In those days, the police would just scoop their unconcious bodies off the sidewalk or out of the gutter and load them into their wagon, then take them "sleep off" their night of drinking in jail for awhile.

For those lucky enough, shelter could be found down the block at the Midnight Mission, or around the corner at the Union Rescue Mission. Food would be served there, but the beds would fill up early in the evening for those hoping to sleep on something softer than concrete.

I was twelve when I saw Skid Row for the first time. I'd see it when my grandfather or dad would drive me to the Main Street Gym for my Saturday morning workout. During the weekend, the Johnnie Flores Gym was closed, and I wanted to train around the best in the world when I had the chance. There was no better place on earth for me to train in the company of world champions and top contenders than the Main Street Gym. One day a week was not enough for me, but my dad and grandpa wanted sundays for themselves and knowing my penchant for getting into trouble, they did not want me to walk around Skid Row by myself.

I found that the local RTD bus system had a line that went from a bus stop off in front of Burbank High School, on San Fernando Road, directly to the L.A. Times Bldg. on the corner of 2nd & Spring St. downtown. The Main Street Gym was right around the corner from the Times building. To hide my travel plans from my mother, I'd load my gym bag with a baseball glove and a hard ball, giving the impression that I was headed up the hill to the park for some "batting practice", etc. The round-trip bus fare was exactly sixty cents, and took less than an hour one way.

I'd wake early on Sunday morning, pack my bag, and head for the bus stop a couple blocks away. The 24G line would take me south on San Fernando Road, thru Lincoln Heights, across the L.A. river to North Broadway. When we'd pass thru "China Town", below Dodger Stadium, the bus would cut over to Spring St. and head south to the L.A. Times building where I'd depart the bus and walk over to Main St. and down one block to the gym.

I took great pride in being a boxer. And I wanted the residents of Skid Row to know that I wasn't just a little punk white kid from the Valley (as if they cared), so I'd always tie my training gloves together by the laces and sling them over my shoulder as I walked. It was kinda like a "jail house routine", I didn't face anybody off, kept to myself and kept moving. I didn't want my mom getting a call from the LAPD to come pick her son at the police station. It didn't take my mother long to figure out what was going on and soon I was allowed to make my Sunday workout travels without sneaking around. The deal was I'd have to bring my little brother, Rob. I would train four days a week at Flores Gym in the Valley, and had both Saturday and Sunday at Main Street.

My brother and I would wander Main Street after my workout, checking out the pawn shops, an underground pool hall between 4th & 5th Streets. There was a Mexican cafe a few doors down. More than once I looked thru the cafe window as I passed and would see the likes of George Parnassus with a couple of managers and a world class Mexican boxer or two. The street was loaded with low end porn theatres and galleries and directly across the street from the gym was an ancient burlesque house, a place I always wanted to slip into but never could. By the time I was old enough it was long gone.

Many years later, I would quit boxing and find work in the film industry. At the time, when I was breaking into the business at Universal, the studio was very busy and I would work on a variety of their TV productions. When I was on the crew for TV series such as "Baretta" or "Kojak", it was common for us to film on Skid Row.

Baretta filmed a lot around 5th & 6th, in the Main and Spring Street area. We'd do a lot of work at the old King Edward Hotel, less than a block from the Coles French-Dip Sandwich restaurant.

This was when I would see Skid Row after dark, for the first time. This is when the street really got wild. Hookers, both straight and transvestite, would do their thing everywhere and anywhere.

The one thing we hated about filming on Skid Row were the alleys. Those alley's are known to us in the industry as "Shit Alley". The reason is obvious, it's where the derelicts would relieve themselves. As a lighting tech, when we'd rig the alleys with cable, we'd have to be careful where we laid it.

Usually, shooting in "Shit Alley" required a water tank truck full of water and bleach, to spray the area in attempt to disinfect it prior to our rigging. Another interesting thing about those alleys are the rats! Skid Row rats often lager than the average house cat, and they are everywhere.

I would always get a kick out of lighting the alley directly behind the old "Alexandria Hotel", and I've done it many times, as recently as last year. I recall that in the early 80's, I was a new lighting director, and was shooting a TV movie with actress Dyan Cannon. Dyan knew I had boxed and would always ask me to escort her from her motor home to the set, after it was lit and ready to film. That wasn't my job, we had production assistants for that, however, she liked to talk about the area and I had a few stories. Anything for Dyan Cannon, she is one of my all-time favorites to work with, and I've worked with her a number of times over the years.

