BoxRec

L.A. kidd wrote:hey guys, was it alehandro lavorante that killed a guy, [the guy was on a machine for I don't know how long] or was it lavorante that got hurt.

no man, im not a bob.

Kidd,it was Lavorante who died as the result of being KO'd by Johnny Riggins.

Dan,I'll stay here to address your post on the Last Rodriguez/Griffith fight.As a kid I watched all four fights. I thought Louie won 3 of them.The one I thought he lost was when he beat Emile here on the coast to win the title. The rematch I believe was 3 months later and Rodriguez was robbed for the third time.(my opinion). That was the last fight. Emile was a huge draw in New York.Lots of money to be made with him fighting there. Rodriguez never had a hometown to speak of here in the U.S. He should have moved to Mexico and fought his way up there like Jose Napoles and Sugar Ramos,his Cuban compatriots.Rodriguez is one of the most least mentioned great fighters.George Parnassus would have taken care of him.The Mexican fan base would have adopted him. I saw Luis train in San Diego for the Rafa Gutierrez fight. All he could talk about was how he got the shaft fighting Griffith.

Zoom Zoom

"What made you choose this hotel?,"asked the cab driver,Antonio, as he drove my wife and I towards the neighborhood called Segundigliano.
"I just looked on the Internet and it seemed reasonable,"I answered.
The cab driver,Antonio,spoke broken English ,and me with my broken Spanish and what few Italian words I knew were understanding each other,It was a satisfying conversation that just didn't survive with a surface understanding of the words. We could inject our emotions and feelings. My wife sat in the back seat while I rode up front. I asked permission to have it that way. I wanted to embrace our engagement.
"If you wanted to pick out a typical Neopolitan neighborhood this was a good selection,"exclaimed Antonio.
Antonio was probably in his early 30's .His frame was lean and his skin that often referred to olive colored and he had a thick crop of black hair. He seemed anxious to interact with me. I felt the same way.
"Your English is very good,"I said.
"I lived in London for awhile. I was waiter in a restaurant. I also ran marathons,"he said enthusiastically .
He seemed that he wanted me to understand that he was knowledgeable about my way of life.He wanted to keep up. There was no problem with any unbalance or lack of comprehension.
My wife and I had disembarked from the ferry from Capris and found Antonio's cab.The drive up to the Segundigliano part of Naples was slow and trying. The downtown area was crammed with vehicles and the pace was hindered even more by continuous antiquated road construction. I never saw any police directing traffic, Though the journey,I knew, was going to be a long one,the upside was that I could lengthen my conversation with Antonio.
"When our vacation is over,I believe the highlight of our vacation will be my experience in the Segundigliano. We've been to Capris and the Amalfi Coast. Saturday we take the ferry to Sicily.Tomorrow we will visit my grandfather's hometown,Acerra."
"I can take you there if you want,"asked Antonio anxiously.
"That would be fine,"I said.
"Is your grandfather alive?"
"No,he's been dead for a long time."
"My mother in law lives in Acerra,"said Antonio.
"My grandfather was the boss of Al Capone in Chicago a long time ago.He brought Al Capone out from New York.You know Al Capone?"
"Al Caponi? Of course.He is well known in Italy.So you are Mafia?"
"No,not me. My father was with them.The Mafia in Chicago was called the Outfit."
"Here it is the Camorra."
'I've always wanted to see Acerra,"I said.
"It is still controlled by the Camorra,"said Antonio.
"The Italian Mafia isn't what it used to be in Chicago anymore.The government broke it up."
"Here, the Camorra is a way of life. We've learned accept it.It's become cultural."
We were finally reaching our destination,the Hotel Barbato.
" I 've fallen in love with this neighborhood,"I said." The people are alive .The street is alive. People are animated."
"In Naples we are more alive than other Italians ,and Italians are noted for their vitality,"said Antonio.
We had finally arrived at the Hotel Barbato. The street out front was crowded with people of all ages and sizes walking up and down.Old women sitting in front of the café holding their canes conversing with each other. The old men waving their arms while talking to reinforce their rhetoric.Kids running back and forth playing and laughing.The youthful expressing their romantic intentions.The rich and varied aromas emanating from the local eateries.My favorite are the smells of the hot fresh baked bread cooked in the big brick ovens kept piping hot with the fires of the oak logs. The buzz of motor scooters zipping along weaving around the stagnant array of backed up traffic. The groups of the same Segundiglianos hanging out at their favorite spots---the shaved ice stand,the pizzeria,the pet store,the bakery.the fish market.The conversations explained with the waving of hands and arms and strong facial expressions that embellished the words.Even the neighborhood dogs were a synergy of the pulse.It was all a synergy. A daily stream of energetic life.
"Well then you can pick us up tomorrow in front of the hotel,"I said to Antonio.
"What time?"
"How about nine in the morning?"
"I will be here,"he said. As I walked towards the hotel Antonio shouted."Take this paper."
I went back to the cab and took the paper from his hand. On the paper it said"9:00".
"I will be here,"I assured Antonio.
'Have a great rest of the night," he said smiling.
"I'm sure we will."
"How can I describe it here?"he asked."You know. Here everything is zoom zoom."

