BoxRec

Thanks, Tom, for sharing Andy Rooney with us, thats going on my blog.

An Evening In Roma. 2005

Adam in the guitar shop. Seville 2008

On a side note, Rick, remember my 1958 Ford Station Wagon, full of kids ready to box?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Car Full of Kids Ready to Box . . .

I remember a lot of cars full of kids ready to box. I remember Frank's station wagon, my coach Manny Diaz's Buick Riviera, Johnnie Flores green Cadillac.

Manny was proud of that Buick, it was the first he'd ever bought brand new from the dealership. We used to pile into his old Chevy pick-up with the camper shell. Usually he and Bobby Bell would ride up front, however, we kids preferred to ride in the back and would roll around whenever Manny took a turn a little too fast. There were no seat belts laws in those days, and I don't remember anybody but the most paranoid even installing them. Picture seven or eight kids sitting in the back of a truck, laughing, cutting up . . . "Who the hell farted?". It was always Beto, he'd eat anything.

Manny Diaz was a heavy equipment operator. He'd operate the big land movers that would clear the path for a new freeway, or dig an underground parking structure for a new hospital. It was hard work. At 5'6", Manny had been one of Johnnie Flores best amateur middleweights in the late 50's, early 60's. He had whipped a number of the better L.A. amateurs during his career, including future heavyweight prospect Eddie Land. Manny never turned pro, he had a wife and family, and a good job. In those days it wasn't hard to find a job, if you were willing to work

After a couple years of rolling around in that old Chevy truck, Manny Diaz finally rewarded himself with a new Buick. Suddenly, there were rules that went along with riding in Manny's vehicle enroute to a Pee-Wee boxing show.

1.) NO FOOD or DRINKS in the car.
2.) NO NOISE, fighting, arguing, etc. (The car had an 8-track stereo tape player. All Manny wanted to hear was Jose Feliciano.)
3.) NO FARTING! (This was OK with us, but really put the pressure on poor Beto.)

Manny loved his new Riviera, we hated it. As comfortable as it was, there were too many rules. This is 1967, and a couple of months after buying the new car, Johnnie Flores tells me there is a kid's show taking place in Las Vegas, but that he would be in camp with Jerry Quarry and could not make the trip. Manny would be working that weekend, and he wouldn't be able to drive us (this was good news). In fact, I would be the only Johnny Flores boxer able to go, but I would need a ride. Johnny found one for me and it was perfect.

Another S.F. Valley amateur coach named "Owen" (I forget his last name) would pick me up at Johnnie's house about noon on Friday. I would ride with Owen and a few of his boxers to Las Vegas on Friday, we'd spend the night in some club, then we'd fight the next afternoon outdoors, where a ring was set-up in the infield of an auto race track just outside of town. After the fights, a "Destruction Derby" auto event was scheduled.

Owen's car, an old Caddy, was perfect to transport kids to and from boxing matches. The car was "bullet proof", and Owen didn't care if we spilled a soft drink, hung out the windows, made noise, whatever. Owen's rules were simple, "Just don't hurt yourselves, you gotta fight tomorrow." Farting? Well, just keep in mind that a fart might get you a whooping right in the back seat. We kids had our own rules, and if you broke 'em, you would have to answer to us.

We all got along great. I was neither the oldest boxer nor the youngest. As usual, I was the only white kid. Owen was black and so were his boxers. We'd stop for fast food along the way. Look at the girls. If I remember correctly, there were about seven or eight boxers packed into the Caddy. Owen was always smiling, soft spoken, polite. The older guys talked only of girls they'd see as we'd pass a car full of them. We were packed into the Caddy like Sardines in a can. Was it uncomfortable? Hell no, we had a blast all the way to Las Vegas.

When we finally arrived at our destination in downtown Las Vegas. Jake Horn, Louie and Frank Baltazar Sr. had arranged for food to be provided by MacDonalds, and I remember dozens of big bags full of hamburgers, fries, malts, soft drinks, etc. being delivered to this "club where we would spend the night, sleeping on cots lined up in barracks style. In the morning we have buffet at one of the downtown casinos.

Later that day we'd fight, and I remember I won, beating some kid from a Henderson, Nevada Boy's Club. (Those Vegas kids rarely won in a match with our L.A. kids.) When all was said and done, the "Outstanding Boxer" trophy went to one of our boys, a scraggly-haired kid from Pomona, Albert Davila. And as soon as he received his trophy, the ring was taken apart and the "Destruction Derby" began.

My parents had driven to Las Vegas that day. My boxing was a good excuse for them to blow off some steam in Vegas. After my fight, I left with them and they had gotten a room at the Hacienda Hotel, where Mel Greb was promoting pro boxing weekly (but not that weekend). At the time, the Hacienda bouts featured guys like Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Ferd Hernandez, Freddie Little and Adolph Pruitt. I would watch those bouts late at night on TV in L.A. when they were televised.