Another memory took place right behind the Rosslyn Hotel, in the alley behind Main Street. In Michael Landon's last film project, a pilot for a new series that would have been called "Us" (Landon died a few months later so the series never to be), we shot a scene late on a friday night behind the hotel.

As we filmed in the alley, a couple of the hotel "residents" decided to urinate in cups and throw them down on the cast. Landon was furious and saw the window from which a cup had been thrown from the 5th floor. Michael never considered himself "special" like a lot of actors, just a blue collar film maker who would stand up to those who crossed him.

I see Landon heading over to the front door of the Rosslyn, he was angry and was going to get the person who threw it. I didn't try to stop Michael but decided to walk with him. Mike was possibly biting off more than he could chew. I told my assistant to grab one of the cops and luckily Landon was persueded to "forget about it".

Skid Row is not the same anymore. Today you have Starbucks, the old hotels are now upscale lofts and the bums have been replaced by trendy women in designer skirts, walking their pure bred canines.

I guess change is good, but I really miss Skid Row, the way it once was.


-Rick Farris

Rick...When I was a young teenager, 13-14-15 years old my friends and I would ride our bikes or take the street car downtown to hang out on the back door of the Follies Burlesque Theatre, the backdoor man and the "Ladies" would pay us to make booze and cigarettes runs to a store on Main St. the guy running the store was ok with that, made a little cash and got to see titties...

Randyman wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Frankie Durate vs Albert Davila

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEHrJpVjrWk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gL_zhmonucE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFqpEsSjPMU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLnAZ6_4BYA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5utFqqAmmx8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lrj7lgZAND8

Sometimes a picture tells the best story . . .

When I saw Frank had posted the link to the Duarte vs. Davila II war, I remembered the day it was fought and how I recorded it on VHS from the CBS broadcast. I carried that tape thru my travels, along with many others that I believed defined what I consider to be legendary West Coast prizefighting of the day.

I watched this one over and over, in slow motion, stop-action, dissecting every single blow. I wanted to see if certain shots really landed, or appeared to have been more damamging than they actually were. This fight was a great one to break down in that manner. Another was Roberto Duran's beat down of Davey Moore. Replay these bouts slowly and watch closely, and you'll see punches that did far more damage than a split-second hint you got when you first watched in real time.

As I mentioned, I carried this fight tape with me. Perhaps it was a little personal pride for two guys that came up in my era, in the same place that I did. Like me, these guys were Junior Golden Glovers. They had the same Gold & Blue satin Jr. GG's Championship jacket that I had, as does the Baltazar's, the Quarry's, the Sandoval's, etc.

Whenever I'd have a visitor, one that was a bit over the top about the tremendous action he saw in a Roy Jones fight, I'd pull out my Duate-Davila tape and sit them down. This tape allowed me to be "speechless", I didn't have to say a word, but I was going to show him what we considered great, but almost common in the City of Angels. These were L.A. guys, specifically, Venice for Frankie Duarte (he actually lived in nearby Rancho Park and attended Venice High School) and Pomona for Albert Davila.

As Frank mentioned, Duarte was a Teamsters boy, and Louie J. his chief coach. As Jr. Glover, Albert Davila fought out of the Sacred Heart Boys Club in Pomona. Tony Cerda was his coach. I can remember Frankie Baltazar Jr. in the '68 JR. Gloves championship fight, matched with Albert's brother Armando in the finals. We were all that close, yet not always personally so. Over time you get to know the guys you see every couple weeks at the fights. We'd travel together, we'd lodge together, we'd fight each other, sometimes more than once. I always liked the travel, sometimes six of us packed into the back seat of a car, a few more up front with the driver. The driver's were the coaches, guys like Frank.

The coaches are the true heros of boxing. They usually develop talent, often right out of diapers, they teach them, drive them here and there, fight to get them the best matches, the best sparring, whatever edge they can provide. Then the kid turns pro, somebody with a few bucks approaches them, feeds them a line and the years of work put in by the coach fills somebody else's bank account. This happens every single day of the week. It's almost like tradition in boxing.