Another pretty Neopolitan site




More expressions




My definition of joy




Hey paisan!



Anyone for pizza?



Or maybe pasta and octopus salad?


My goomba,Antonio,the cab driver

We're Not Heavy

West Coast boxing, seems to me, to have its own little niche in the Southwest corner of the United States.Of course this corner relies on the fighters that migrate from across the border in Mexico, and the local Chicanos from the barrio. It's been sort of exclusive club that's cherished by the fans ,and these fans,of course,are mostly Mexican,whether it's the Chicano(Mexican American) or the homegrown Mexican national.These "aficianados",of course,are interested only in the "peleador" of their own bloodline.Rivalries feed the fire.If it's a Mexican against a Chicano, or a Mexican(national or Chicano)lacing them up against any outsider who is non Mexican(and that also goes for any Latin American)the intensity of interest turns rabid.

But who are these "boxeadores"? Of course,they're the little guys.Not little in heart ,but just lighter in poundage. The babies like Casanova and Arizmendi never acted like children when it came to fighting all comers putting every ounce of their "machismo" on the line. Later it was Golden Boy from the City of Angeles who packed them into the Olympic Auditorium with his battles against the Mexican national,Enrique BolanosJimmy Carter was a fella who lost a decision to Art"Golden Boy"Arargon,but Art failed against the great crafty Carter in a title showdown. None the less,it was big news when Aragon fought in LA.

Later when Aileen Eaton and George Parnassus nurtured Southland boxing to its pinnacle,it was pugilists with the phonetic pronunciations of the surnames----Napoles,Zarate,Olivares,Chacon,Ramos,Pintor,and Saldivar that captured the interest.These" hombres" brought it to the Olympic Auditorium and the fabulous Forum everytime they climbed through the ropes. The fights were fast paced,sometimes brutal, unfortunately some ended tragically.But for me they were the best fights going on in the USA at the time.

However,maybe because the United States is so big or maybe they want their biggest to the best,the barometer of professional boxing has been gauged by the caliber of its heavyweights.Since the great John L. through the Mike Tyson era,the United States has thrown out their chest offering their division of heavyweights as the flagship of the sport.

Today,it's no longer a showcase of American heavyweights. Big guys from the Eastern Bloc with names that Americans struggle with and,because they aren't Red White and Blue,the American heavyweight is positioned behind the MMA world of beef when it comes to fan notice.

But I want to give my two cents about the era of Southland boxing that got me hooked on the sport. My focus shifting from the MSG to the combatants going to war in the TJ bullring. These guys weren't the heavyweights. When bringing up that division in my locale,there are several notable names. Jerry Quarry is usually the firsr name mentioned.San Diego had Kenny Norton.Mac Foster was from the northern part of the state. But the "aficianados"never really bought in. These fighters weren't Mexican.I remember a local Chicano heavy named Joey Orbillo who was beginning to turn a few heads,but after Jerry Quarry had no problem with him, the Mexican fan base quickly dove back into the world of bantam weights and feathers.( I remember when Jerry's brother,Mike,fought the local hero,Amado Vasquez,at the ball field in National City in San Diego.Jerry was shoving his way through the Mexican crowd .He was upset about something.No Quarry fans at ringside that night)'