Although it was nice to have a soft bed to sleep in, I would have perferred to stay with the boxers and ride back with Owen and my new friends. Some of the best times of my youth were spent packed into the back of some coach's big, old car with boxers. In the cars we were just kids, same in the hotel's, fast food joints, etc. However, once were were in the ring, we were fighters and that's just what we did. When the final bell rang, it was back to being a kid.

To Frank, Owen, Johnnie, Manny, Jake, Bobby Bell, Louie, Noe and their cars . . .


-Rick Farris

WHAT STAYS IN THE PAST

Burke Emery didn't like anyone screwin' around when he was training his fighters. Most of the time he was alone working with his boys at the Coliseum. Art Hafey was his featured fighter. Art would always put on a good show. Burke tried to get him to use his right hand more,but his left hook had so much pop in it that most of the time that was all he needed.

The San Diego Coliseum kept pretty busy during those years. So Cal boxing was going strong. The fighters coming up from Mexico fed the area with competitive fighters that were filling seats in arenas from Mexicali to Los Angeles.

Art Hafey was real good. Almost had enough to become a champ. At featherweight he had no problem finding competition. Being a white fighter from Canada and possessing KO power,the rivalry between Hafey and Latino fighters was a given. Art made a living for a while knocking out opponents from across the border. Art's big break was when he went down to Monterrey Mexico and blew the wind out of Ruben Olivares with his big left hook to the panza. I wasn't there ,but ask Burke about it and he'll tell you that Olivares's mouth piece came shooting out of his mouth with a groan that could be heard in El Paso.

Hafey looked like he might reach the pinnacle,but it wasn't in the cards. To hear it from Burke and to hear it from Art is two different stories. Hafey lost the rematch with Ruben and then went down to Nicaragua to fight Alexis Arguello. Nothing in the win column there. Burke said that it was George Parmassus's idea to send Art to Alexis's country. Art says Burke overtained him and besides was starting to suffer nerve damage to his arms.

Emery owns his bar down the street from where I live.I talk to him once in a while,but he doesn't know where any of his fighters have wound up. Last he heard he thought Art was in Canada again. I guess Hafey hasn't made any overtures to contact his former trainer and manager.

Sometimes it works that way with boxing. What happened in the past stays there.

I want to thank all the fellas on the thread that say nice things about my family. I tell Amanda and Adam that the Box Rec boys are in their corners. It's a good feeling to know that. Rog

Rick Farris wrote:On a side note, Rick, remember my 1958 Ford Station Wagon, full of kids ready to box?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Car Full of Kids Ready to Box . . .

I remember a lot of cars full of kids ready to box. I remember Frank's station wagon, my coach Manny Diaz's Buick Riviera, Johnnie Flores green Cadillac.

Manny was proud of that Buick, it was the first he'd ever bought brand new from the dealership. We used to pile into his old Chevy pick-up with the camper shell. Usually he and Bobby Bell would ride up front, however, we kids preferred to ride in the back and would roll around whenever Manny took a turn a little too fast. There were no seat belts laws in those days, and I don't remember anybody but the most paranoid even installing them. Picture seven or eight kids sitting in the back of a truck, laughing, cutting up . . . "Who the hell farted?". It was always Beto, he'd eat anything.

Manny Diaz was a heavy equipment operator. He'd operate the big land movers that would clear the path for a new freeway, or dig an underground parking structure for a new hospital. It was hard work. At 5'6", Manny had been one of Johnnie Flores best amateur middleweights in the late 50's, early 60's. He had whipped a number of the better L.A. amateurs during his career, including future heavyweight prospect Eddie Land. Manny never turned pro, he had a wife and family, and a good job. In those days it wasn't hard to find a job, if you were willing to work

After a couple years of rolling around in that old Chevy truck, Manny Diaz finally rewarded himself with a new Buick. Suddenly, there were rules that went along with riding in Manny's vehicle enroute to a Pee-Wee boxing show.

1.) NO FOOD or DRINKS in the car.
2.) NO NOISE, fighting, arguing, etc. (The car had an 8-track stereo tape player. All Manny wanted to hear was Jose Feliciano.)
3.) NO FARTING! (This was OK with us, but really put the pressure on poor Beto.)

Manny loved his new Riviera, we hated it. As comfortable as it was, there were too many rules. This is 1967, and a couple of months after buying the new car, Johnnie Flores tells me there is a kid's show taking place in Las Vegas, but that he would be in camp with Jerry Quarry and could not make the trip. Manny would be working that weekend, and he wouldn't be able to drive us (this was good news). In fact, I would be the only Johnny Flores boxer able to go, but I would need a ride. Johnny found one for me and it was perfect.

Another S.F. Valley amateur coach named "Owen" (I forget his last name) would pick me up at Johnnie's house about noon on Friday. I would ride with Owen and a few of his boxers to Las Vegas on Friday, we'd spend the night in some club, then we'd fight the next afternoon outdoors, where a ring was set-up in the infield of an auto race track just outside of town. After the fights, a "Destruction Derby" auto event was scheduled.