In '2000, I was living in Phoenix and working with boxers. There were two pretty hot prelim kids in our stable, and I worked closely with one that I never knew to lose. He was 18, had main event skills yet had only fought 4's and a six. His name was Homero Sierra, and his Boxrec stats show his good potential. This kid would have done great in L.A. when I was fighting. He just did everything right, had those instincts, the confidence, the toughness. We were going to take him to Las Vegas, a card at the "Orleans". We had made all the travel arrangements, lodging for the fighter, his manager/trainer, myself. We would drive from Phoenix. Goosen brother-in-law, Tom Brown, was the matchmaker. I hoped Richard would get this kid out of Phoenix, bring him to L.A. and get into the mainstream. Phoenix is a great place for boxers to be FROM. A lot of great promise has dried up in that desert.

We all meet at the gym. As Rambo (the boxer's ring name) and I wait in the gym office for his manager, I remember that I had left my VHS copy of the Duarte-Davila bout on the shelf, above the TV in the office. I used to play it to kids who were interested in seeing how L.A. bantam's fought a few years back. Of course, I'd intimate that "all" L.A. guys fought like this. That we all were just naturally blessed with Davila's blinding boxing skills, and Frankie's power and tenacity were required before the California Commission would even consider granting us a license.

I'd tell the kids, "El Huero" and "Tweety" are just typical of Los Angles boxers in the eighties. However, if you think they are good, you should have seen what we had in the 60's & 70's. And if we thought those were good, you should have seen what L.A. had in the 40's and 50's. I'd look them in the eye and in my most serious voice tell them, "and we don't even want to consider how tough the fighters were before that!"

I believe the best way to get thru to a kid is to make a strong first impression. Duarte vs. Davila II made such an impression, and supported my BS claim.

I play the tape for Rambo. In the second round, manager Richard Rodriguez arrives, sees the action and sits down without speaking. Rodriguez knows all about L.A. fighters, fighting both amateur and pro bouts at the Olympic in the late 50's & early 60's, as well as the L.A. boys who came to Phoenix. Rodriguez met them in prelims at Phoenix's Madison Square Garden, or in sparring sessions at his own Madison Gym. By the bell opening round three, both boxer and manager had moved closer to the TV, they are now leaning forward in their chairs.

"Duarte goes down!" A short, picture-perfect hook sits "El Huero" on the canvas. Rodriguez and Rambo are suddenly on their feet. "Did you see that!", Rambo shouts. Duarte's face said it all, he shakes his head, pounds the canvas with his glove and climbs to his feet. Duarte rises from the canvas, Davila gets cut, and we know the rest. Everytime I see the fight, I still get excited, the energy does wonders for the spirit of a true boxing personality.

As I looked around the room, after the fight had been stopped, I notice that another half dozen people had come in and were standing watching the screen. All were going overboard about the great action. One of the less knowledgable observers, a Roy Jone's die-hard, had to admit, "We'll never see Roy in one like that."

Roy Jones ain't from L.A.


-Rick Farris

Rick, God has truly blessed you, my friend, with terrific writing skills. You leave me in awe. As a born and bred Angeleno, I appreciate not only your sense of history, as well as your delivery but your uncompromising sense of loyalty to the L.A. fighters and their place in Boxing's history.

There is magic happening on this thread. I think this is the genesis of something big, somewhere down the line. I believe we all have a sense of that. I am proud, honored and humbled just to be a small part of this great group. Yeah, there is definitely something going on here.

Randy

Rick Farris wrote:

kikibalt wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:Skid Row . . .

Everything changes. I guess change is good, it gives us something to look back on. Skid Row is certainly not full of warm memories for most, just pain , suffering, desperation, a last stop on the journey thru life for some who had lost their way.

As a kid, Skid Row was home to the Main Street Gym, so it would it would become a place I would know, and in an odd sense, respect. As much disrespect the inhabitants of Los Angeles Skid Row got from society, I chose to respect these old bums, the young drug addicts shaking in an alley desperate for a "fix", the glorious transvestites who paraded the block in their over-the-top fem attire, and even the cops, who would make their rounds every couple of hours in a paddy wagon. In those days, the police would just scoop their unconcious bodies off the sidewalk or out of the gutter and load them into their wagon, then take them "sleep off" their night of drinking in jail for awhile.