Even though Norton,Quarry,and Foster had the goods,they had to relocate back East to find quality sparring partners and make the big money.Quarry was always more popular in New York.Norton's big fights were away from Los Angeles even though he got his coming out party in San Diego against the Greatest.When Jerry and Ken were hooked up it was in the Garden. Jerry got wupped twice by Smokin' Joe in New York. To have held those fights in LA. wouldn't have drawn the local attention. Jerry fought the likes of Eduardo Corletti and Tony Doyle at the LA Forum.Try to compare that enthusiasm with Zarate/Zamora or Olivares/Castillo at the Inglewood arena.

Even when Manual Ramos was the big underdog against Frazier for the belt,that encounter was matched in New York.Sometimes I think if Manual could have hit Joe with a follow up combination after sticking him with that good left hook in that first round,the Mexican adoration would have taken a sudden redirection.The "aficianados" would have held their esteem for a "compadre" like no other Mexican athlete in its history. He could have been President of Mexico if he had wanted.



Kenny Norton

I was stunned when reading the details of Chapo Guzman's escape from a Mexican prison. Of course, Mexico is such a corrupt country, so constructing a mile-long tunnel to facilitate Guzman's escape becomes a reality.

- Chuck Johnston

A good friend of mine told me quite awhile ago that he was never there...Maybe for a minute then gone..Now that Mexico is in a class struggle the powers that be are trying to hide it..Far fetched but my friend is from down there..

Chapo has so much Cash and Backup anythings possible???

Chuck1052 wrote:I was stunned when reading the details of Chapo Guzman's escape from a Mexican prison. Of course, Mexico is such a corrupt country, so constructing a mile-long tunnel to facilitate Guzman's escape becomes a reality.

- Chuck Johnston

Americans for the most part are naïve. They think that you have to do something wrong in order to be arrested.That isn't how it works in Mexico. I've been watching the Mexican news that is controlled by their government. They make it seem that Chapo Guzman's escape was partly negligence by the prison officials,or perhaps some guards took a bribe. Of course Mexicans don't buy that. The last three presidents of Mexico have been manipulated and bought by Chapo Guzman and therefore they have protected him.

Now you have a guy like Donald Trump who accuses illegals of being rapists and murderers,and to top it off, claims they are being sent here by the Mexican government.Is he trying to tell me that the Mexican government pays their way here? But you must understand,the U.S. government would rather have it the way it is in Mexico than have a status quo government that is anti American like you have in Venezuela and Bolivia, We are becoming more involved with investment in Mexico. So the cartels run everything down there, So the corridor of drugs that come into this country runs through Mexico. So poor Mexicans pay thousands of dollars to smugglers(the cartels) to cross into the U.S. It's a trade off.A compromise. If we want what Mexico has(natural resources),We look the other way about how their government has decayed to what it is.We approve just about every visa application that runs through our embassy.Illegals work here because they work for lass money,don't unionize,and keep their mouthes shut.They don't complain. It's good for business here and it is a release valve for the millions of unemployed in Mexico.

Paco Guzman paid off everybody all the way to the top when he made his last break. Ditto,last week. Chuck,you're shocked by what happened with Guzman. That's nothing. As long as there can be billions of dollars made selling drugs,everbody is in on it. Iran/Contra woke up the world to that fact,and Iran/Contra was a U.S. operation. Oh,you get some minor players to take the fall,but the overseers,the top guys,never get touched.And that goes for both sides of the border.

There's way too much money being made by businessmen here and the politicians down there.In the middle of all this are the cartels. They're the ones who know how to operate it and keep everyone in line.

Chuck,you might be shocked now,but if you ever knew what was really going on you'd probably fall over dead.





People all the time tell me Mexico needs a Revolution. Maybe another Villa. If he was around,He'd start one,but it wouldn't get off the ground. He get whacked fast.He get assassinated like before with the total backing of the United States government.