Owen's car, an old Caddy, was perfect to transport kids to and from boxing matches. The car was "bullet proof", and Owen didn't care if we spilled a soft drink, hung out the windows, made noise, whatever. Owen's rules were simple, "Just don't hurt yourselves, you gotta fight tomorrow." Farting? Well, just keep in mind that a fart might get you a whooping right in the back seat. We kids had our own rules, and if you broke 'em, you would have to answer to us.

We all got along great. I was neither the oldest boxer nor the youngest. As usual, I was the only white kid. Owen was black and so were his boxers. We'd stop for fast food along the way. Look at the girls. If I remember correctly, there were about seven or eight boxers packed into the Caddy. Owen was always smiling, soft spoken, polite. The older guys talked only of girls they'd see as we'd pass a car full of them. We were packed into the Caddy like Sardines in a can. Was it uncomfortable? Hell no, we had a blast all the way to Las Vegas.

When we finally arrived at our destination in downtown Las Vegas. Jake Horn, Louie and Frank Baltazar Sr. had arranged for food to be provided by MacDonalds, and I remember dozens of big bags full of hamburgers, fries, malts, soft drinks, etc. being delivered to this "club where we would spend the night, sleeping on cots lined up in barracks style. In the morning we have buffet at one of the downtown casinos.

Later that day we'd fight, and I remember I won, beating some kid from a Henderson, Nevada Boy's Club. (Those Vegas kids rarely won in a match with our L.A. kids.) When all was said and done, the "Outstanding Boxer" trophy went to one of our boys, a scraggly-haired kid from Pomona, Albert Davila. And as soon as he received his trophy, the ring was taken apart and the "Destruction Derby" began.

My parents had driven to Las Vegas that day. My boxing was a good excuse for them to blow off some steam in Vegas. After my fight, I left with them and they had gotten a room at the Hacienda Hotel, where Mel Greb was promoting pro boxing weekly (but not that weekend). At the time, the Hacienda bouts featured guys like Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Ferd Hernandez, Freddie Little and Adolph Pruitt. I would watch those bouts late at night on TV in L.A. when they were televised.

Although it was nice to have a soft bed to sleep in, I would have perferred to stay with the boxers and ride back with Owen and my new friends. Some of the best times of my youth were spent packed into the back of some coach's big, old car with boxers. In the cars we were just kids, same in the hotel's, fast food joints, etc. However, once were were in the ring, we were fighters and that's just what we did. When the final bell rang, it was back to being a kid.

To Frank, Owen, Johnnie, Manny, Jake, Bobby Bell, Louie, Noe and their cars . . .


-Rick Farris

Beautiful, Rick, with your permission I am going to blog it.

Rick Farris wrote:On a side note, Rick, remember my 1958 Ford Station Wagon, full of kids ready to box?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Car Full of Kids Ready to Box . . .

I remember a lot of cars full of kids ready to box. I remember Frank's station wagon, my coach Manny Diaz's Buick Riviera, Johnnie Flores green Cadillac.

Manny was proud of that Buick, it was the first he'd ever bought brand new from the dealership. We used to pile into his old Chevy pick-up with the camper shell. Usually he and Bobby Bell would ride up front, however, we kids preferred to ride in the back and would roll around whenever Manny took a turn a little too fast. There were no seat belts laws in those days, and I don't remember anybody but the most paranoid even installing them. Picture seven or eight kids sitting in the back of a truck, laughing, cutting up . . . "Who the hell farted?". It was always Beto, he'd eat anything.

Manny Diaz was a heavy equipment operator. He'd operate the big land movers that would clear the path for a new freeway, or dig an underground parking structure for a new hospital. It was hard work. At 5'6", Manny had been one of Johnnie Flores best amateur middleweights in the late 50's, early 60's. He had whipped a number of the better L.A. amateurs during his career, including future heavyweight prospect Eddie Land. Manny never turned pro, he had a wife and family, and a good job. In those days it wasn't hard to find a job, if you were willing to work

After a couple years of rolling around in that old Chevy truck, Manny Diaz finally rewarded himself with a new Buick. Suddenly, there were rules that went along with riding in Manny's vehicle enroute to a Pee-Wee boxing show.

1.) NO FOOD or DRINKS in the car.
2.) NO NOISE, fighting, arguing, etc. (The car had an 8-track stereo tape player. All Manny wanted to hear was Jose Feliciano.)
3.) NO FARTING! (This was OK with us, but really put the pressure on poor Beto.)

Manny loved his new Riviera, we hated it. As comfortable as it was, there were too many rules. This is 1967, and a couple of months after buying the new car, Johnnie Flores tells me there is a kid's show taking place in Las Vegas, but that he would be in camp with Jerry Quarry and could not make the trip. Manny would be working that weekend, and he wouldn't be able to drive us (this was good news). In fact, I would be the only Johnny Flores boxer able to go, but I would need a ride. Johnny found one for me and it was perfect.