For those lucky enough, shelter could be found down the block at the Midnight Mission, or around the corner at the Union Rescue Mission. Food would be served there, but the beds would fill up early in the evening for those hoping to sleep on something softer than concrete.

I was twelve when I saw Skid Row for the first time. I'd see it when my grandfather or dad would drive me to the Main Street Gym for my Saturday morning workout. During the weekend, the Johnnie Flores Gym was closed, and I wanted to train around the best in the world when I had the chance. There was no better place on earth for me to train in the company of world champions and top contenders than the Main Street Gym. One day a week was not enough for me, but my dad and grandpa wanted sundays for themselves and knowing my penchant for getting into trouble, they did not want me to walk around Skid Row by myself.

I found that the local RTD bus system had a line that went from a bus stop off in front of Burbank High School, on San Fernando Road, directly to the L.A. Times Bldg. on the corner of 2nd & Spring St. downtown. The Main Street Gym was right around the corner from the Times building. To hide my travel plans from my mother, I'd load my gym bag with a baseball glove and a hard ball, giving the impression that I was headed up the hill to the park for some "batting practice", etc. The round-trip bus fare was exactly sixty cents, and took less than an hour one way.

I'd wake early on Sunday morning, pack my bag, and head for the bus stop a couple blocks away. The 24G line would take me south on San Fernando Road, thru Lincoln Heights, across the L.A. river to North Broadway. When we'd pass thru "China Town", below Dodger Stadium, the bus would cut over to Spring St. and head south to the L.A. Times building where I'd depart the bus and walk over to Main St. and down one block to the gym.

I took great pride in being a boxer. And I wanted the residents of Skid Row to know that I wasn't just a little punk white kid from the Valley (as if they cared), so I'd always tie my training gloves together by the laces and sling them over my shoulder as I walked. It was kinda like a "jail house routine", I didn't face anybody off, kept to myself and kept moving. I didn't want my mom getting a call from the LAPD to come pick her son at the police station. It didn't take my mother long to figure out what was going on and soon I was allowed to make my Sunday workout travels without sneaking around. The deal was I'd have to bring my little brother, Rob. I would train four days a week at Flores Gym in the Valley, and had both Saturday and Sunday at Main Street.

My brother and I would wander Main Street after my workout, checking out the pawn shops, an underground pool hall between 4th & 5th Streets. There was a Mexican cafe a few doors down. More than once I looked thru the cafe window as I passed and would see the likes of George Parnassus with a couple of managers and a world class Mexican boxer or two. The street was loaded with low end porn theatres and galleries and directly across the street from the gym was an ancient burlesque house, a place I always wanted to slip into but never could. By the time I was old enough it was long gone.

Many years later, I would quit boxing and find work in the film industry. At the time, when I was breaking into the business at Universal, the studio was very busy and I would work on a variety of their TV productions. When I was on the crew for TV series such as "Baretta" or "Kojak", it was common for us to film on Skid Row.

Baretta filmed a lot around 5th & 6th, in the Main and Spring Street area. We'd do a lot of work at the old King Edward Hotel, less than a block from the Coles French-Dip Sandwich restaurant.

This was when I would see Skid Row after dark, for the first time. This is when the street really got wild. Hookers, both straight and transvestite, would do their thing everywhere and anywhere.

The one thing we hated about filming on Skid Row were the alleys. Those alley's are known to us in the industry as "Shit Alley". The reason is obvious, it's where the derelicts would relieve themselves. As a lighting tech, when we'd rig the alleys with cable, we'd have to be careful where we laid it.

Usually, shooting in "Shit Alley" required a water tank truck full of water and bleach, to spray the area in attempt to disinfect it prior to our rigging. Another interesting thing about those alleys are the rats! Skid Row rats often lager than the average house cat, and they are everywhere.

I would always get a kick out of lighting the alley directly behind the old "Alexandria Hotel", and I've done it many times, as recently as last year. I recall that in the early 80's, I was a new lighting director, and was shooting a TV movie with actress Dyan Cannon. Dyan knew I had boxed and would always ask me to escort her from her motor home to the set, after it was lit and ready to film. That wasn't my job, we had production assistants for that, however, she liked to talk about the area and I had a few stories. Anything for Dyan Cannon, she is one of my all-time favorites to work with, and I've worked with her a number of times over the years.