Chuck,you might be shocked now,but if you ever knew what was really going on you'd probably fall over dead.

dagosd2000 wrote:
People all the time tell me Mexico needs a Revolution. Maybe another Villa. If he was around,He'd start one,but it wouldn't get off the ground. He get whacked fast.He get assassinated like before with the total backing of the United States government.

You are spot on..dagosd This will be a nightmare if we don't wake up here soon sad to say...Many people don't want to be informed...it's all about the bread here now...

(:

bl

The Los Angeles Times has had quite a bit of coverage on what is taking place in Mexico for many years. Something is really wrong in Mexico, but I really can't think of a viable solution for it. It seems that real changes will not take place until the Mexican people become fed up and clean house.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote:The Los Angeles Times has had quite a bit of coverage on what is taking place in Mexico for many years. Something is really wrong in Mexico, but I really can't think of a viable solution for it. It seems that real changes will not take place until the Mexican people become fed up and clean house.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck,sadly to say there is ABSOLUTELY nothing that the Mexican people can do about this. They would never get the backing from the U.S. government to overthrow their government. Whatever party(or cartel) is in power down there,they are business friendly with us and that's all that matters.The masses are getting squeezed harder and harder in Mexico. The same thing is happening here.You are not going to get the truth on this by tuning in to the mainstream media. Whatever you might think the big media corporations are just that.Big business that will keep the status quo. They might go after the periphery players to make it look good,but the real culprits(like for example the Wall Street moguls)will not only get off ,but enhance their power and wealth.

I suggest you read a book called Narcoland by a Mexican national reporter, Anabel Hernandez.It gives both sides of the story of how drug trafficking is a two way street. Because of her revelations she needs bodyguards to protect her. Another good book is titled,Compromised, by Terry Reed.He worked for the CIA during the Iran/Contra affair and became disenfranchised with the drug smuggling end of it. A third I'd recommend is titled ,Crossfire,by L.D. Brown,Bill and Hilary Clinton's bodyguard who was an Arkansas State police officer. He also was lured into Iran/Contra by Bill Clinton and had a falling out because of the drug trafficking.The role the Clintons played at the smuggling operation at the Mena ,Arkansas airport is incredible. Clinton,the governor of the state overseeing the receiving end,Vice President George H.W. Bush handling the CIA Contra part in Nicaragua. There were investigations,but the only thing that came out of it was Clinton's extramarital affairs.To think these two later became presidents of the United States. And now we'll have a choice between Hilary and Jeb Bush in 2016. Makes me think of moving to Mexico.

The Keys To The Kingdom

When Charlie Parker was at the end of his rope,he heard a young alto player named Sonny Stitt on the bandstand. Parker went to Stitt and told him,"You sound a lot like me.When I'm gone I'm going to pass you the keys to the kingdom."

Sonny Stitt,like many young musicians in the early 1950's tried to emulate the sound of Charlie Parker.Parker's playing was a genesis in jazz. His technique,speed,and ideas revolutionized the music. Not only did alto sax players want to play like him,every instrument in the ensemble was influenced by Charlie Parker.

Sonny Stitt also wanted to play like his idol, and his performance was very similar. I have an album of Stitt's playing with the quartet going through the Bird standards---Koko,Now's The Time,Ornithology,etal.Sonny's horn sure does sound like Parker's.But that's just the point.It isn't as brilliant as Parker's renditions.The renditions sound like Parker's. Though Sonny Stitt gives it his best shot,you feel that he's struggling to keep pace and fill the riffs with the magic that Parker would blow effortlessly and with confidence.Eventually, Sonny Stitt turned to the tenor saxophone. He knew he couldn't duplicate Parker, let alone out play him. Stitt needed to find himself on another instrument.Like all ambitious musicians he wanted his own identity. Yeah,that's Sonny Stitt,not a pale imitation of Charlie Parker.

You can see this adoration with fighters also. I remember buying one of my first copies of Ring Magazine in the mid 1950's. There was an article about a young Philadelephia welterweight named Garnet Hart.Hart was a slick boxer ringing up victories.He had the potential.His future was bright.But Hart,like the young Sonny Stitt,had an idol . That idol was the great Sugar Ray Robinson.Hart asked Ray if he could share his nickname. Robinson never had a problem with other fighters wanting to be called "Sugar."I never heard Robinson say he was the greatest,but there were plenty of other prospects that thought maybe adding the sweetness of Ray Robinson's nickname could work some magic with their careers.