Another S.F. Valley amateur coach named "Owen" (I forget his last name) would pick me up at Johnnie's house about noon on Friday. I would ride with Owen and a few of his boxers to Las Vegas on Friday, we'd spend the night in some club, then we'd fight the next afternoon outdoors, where a ring was set-up in the infield of an auto race track just outside of town. After the fights, a "Destruction Derby" auto event was scheduled.

Owen's car, an old Caddy, was perfect to transport kids to and from boxing matches. The car was "bullet proof", and Owen didn't care if we spilled a soft drink, hung out the windows, made noise, whatever. Owen's rules were simple, "Just don't hurt yourselves, you gotta fight tomorrow." Farting? Well, just keep in mind that a fart might get you a whooping right in the back seat. We kids had our own rules, and if you broke 'em, you would have to answer to us.

We all got along great. I was neither the oldest boxer nor the youngest. As usual, I was the only white kid. Owen was black and so were his boxers. We'd stop for fast food along the way. Look at the girls. If I remember correctly, there were about seven or eight boxers packed into the Caddy. Owen was always smiling, soft spoken, polite. The older guys talked only of girls they'd see as we'd pass a car full of them. We were packed into the Caddy like Sardines in a can. Was it uncomfortable? Hell no, we had a blast all the way to Las Vegas.

When we finally arrived at our destination in downtown Las Vegas. Jake Horn, Louie and Frank Baltazar Sr. had arranged for food to be provided by MacDonalds, and I remember dozens of big bags full of hamburgers, fries, malts, soft drinks, etc. being delivered to this "club where we would spend the night, sleeping on cots lined up in barracks style. In the morning we have buffet at one of the downtown casinos.

Later that day we'd fight, and I remember I won, beating some kid from a Henderson, Nevada Boy's Club. (Those Vegas kids rarely won in a match with our L.A. kids.) When all was said and done, the "Outstanding Boxer" trophy went to one of our boys, a scraggly-haired kid from Pomona, Albert Davila. And as soon as he received his trophy, the ring was taken apart and the "Destruction Derby" began.

My parents had driven to Las Vegas that day. My boxing was a good excuse for them to blow off some steam in Vegas. After my fight, I left with them and they had gotten a room at the Hacienda Hotel, where Mel Greb was promoting pro boxing weekly (but not that weekend). At the time, the Hacienda bouts featured guys like Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Ferd Hernandez, Freddie Little and Adolph Pruitt. I would watch those bouts late at night on TV in L.A. when they were televised.

Although it was nice to have a soft bed to sleep in, I would have perferred to stay with the boxers and ride back with Owen and my new friends. Some of the best times of my youth were spent packed into the back of some coach's big, old car with boxers. In the cars we were just kids, same in the hotel's, fast food joints, etc. However, once were were in the ring, we were fighters and that's just what we did. When the final bell rang, it was back to being a kid.

To Frank, Owen, Johnnie, Manny, Jake, Bobby Bell, Louie, Noe and their cars . . .


-Rick Farris

What a great memory Rick! Good fun; better than going to Disneyland for sure!
Bruce

dagosd2000 wrote:WHAT STAYS IN THE PAST

Burke Emery didn't like anyone screwin' around when he was training his fighters. Most of the time he was alone working with his boys at the Coliseum. Art Hafey was his featured fighter. Art would always put on a good show. Burke tried to get him to use his right hand more,but his left hook had so much pop in it that most of the time that was all he needed.

The San Diego Coliseum kept pretty busy during those years. So Cal boxing was going strong. The fighters coming up from Mexico fed the area with competitive fighters that were filling seats in arenas from Mexicali to Los Angeles.

Art Hafey was real good. Almost had enough to become a champ. At featherweight he had no problem finding competition. Being a white fighter from Canada and possessing KO power,the rivalry between Hafey and Latino fighters was a given. Art made a living for a while knocking out opponents from across the border. Art's big break was when he went down to Monterrey Mexico and blew the wind out of Ruben Olivares with his big left hook to the panza. I wasn't there ,but ask Burke about it and he'll tell you that Olivares's mouth piece came shooting out of his mouth with a groan that could be heard in El Paso.

Hafey looked like he might reach the pinnacle,but it wasn't in the cards. To hear it from Burke and to hear it from Art is two different stories. Hafey lost the rematch with Ruben and then went down to Nicaragua to fight Alexis Arguello. Nothing in the win column there. Burke said that it was George Parmassus's idea to send Art to Alexis's country. Art says Burke overtained him and besides was starting to suffer nerve damage to his arms.

Emery owns his bar down the street from where I live.I talk to him once in a while,but he doesn't know where any of his fighters have wound up. Last he heard he thought Art was in Canada again. I guess Hafey hasn't made any overtures to contact his former trainer and manager.

Sometimes it works that way with boxing. What happened in the past stays there.