Another memory took place right behind the Rosslyn Hotel, in the alley behind Main Street. In Michael Landon's last film project, a pilot for a new series that would have been called "Us" (Landon died a few months later so the series never to be), we shot a scene late on a friday night behind the hotel.

As we filmed in the alley, a couple of the hotel "residents" decided to urinate in cups and throw them down on the cast. Landon was furious and saw the window from which a cup had been thrown from the 5th floor. Michael never considered himself "special" like a lot of actors, just a blue collar film maker who would stand up to those who crossed him.

I see Landon heading over to the front door of the Rosslyn, he was angry and was going to get the person who threw it. I didn't try to stop Michael but decided to walk with him. Mike was possibly biting off more than he could chew. I told my assistant to grab one of the cops and luckily Landon was persueded to "forget about it".

Skid Row is not the same anymore. Today you have Starbucks, the old hotels are now upscale lofts and the bums have been replaced by trendy women in designer skirts, walking their pure bred canines.

I guess change is good, but I really miss Skid Row, the way it once was.


-Rick Farris

Rick...When I was a young teenager, 13-14-15 years old my friends and I would ride our bikes or take the street car downtown to hang out on the back door of the Follies Burlesque Theatre, the backdoor man and the "Ladies" would pay us to make booze and cigarettes runs to a store on Main St. the guy running the store was ok with that, made a little cash and got to see titties...

Getting In . . .

Frank . . . That would have been roughly 15 years before I was down there. I should have been more inventive, my heavyweight stablemate Kit Boursse' was 15, but he looked 18 or 19. I was 13, looked like I was eleven. Al and I walk-up to the ticket window and try to buy our way in, as if the guy at the window wouldn't notice Beaver Cleaver with big brother Wally.

The guy looks at Kit and says, "You can go in." He then looks down at me and says, "You get outta here!". Kit wasn't going to miss his chance, so I just returned to the gym and waited for him to come back with a report, and hopefully a way to sneak me in. In the end, I think I got the best end of the deal. I got back to the gym just in time to see Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez go toe-to-toe with California Middleweight Champ, "Joltin" Johnny Smith. This turned out to be one of the best sparring wars I ever saw, and I saw many in that gym over the years.

About a half hour later, Boursse' returns to the gym and tells me I didn't miss much. "Just some old broad who had to be in her fifties, a few pervs in the audience, an old guy with a straw hat playing a piano with a cigarette hanging from his lips. When the old gal finally revealed her boobs, they hung down to her waist, like a pair of deflated volley balls."

And just for the record . . . Thanks "Indian Red", you and Johnny Smith put on a show that was equal to anything that ever took place in a Philly gym. The Follies Theatre, as Kit described it to me, sounded like something out of the "Twilight Zone". Still, I wish I could have seen it from the inside.


-Rick Farris

dagosd2000 wrote:

Hey fellas',this is how I eat chicken soup. My wife is making it right now.

F---k that Campbells crap.

Randyman wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:

Hey fellas',this is how I eat chicken soup. My wife is making it right now.

F---k that Campbells crap.

Rog, Caldo De Pollo (Chicken Soup) one of my favorites and a soup that Jeri makes as well. She tops it off with cabbage. It is delicious. Especially during the wintertime. Whenever I feel a cold or flu coming on, this is the only medicine I need. It's like Popeye with spinach.

Randy

And yes, F---k that Campbells crap. (tomato soup being the lone exception)

Rick Farris wrote:I don't think Philly has a monopoly on gym wars either. As you well know, on any given day in an L.A. gym, there was a battle being waged. One that lives with me also had a Lopez in it. Ernie's little brother, Danny "Little Red" Lopez and Bobby Chacon. It was a Saturday afternoon sometime in 1976. I know it was a Saturday because Bobby and Joe Ponce, with few exceptions, only came by the Main Street Gym on the weekend. Almost always on a Saturday.