In the article about "Sugar" Hart there are photos of him standing alongside Robinson. Side by side they compare the muscularity of their backs,shoulders,and legs(Robby had those spindle legs).The fighters even displayed their hands together.On paper Hart looked impressive,but his career is mostly hard to recall. After Charley Scott got the best of him,Hart fell from the rankings.

I guess it's an homage more than anything else to use a "Sugar" or an "Ali" when adding to a fighter's moniker.Look up all the "Young Jack Johnsons" in the record books. It's a nice tribute,but these fellas are not mentioned in the same breath.

Ray Leonard,another fella who asked the great Robinson if it was OK to be another "Sugar",was asked if he thought of himself in the same league as Robby. Leonard quickly scoffed at that query. No way Ray Leonard thought he could walk in Robinson's shoes."He was 125 wins with one loss at one point.I didn't fight 50 fights."You're a humble guy,Ray Leonard.

But it's nice to think that the geniuses are recognized by the peer group that is motivated by their performances. Whether it's Charlie Parker dancing along the valves and stops of the alto sax or Ray Robinson dancing circles around his opponent breaking him down like an artistic sculptor in the process,it goes to show you that it doesn't take a genius to recognize one.



Sonny Stitt

dagosd2000 wrote:I knew this guy I used to work with at Juvenile Hall,Gilbert Baptist. A real polite guy. Had a son I called Little Champ. Gilbert had won some sort of North American title at one time and he was proud of that. That's why i called his son Little Champ. The little boy looked to be around 5 years of age.

Gilbert was in the same stable with Terry Norris. Terry was getting ready to fight Sugar Ray Leonard. Norris was very sharp then,probably at his peak. Me and Gilbert knew despite Leonard's experience that Terry was too good for him. Ray had slowed down,but he still thought he had enough in him to regain the title. Me and Gilbert knew he wasn't going to win no title if he had to get through Terry. Terry knew it too.

Before work one day at the Hall,Gilbert asked me if I wanted to see him and Norris spar at Spud Murphy's gym downtown. I asked him if it was the same Spud Murphy that used to fight as a featherweight at the Coliseum.
"Naw",it's his father's gym."
I was supposed to meet them around six in the evening. I get there a little early. Spud Murphy's Gym was upstairs above a pool hall on upper Broadway. It was a small gym,but layed out real nice. There was a couple of rings,4 or 5 heavy bags,speed bags,reaction bags(that's what I called them),and the weights. Just as you got to the top of the stairs,there was a wall on the right of Spud Murphy's press clippings. Spud Murphy was sort of a frail kid who couldn't punch,and to make matters worse,was a bleeder. I saw him fight against a kid named David Madrid who had won only 1 fight. Madrid gave Murphy a terrible beating. There weren't many press clippings on that wall.

Spud Murphy's father used to train his son,and the word around was that his father should let him go. But I think his father was living a dream with the boy,and like all dreams you wake up to reality. To make a long story short,Irish Spud Murphy wasn't cut out to be a fighter.

I waited around for Norris and Gilbert. I was watching the other boys working out and hoped that none of them had any aspirations to make a living with the sport. In the middle of the gym was a counter with the father and Spud's mother selling refreshments:bottled water,sodas,candy bars,and even beer. The old man was a talkative guy. Gray hair, rosy cheeks, and fair skinned. You could guess he was Irish. He resembled his son. He was talking to one of the fighters who came over to the counter to buy a water.
"Now there was no one who was in better condition than Spud," said the father to the guy buying the water.
His wife who was heavy, and had gray hair like his ,was storing candy behind the counter. They looked like the man and wife in the old black and white movie "The Grapes of Wrath."
"Spud could skip rope better than any one I ever seen," continued the father. The guy with the water went in front of a mirror to shadow box.
Norris and Gilbert were now more than 30 minutes late and I was beginning to wonder. I went up to the counter to buy a candy bar.