This is going to my blog

With the writers we have here, my blog is going places....

kikibalt wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:On a side note, Rick, remember my 1958 Ford Station Wagon, full of kids ready to box?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Car Full of Kids Ready to Box . . .

I remember a lot of cars full of kids ready to box. I remember Frank's station wagon, my coach Manny Diaz's Buick Riviera, Johnnie Flores green Cadillac.

Manny was proud of that Buick, it was the first he'd ever bought brand new from the dealership. We used to pile into his old Chevy pick-up with the camper shell. Usually he and Bobby Bell would ride up front, however, we kids preferred to ride in the back and would roll around whenever Manny took a turn a little too fast. There were no seat belts laws in those days, and I don't remember anybody but the most paranoid even installing them. Picture seven or eight kids sitting in the back of a truck, laughing, cutting up . . . "Who the hell farted?". It was always Beto, he'd eat anything.

Manny Diaz was a heavy equipment operator. He'd operate the big land movers that would clear the path for a new freeway, or dig an underground parking structure for a new hospital. It was hard work. At 5'6", Manny had been one of Johnnie Flores best amateur middleweights in the late 50's, early 60's. He had whipped a number of the better L.A. amateurs during his career, including future heavyweight prospect Eddie Land. Manny never turned pro, he had a wife and family, and a good job. In those days it wasn't hard to find a job, if you were willing to work

After a couple years of rolling around in that old Chevy truck, Manny Diaz finally rewarded himself with a new Buick. Suddenly, there were rules that went along with riding in Manny's vehicle enroute to a Pee-Wee boxing show.

1.) NO FOOD or DRINKS in the car.
2.) NO NOISE, fighting, arguing, etc. (The car had an 8-track stereo tape player. All Manny wanted to hear was Jose Feliciano.)
3.) NO FARTING! (This was OK with us, but really put the pressure on poor Beto.)

Manny loved his new Riviera, we hated it. As comfortable as it was, there were too many rules. This is 1967, and a couple of months after buying the new car, Johnnie Flores tells me there is a kid's show taking place in Las Vegas, but that he would be in camp with Jerry Quarry and could not make the trip. Manny would be working that weekend, and he wouldn't be able to drive us (this was good news). In fact, I would be the only Johnny Flores boxer able to go, but I would need a ride. Johnny found one for me and it was perfect.

Another S.F. Valley amateur coach named "Owen" (I forget his last name) would pick me up at Johnnie's house about noon on Friday. I would ride with Owen and a few of his boxers to Las Vegas on Friday, we'd spend the night in some club, then we'd fight the next afternoon outdoors, where a ring was set-up in the infield of an auto race track just outside of town. After the fights, a "Destruction Derby" auto event was scheduled.

Owen's car, an old Caddy, was perfect to transport kids to and from boxing matches. The car was "bullet proof", and Owen didn't care if we spilled a soft drink, hung out the windows, made noise, whatever. Owen's rules were simple, "Just don't hurt yourselves, you gotta fight tomorrow." Farting? Well, just keep in mind that a fart might get you a whooping right in the back seat. We kids had our own rules, and if you broke 'em, you would have to answer to us.

We all got along great. I was neither the oldest boxer nor the youngest. As usual, I was the only white kid. Owen was black and so were his boxers. We'd stop for fast food along the way. Look at the girls. If I remember correctly, there were about seven or eight boxers packed into the Caddy. Owen was always smiling, soft spoken, polite. The older guys talked only of girls they'd see as we'd pass a car full of them. We were packed into the Caddy like Sardines in a can. Was it uncomfortable? Hell no, we had a blast all the way to Las Vegas.

When we finally arrived at our destination in downtown Las Vegas. Jake Horn, Louie and Frank Baltazar Sr. had arranged for food to be provided by MacDonalds, and I remember dozens of big bags full of hamburgers, fries, malts, soft drinks, etc. being delivered to this "club where we would spend the night, sleeping on cots lined up in barracks style. In the morning we have buffet at one of the downtown casinos.

Later that day we'd fight, and I remember I won, beating some kid from a Henderson, Nevada Boy's Club. (Those Vegas kids rarely won in a match with our L.A. kids.) When all was said and done, the "Outstanding Boxer" trophy went to one of our boys, a scraggly-haired kid from Pomona, Albert Davila. And as soon as he received his trophy, the ring was taken apart and the "Destruction Derby" began.

My parents had driven to Las Vegas that day. My boxing was a good excuse for them to blow off some steam in Vegas. After my fight, I left with them and they had gotten a room at the Hacienda Hotel, where Mel Greb was promoting pro boxing weekly (but not that weekend). At the time, the Hacienda bouts featured guys like Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Ferd Hernandez, Freddie Little and Adolph Pruitt. I would watch those bouts late at night on TV in L.A. when they were televised.