When they sparred the gym came to a standstill. What made this particularly great was that they were real honest to goodness cross town rivals, albeit friendly ones. Danny had already been stopped by Bobby a few years earlier at the Sports Arena and he was, at that time, in a better place in his career than Bobby was. Bobby of course, wanted to prove he was still the fighter that beat Lopez, and Danny, for his part, wanted to prove he was no longer in Chacon's shadow. I had the sense that this was the first time they had been in the ring since their fight.

When they stepped into the ring it was obvious both guys had something to prove, to themselves and to each other. Every fighter and trainer and anyone that was lucky enough to be in the gym that day got the unexpected treat of a lifetime. A gym war between Lopez and Chacon. I was one of the lucky ones. I was working out that day. like everyone else I just stopped what I was doing, worked my way to the front of the crowd and watched them spar. As was expected, it was a war. When it was over all you could do was shake your head.

L.A. stands with the best of them.

Randy
____________________________________________________________________________________________________


Randy . . . I boxed many, many rounds with Danny Lopez between '69-'75. I boxed a number times with Bobby Chacon as well, in fact, his very first gym sparring session was with me, at Flores Gym in '67. When you tell the story above, you tell it just how it was, with regard to their attitudes.

I wasn't there the day you wrote about, but I know you hit the nail on the head when you described what both felt "they had to prove." That is a classic L.A. Gym war. Thanks for sharing it.

-Rick

kikibalt wrote:Calling on mom but, Connie can make a good Pollo, Cocido and Albondigas soups too, she too used to make homemade tortillas until my dad talked to her but, that another story for another day....

Expug wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:I don't think Philly has a monopoly on gym wars either. As you well know, on any given day in an L.A. gym, there was a battle being waged. One that lives with me also had a Lopez in it. Ernie's little brother, Danny "Little Red" Lopez and Bobby Chacon. It was a Saturday afternoon sometime in 1976. I know it was a Saturday because Bobby and Joe Ponce, with few exceptions, only came by the Main Street Gym on the weekend. Almost always on a Saturday.

When they sparred the gym came to a standstill. What made this particularly great was that they were real honest to goodness cross town rivals, albeit friendly ones. Danny had already been stopped by Bobby a few years earlier at the Sports Arena and he was, at that time, in a better place in his career than Bobby was. Bobby of course, wanted to prove he was still the fighter that beat Lopez, and Danny, for his part, wanted to prove he was no longer in Chacon's shadow. I had the sense that this was the first time they had been in the ring since their fight.

When they stepped into the ring it was obvious both guys had something to prove, to themselves and to each other. Every fighter and trainer and anyone that was lucky enough to be in the gym that day got the unexpected treat of a lifetime. A gym war between Lopez and Chacon. I was one of the lucky ones. I was working out that day. like everyone else I just stopped what I was doing, worked my way to the front of the crowd and watched them spar. As was expected, it was a war. When it was over all you could do was shake your head.

L.A. stands with the best of them.

Randy
____________________________________________________________________________________________________


Randy . . . I boxed many, many rounds with Danny Lopez between '69-'75. I boxed a number times with Bobby Chacon as well, in fact, his very first gym sparring session was with me, at Flores Gym in '67. When you tell the story above, you tell it just how it was, with regard to their attitudes.

I wasn't there the day you wrote about, but I know you hit the nail on the head when you described what both felt "they had to prove." That is a classic L.A. Gym war. Thanks for sharing it.

-Rick

Great stuff guys.
I love the stories of great gym rivalries.There are some great wars that go on that the public never gets to see.
Often when I would see the old guys who would sit ringside at the gym all day every day, some of them ex fighters, some not, I would think to myself that those guys got it figured out. They are spectators at the best sporting events in the world.
The heck with the pretty boys, why pay a zillion dollars for a ringside seat at MGM Grand in Vegas?
Hang out at the gym and watch the hungry fighters go at it tooth and nail for pride.
You can feel it in the gym too.Ya cant feel it in the crowd at a Vegas Hotel with yuppies yackin on cell phones waving trying to get on tv.

Wildhawke11 wrote:Rocky Marciano v Jack Dempsey


Round 12

Time
0:00 The crowd are up on their feet as the bell sounds for Round 12, the final round of the fight.
0:06 Eddie Inabagsky seemed to pump up Dempsey between rounds.
0:06 Dempsey's corner didn't ignore the swelling he's suffered so far in this bout; however, even with the attention that they gave it, the puffiness doesn't look lessened much, if at all.