Although it was nice to have a soft bed to sleep in, I would have perferred to stay with the boxers and ride back with Owen and my new friends. Some of the best times of my youth were spent packed into the back of some coach's big, old car with boxers. In the cars we were just kids, same in the hotel's, fast food joints, etc. However, once were were in the ring, we were fighters and that's just what we did. When the final bell rang, it was back to being a kid.

To Frank, Owen, Johnnie, Manny, Jake, Bobby Bell, Louie, Noe and their cars . . .


-Rick Farris

Beautiful, Rick, with your permission I am going to blog it.

Of course.

Rick Farris wrote:

kikibalt wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:On a side note, Rick, remember my 1958 Ford Station Wagon, full of kids ready to box?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________


A Car Full of Kids Ready to Box . . .

I remember a lot of cars full of kids ready to box. I remember Frank's station wagon, my coach Manny Diaz's Buick Riviera, Johnnie Flores green Cadillac.

Manny was proud of that Buick, it was the first he'd ever bought brand new from the dealership. We used to pile into his old Chevy pick-up with the camper shell. Usually he and Bobby Bell would ride up front, however, we kids preferred to ride in the back and would roll around whenever Manny took a turn a little too fast. There were no seat belts laws in those days, and I don't remember anybody but the most paranoid even installing them. Picture seven or eight kids sitting in the back of a truck, laughing, cutting up . . . "Who the hell farted?". It was always Beto, he'd eat anything.

Manny Diaz was a heavy equipment operator. He'd operate the big land movers that would clear the path for a new freeway, or dig an underground parking structure for a new hospital. It was hard work. At 5'6", Manny had been one of Johnnie Flores best amateur middleweights in the late 50's, early 60's. He had whipped a number of the better L.A. amateurs during his career, including future heavyweight prospect Eddie Land. Manny never turned pro, he had a wife and family, and a good job. In those days it wasn't hard to find a job, if you were willing to work

After a couple years of rolling around in that old Chevy truck, Manny Diaz finally rewarded himself with a new Buick. Suddenly, there were rules that went along with riding in Manny's vehicle enroute to a Pee-Wee boxing show.

1.) NO FOOD or DRINKS in the car.
2.) NO NOISE, fighting, arguing, etc. (The car had an 8-track stereo tape player. All Manny wanted to hear was Jose Feliciano.)
3.) NO FARTING! (This was OK with us, but really put the pressure on poor Beto.)

Manny loved his new Riviera, we hated it. As comfortable as it was, there were too many rules. This is 1967, and a couple of months after buying the new car, Johnnie Flores tells me there is a kid's show taking place in Las Vegas, but that he would be in camp with Jerry Quarry and could not make the trip. Manny would be working that weekend, and he wouldn't be able to drive us (this was good news). In fact, I would be the only Johnny Flores boxer able to go, but I would need a ride. Johnny found one for me and it was perfect.

Another S.F. Valley amateur coach named "Owen" (I forget his last name) would pick me up at Johnnie's house about noon on Friday. I would ride with Owen and a few of his boxers to Las Vegas on Friday, we'd spend the night in some club, then we'd fight the next afternoon outdoors, where a ring was set-up in the infield of an auto race track just outside of town. After the fights, a "Destruction Derby" auto event was scheduled.

Owen's car, an old Caddy, was perfect to transport kids to and from boxing matches. The car was "bullet proof", and Owen didn't care if we spilled a soft drink, hung out the windows, made noise, whatever. Owen's rules were simple, "Just don't hurt yourselves, you gotta fight tomorrow." Farting? Well, just keep in mind that a fart might get you a whooping right in the back seat. We kids had our own rules, and if you broke 'em, you would have to answer to us.

We all got along great. I was neither the oldest boxer nor the youngest. As usual, I was the only white kid. Owen was black and so were his boxers. We'd stop for fast food along the way. Look at the girls. If I remember correctly, there were about seven or eight boxers packed into the Caddy. Owen was always smiling, soft spoken, polite. The older guys talked only of girls they'd see as we'd pass a car full of them. We were packed into the Caddy like Sardines in a can. Was it uncomfortable? Hell no, we had a blast all the way to Las Vegas.

When we finally arrived at our destination in downtown Las Vegas. Jake Horn, Louie and Frank Baltazar Sr. had arranged for food to be provided by MacDonalds, and I remember dozens of big bags full of hamburgers, fries, malts, soft drinks, etc. being delivered to this "club where we would spend the night, sleeping on cots lined up in barracks style. In the morning we have buffet at one of the downtown casinos.

Later that day we'd fight, and I remember I won, beating some kid from a Henderson, Nevada Boy's Club. (Those Vegas kids rarely won in a match with our L.A. kids.) When all was said and done, the "Outstanding Boxer" trophy went to one of our boys, a scraggly-haired kid from Pomona, Albert Davila. And as soon as he received his trophy, the ring was taken apart and the "Destruction Derby" began.