0:07 Dempsey gives a nice head feint and then lands a hook to the head of Marciano
0:07 And now Marciano is bleeding again from that last punch as his previous cut has been reopened.
0:07 Once again the blood from the gash on the inside of Marciano's left eyebrow begins to stream down his face as the bad cut he suffered earlier has reopened.
0:07 * The referee appears to be jockeying for position; he's moving more than the fighters. Apparently, he wants to get a better look at the cut above Marciano's eye. Now, he just steps in and stops the action. Burke is escorting Marciano over to the ringside doctor to get an opinion on the severity of the cut.

0:07 * The ringside physician is making a thorough examination of the cut, after having cleared away some of the blood. He's dabbing at the wound again and from the way all three participants, doctor, ref and fighter, are nodding their heads, it looks like this contest is going to get back underway. Referee Burke is indicating exactly that - the bout is going to continue; and both fighters are getting ready to start punching again.

0:22 Dempsey scores with a tremendous right just above the waistline!
0:22 Maricano was hurt by those blows!
0:34 Marciano moves into the near corner.
0:34 Dempsey scores with a quick one-two to Marciano's midsection
0:50 Dempsey just absorbed a terrifying shot to the body.
0:50 Jack Dempsey was stunned by that last flurry of punches!
01:06 Marciano looks to land a cross but misses the mark.
01:13 Marciano does a great job with subtle movement to avoid Dempsey's punches in close.
01:25 * Jack Dempsey goes down!! he walked right into a wicked hook from Marciano !!

01:28 Burke brings his arm down over Dempsey as he begins the count...
01:28 1...
01:29 2...
01:30 3...
01:31 Dempsey is in bad shape as he tries to regain his feet.
01:32 5...
01:33 6...
01:34 7...
01:35 8...
01:35 * Dempsey gets up on his feet! He doesn't look very steady...
01:35 Burke waves the two fighters together, he is allowing the fight to continue.

01:35 Dempsey is hurt. Marciano is a decent finisher, but sometimes he gets too excited and just wings wild punches. Let's see what he does here.
01:48 Marciano scores with a tremendous left!
01:48 How is Jack Dempsey standing after that?
01:52 Dempsey's eyes are becoming a complete mess as the swelling under them worsens.
01:57 Marciano scores with a nice right cross.
01:57 Marciano stunned Dempsey. Marciano knows how to finish an opponent when he has got one hurt, and he is going to work now!

02:01 Dempsey's right eye is little more than a slit right now as the swelling has just about closed it.
02:06 Marciano gets off a quick combination to the body
02:06 There's time for Marciano to finish Dempsey if he can do it.
02:10 Dempsey is looking toward Burke, almost as if to say "I've had enough. Get me out of this thing." This fight shouldn't continue much longer.
02:19 Marciano lands a devastating cross!
02:19 Dempsey looks hurt... He's stumbling backward!
02:28 Marciano fires a jab to the stomach
02:28 Marciano knows he has Dempsey hurt as he wades in swinging!
02:32 * Dempsey is exhausted. Burke jumps in and is waving it off!! It's over! The winner by TKO here in round 12...Marciano !



Fight Result

We go to the ring where Lupe Contreras is ready with the call...

Ladies and Gentlemen! The winner by technical knockout at the 02:33 mark in Round 12 is...

Rocky Marciano


Dont worry Dempsey fans and that includes me
Last time i fought them on my computer Dempsey stopped Rocky in the 4th by TKO
Danny


PS Rob who posts here also and my myself, were part of the team who helped test this simulation a couple of years back.

Expug wrote:Great stuff about Pac-Man Rick.
And damn, you have sparred with some all-time greats yourself.
Ive been in there with a few good guys, but nothing like Chacon, Olivares, Lil Red, etc.
Its funny though, after swapping with good pros, alot of other stuff in life seems much easier.
But, thats also the problem. Most other stuff can also be a little mundane.

Rick Farris wrote:

kikibalt wrote:Calling on mom but, Connie can make a good Pollo, Cocido and Albondigas soups too, she too used to make homemade tortillas until my dad talked to her but, that another story for another day....