My parents had driven to Las Vegas that day. My boxing was a good excuse for them to blow off some steam in Vegas. After my fight, I left with them and they had gotten a room at the Hacienda Hotel, where Mel Greb was promoting pro boxing weekly (but not that weekend). At the time, the Hacienda bouts featured guys like Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Ferd Hernandez, Freddie Little and Adolph Pruitt. I would watch those bouts late at night on TV in L.A. when they were televised.

Although it was nice to have a soft bed to sleep in, I would have perferred to stay with the boxers and ride back with Owen and my new friends. Some of the best times of my youth were spent packed into the back of some coach's big, old car with boxers. In the cars we were just kids, same in the hotel's, fast food joints, etc. However, once were were in the ring, we were fighters and that's just what we did. When the final bell rang, it was back to being a kid.

To Frank, Owen, Johnnie, Manny, Jake, Bobby Bell, Louie, Noe and their cars . . .


-Rick Farris

Beautiful, Rick, with your permission I am going to blog it.

Of course.

Thank you, Sir.....

Jose Luis Cotero vs Davey Moore

Jose Luis Pimentel vs Ray Coleman

kikibalt wrote:With the writers we have here, my blog is going places....

When I post here, and somebody like you, Randy, or whoever adds it to another boxing site, blog, etc.
I am honored.


-Rick Farris

Rick Farris wrote:

kikibalt wrote:With the writers we have here, my blog is going places....

When I post here, and somebody like you, Randy, or whoever adds it to another boxing site, blog, etc.
I am honored.


-Rick Farris

Rick, you, Randy and Roger are great writers that should be read by as many people as possible...

kikibalt wrote:
Jose Luis Pimentel vs Ray Coleman

The Stepping Stone . . .

Ray Coleman's nickname was "Flash" and he fought the best the featherweight division had in the sixties, and usually fought them more than once. Here, you see him hitting the canvas after tasting the power of Jose Luis Pimentel. A few years earlier, he fought Jose's twin brother, the great bantam contender Jesus.

I remember the guy real well because he was one of the "stepping stones" in the careers of Mando Ramos, Frankie Crawford and San Diego's Bobby Valdez, and that's only a part of the story. He fought our "El Gato", Rodolfo Gonzalez twice, being among the very few to take Gonzalez the distance first time out (Gato would ice him in a rematch ). I first saw him in a losing effort to Raul Rojas, whom he also fought twice, as he did Richie Sue, Manny Elias and Joe Valdez. Oh, and he also fought another pretty well known featherweight, the great Willie Pep.

Ray Coleman was never a contender, always a stepping stone. However, if you stepped wrong on that stone, you might find yourself on the losing end of a decision, or carried the distance. He was always greatly over-matched, but pulled his weight. He was no "set-up", fighters had to earn their wins over this boxer.

Maybe, next time El Gato checks in, he'll share his memories of Ray "Flash" Coleman?


-Rick Farris

dagosd2000 wrote:

Adam in the guitar shop. Seville 2008

Roger . . .

Monica's words after seeing Adam's photo: "That boy is going to break as many hearts as the girls will."

-Rick

kikibalt wrote:

Rick Farris wrote:

kikibalt wrote:With the writers we have here, my blog is going places....

When I post here, and somebody like you, Randy, or whoever adds it to another boxing site, blog, etc.
I am honored.


-Rick Farris

Rick, you, Randy and Roger are great writers that should be read by as many people as possible...

I think what was has grown here in the past year is a family affair. Families share and pass on to each other unselfishly and are anxious to see their family succeed.

Rick Farris wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:

Adam in the guitar shop. Seville 2008

Roger . . .

Monica's words after seeing Adam's photo: "That boy is going to break as many hearts as the girls will."

-Rick

Yeh Rick
Moni is right. Funny thing happened last year. There was a hitch with our trip to Spain. To make a long story short,my sister in law wanted her kid to come along. My wife said "yes",and I said,"NO WAY."

Well Adam's mom(my daughter) said to me that maybe Adam didn't have to go on the trip. This caught me off guard. Then I got to thinkin'. Adam is momma's boy.My daughter would pine away with Adam being away from her. I told my daughter that there was no way I was going to take my sister in law's kid and leave Adam behind. My dago temper won out.Adam was with us in Spain last year. My sister in law doesn't talk to me anymore. Who says things don't work out for the best?

kikibalt wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:WHAT STAYS IN THE PAST

Burke Emery didn't like anyone screwin' around when he was training his fighters. Most of the time he was alone working with his boys at the Coliseum. Art Hafey was his featured fighter. Art would always put on a good show. Burke tried to get him to use his right hand more,but his left hook had so much pop in it that most of the time that was all he needed.

The San Diego Coliseum kept pretty busy during those years. So Cal boxing was going strong. The fighters coming up from Mexico fed the area with competitive fighters that were filling seats in arenas from Mexicali to Los Angeles.