You know, the ignorant who don't understand culture, geography or customs, somehow have it in their heads that all Latin traditions are similar. I have always loved great Mexican cooking, like what Connie, Maria and Jeri are able to produce (and don't let me forget our amigo, Randy).

In Brazil, they don't know what a tortilla is. The food and cooking is completely different. Brazil is a product many cultures, some European, African, etc. However, I will say that I have fallen in love with Monica's Brazilian cooking. And I might add, that like Randy and some of you here, Monica is a great cook, regardless of what she makes or from what culture. She has that gift, and I am the benefactor.

I'm useless in the kitchen. I know how to empty a regrigerator, and I know how to finanace what goes into a kitchen, but don't depend on me to make food edible, I'm not a participant in creating culinary art, just somebody who can make it disappear when everything is ready to eat.

To all of you who can do magic with food . . .


-Ricardo

Rick Farris wrote:Another Lopez-Chacon thought . . .

Early last year, when I interviewd Frank Blatazar Sr. for a story I wrote on the California Hall of Famer, he deferred to the "Little Red" Lopez-Bobby Chacon war.
Frank was describing the action of his all-time favorite six-round battle, between his buddy Keeny Teran and Gil Cadilli. That bout ended in a six-round draw as the semi-main to Enrique Bolanos-Eddie Chavez bout at the Hollywood Legion (a match made by Hap Navarro). As Frank described the fight from nearly six decades back, he compared it with the Lopez-Chacon bout of the mid 70's. That put the Teran-Cadilli fight in perfect perspective to me. It doesn't get any better than that.

-Rick Farris

Expug wrote:Great stuff about Pac-Man Rick.
And damn, you have sparred with some all-time greats yourself.
Ive been in there with a few good guys, but nothing like Chacon, Olivares, Lil Red, etc.
Its funny though, after swapping with good pros, alot of other stuff in life seems much easier.
But, thats also the problem. Most other stuff can also be a little mundane.

Wildhawke11 wrote:I had this one saved in my old mail Rick



Johnny Flores was the best story teller I ever knew, and he had decades worth of experiences to share.

One of these stories was about he & former heavyweight champ Joe Louis. In the 50's, Joe Louis promoted boxing in Hollywood in a night club called the "Moulan Rouge". Flores was his matchmaker.

Johnny and Joe Louis flew to Mexico, where Louis was to be honored by somebody. Now I forget, if it was in Guadalajara or Mexico City, but Flores told of a place where their hosts took them one night. It was a club called "Uncle Sam's" and Flores said it was about the roughest place he'd ever seen. The clientel was made up of local gangsters and so intimidating was this place, Louis was uncomfortable about getting out of the cab. Johnny thought this was funny, Hell, it was Joe Louis and he's afraid to go into this Mexican night club.

Flores convinces him things will be alright and Joe reluctantly goes in. When they get inside, one of the drunk patrons immediatly recognizes the Brown Bomber and challenges him to a fight. The host was upset and called the proprietor over who was a friend and whispered something in his ear. The owner nods and within seconds the patron was grabbed and led away by bouncers.

By now they are seated and Louis is sweating, totally uncomfortable. The owner returns and assures the host that the trouble maker would no longer be a problem. Louis can't understand what they are saying in Spanish and asks Johnny what's being said. Flores knew Louis was uncomfortable and thought he'd have some fun with him. Flores said not to worry about anybody starting any trouble the rest of the night, they made an example out of the man.

Louis was really confused now, "what do you mean they made an example out of him?" Flores looked at Louis in the eye and said, "they took him out back and shot him". Of course, Flores didn't know what they did with the guy, but Louis was now sick to his stomach and had to leave. Johnny looked at Louis and said, "Relax Joe, any more trouble makers and they'll take 'em out back and handle it".

Louis said, "You mean they killed that guy just because of that?" Flores said "Yeah, but that's because he bothered Joe Louis, normally they just cut off a hand if a guy hits somebody, or cut off their tounge if they get too loud. It's pretty mild right now, but just wait until midnight, things really get wild."

Louis said, "Call a cab, I'm gettin' out of here! Oh and tell them thank you very much."

Flores told the story so well we were all rolling with laughter, of course, hearing it second hand from me isn't the same. However, I'm just wondering, did you ever hear of an "Uncle Sam's" in either Guadalajara or Mexico City????