Art Hafey was real good. Almost had enough to become a champ. At featherweight he had no problem finding competition. Being a white fighter from Canada and possessing KO power,the rivalry between Hafey and Latino fighters was a given. Art made a living for a while knocking out opponents from across the border. Art's big break was when he went down to Monterrey Mexico and blew the wind out of Ruben Olivares with his big left hook to the panza. I wasn't there ,but ask Burke about it and he'll tell you that Olivares's mouth piece came shooting out of his mouth with a groan that could be heard in El Paso.

Hafey looked like he might reach the pinnacle,but it wasn't in the cards. To hear it from Burke and to hear it from Art is two different stories. Hafey lost the rematch with Ruben and then went down to Nicaragua to fight Alexis Arguello. Nothing in the win column there. Burke said that it was George Parmassus's idea to send Art to Alexis's country. Art says Burke overtained him and besides was starting to suffer nerve damage to his arms.

Emery owns his bar down the street from where I live.I talk to him once in a while,but he doesn't know where any of his fighters have wound up. Last he heard he thought Art was in Canada again. I guess Hafey hasn't made any overtures to contact his former trainer and manager.

Sometimes it works that way with boxing. What happened in the past stays there.

This is going to my blog

Thanks Frank
I'm honored. Recognition from the guys on the Forum is unequaled.

ESTAS LOCO!

After a swim and a light workout in the gym I told my wife that I was going to look up an old friend and that I would be back in a couple of hours. I kissed my wife and said goodby to her and my grand daughter who's nine months pregnant. She's staying with us until my 5th great grandchild is ready to pop out of the hopper.

Well my friend wasn't home, I think. Maybe he was,but wasn't answering the door. He just went through a rough divorce. There was a sign on the door that read "Do Not Disturb !!!". It might have been that he didn't want to see anyone right now. OK with me. I didn't want to hear the gory details anyway.

So I drove back home. I noticed that no one was around and figured my wife and grand daughter went for a walk to the store. I went out to the back balcony where I do my painting to check if my painting of Sugar Ray Robinson was drying .

Our balcony over looks a huge canyon. It's a State Park. The name of the reserve is Tecolote Canyon. Well I hear this noise going on below the balcony coming from the canyon.I can't see who's talking ,but they're speaking Spanish and the voices are female. Had to be my wife and grand daughter.

Now you might be wonderin' what I was thinking when I heard this commotion. No. I knew what was going on. This ritual has occured before. It's the cactus gathering to make "nopales'. Nopales with eggs. Nopales tacos. Nopales juice.

I've told my wife a hundred times that you can't go down there and do that. It's a State Park and it's against the law to take anything out of there. Even a rock.

I wait for Pocahantas and her 9 month pregnant assisstant to emerge from behind the bushes. They are both carrying a bucket full of cactus leaves and inside the buckets are their Bowie knives.They're stompin' up the hill like they just scalped Custer's 7th Cavalry.
"I told you not to do that ,"I yelled at my wife.
"Porque? No bother no body. Only nopales."
"You know why. That's a California State park. You can't take nothin' out of a State Park."
My pregnant grand daughter was standing behind my wife mouth shut.
"If the Ranger catches you,he'll fine you."
Then to scare her.
"And who knows maybe they'll deport you too."
My wife scattered the cactus on the dining room table and handed a knife to my grand daughter. I shook my head. They sat down and started to peel the skin off the cactus leaves.
"You know what,"said my wife. "You crazy. Estas loco!"

It was getting late and I start getting hungry, I started looking for Connie to tell her "Babe, fix me something to eat", then I remember Connie is visiting my sister Rachel up north, what to do?, I walk up to the refrigerator, open the doors, and I say to myself, "now what?", you see I don't know how to cook, but I see some eggs and chorizo, so I say to myself "self, you can handle that, you can make huevos con chorizo", I like my chorizo on the side, don't like it mixed with the eggs, got me a small fry pan, threw the chorizo in it and before I knew it the f*#king was burned, well I ate burned chorizo with huevos, but at least I didn't burn the eggs....

Hey Guys, do me favor. My son Andrew sent me a sample of his music. One is an instrumental, the other a song entitled "I Die Alone". Let me know what you think. You might have to use the little sound icon to hear it properly. For some reason, at least on my computer, the sound does not come up on it's own.

Go here:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fu ... =459098034

Thanks
Randy

kikibalt wrote:It was getting late and I start getting hungry, I started looking for Connie to tell her "Babe, fix me something to eat", then I remember Connie is visiting my sister Rachel up north, what to do?, I walk up to the refrigerator, open the doors, and I say to myself, "now what?", you see I don't know how to cook, but I see some eggs and chorizo, so I say to myself "self, you can handle that, you can make huevos con chorizo", I like my chorizo on the side, don't like it mixed with the eggs, got me a small fry pan, threw the chorizo in it and before I knew it the f*#king was burned, well I ate burned chorizo with huevos, but at least I didn't burn the eggs....

Frank, one of these days I'm going to have to have a long talk with you................

Randy