Right away the old man starts up again.
"No one hit the speed bag better than Spud."
"Give me a Baby Ruth."
I pretended to ignore him . I saw his son fight. He wasn't very good.
"Anything else,?"said the father. I felt he wanted to talk some more about his son.
"No,I'm fine."
I waited 15 more minutes and figured maybe I got the time or the day mixed up so I headed for the exit. As I was about to make my way down,I heard the father say,"Spud could run 10 miles a day and not even get winded."
At the bottom of the stairs I saw Norris and Gilbert.
"Sorry we're late," said Gilbert. "Got a flat. Aren't you gonna stay?"
"Naw,I gotta' get back. The wife has dinner waiting."
Norris and Gilbert started for the stairs.
"Hey does Murphy's old man always talk like that about his son?"
They stopped and turned around.
"The old fella can't get him out of his mind since he died," said Gilbert.
I just looked at them without responding. I guess they figured I wanted some sort of explanation.
"After his last fight,he went home and died," said Gilbert.
"Oh,I didn't know," I murmered.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow at the Hall."
Just as they were to go up ,I said,"Wait,I'll go up with you. I might as well watch you spar a few rounds."

Some background on this post, I know it a very old post, but I still wanted to correct some misinformation or bad assumptions. The gym owner was Murf Murphy not Spud Murphy as you assumed. It was renamed after his son after he passed before it was just Murf's Gym. Spud had a good career as a fighter 7-6-1 professionally. His last fight was actually in 1979 close ten years after he passed. He died as he was getting ready for a comeback in his fighting career. He did pass of an aneurysm that was congenital not boxing related. As for Murf he was actually a top 10 contender in the 40's and 50's and had a managing and training career for many a decades with boxing gyms established in multiple locations in Denver and San Diego.
It's true Spud often looked beat up but he wasn't afraid to stand toe to toe with anyone. He sold out the old Coliseum because of his style of fighting while he was still in high school. He was a gold glove winner, silver glove winner and California champion in his amateur days.
As for Murf of course he was proud of his son, who wouldn't be.
If you are ever curious about Spud, and have access to Sean O'Grady ask him about him, I'm sure he can tell you all about him. Hell most of the old school San Diego fighters could tell you all about the Murphy's. Sadly Mom Murphy passed about a week ago.

straw311 wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:I knew this guy I used to work with at Juvenile Hall,Gilbert Baptist. A real polite guy. Had a son I called Little Champ. Gilbert had won some sort of North American title at one time and he was proud of that. That's why i called his son Little Champ. The little boy looked to be around 5 years of age.

Gilbert was in the same stable with Terry Norris. Terry was getting ready to fight Sugar Ray Leonard. Norris was very sharp then,probably at his peak. Me and Gilbert knew despite Leonard's experience that Terry was too good for him. Ray had slowed down,but he still thought he had enough in him to regain the title. Me and Gilbert knew he wasn't going to win no title if he had to get through Terry. Terry knew it too.

Before work one day at the Hall,Gilbert asked me if I wanted to see him and Norris spar at Spud Murphy's gym downtown. I asked him if it was the same Spud Murphy that used to fight as a featherweight at the Coliseum.
"Naw",it's his father's gym."
I was supposed to meet them around six in the evening. I get there a little early. Spud Murphy's Gym was upstairs above a pool hall on upper Broadway. It was a small gym,but layed out real nice. There was a couple of rings,4 or 5 heavy bags,speed bags,reaction bags(that's what I called them),and the weights. Just as you got to the top of the stairs,there was a wall on the right of Spud Murphy's press clippings. Spud Murphy was sort of a frail kid who couldn't punch,and to make matters worse,was a bleeder. I saw him fight against a kid named David Madrid who had won only 1 fight. Madrid gave Murphy a terrible beating. There weren't many press clippings on that wall.

Spud Murphy's father used to train his son,and the word around was that his father should let him go. But I think his father was living a dream with the boy,and like all dreams you wake up to reality. To make a long story short,Irish Spud Murphy wasn't cut out to be a fighter.

I waited around for Norris and Gilbert. I was watching the other boys working out and hoped that none of them had any aspirations to make a living with the sport. In the middle of the gym was a counter with the father and Spud's mother selling refreshments:bottled water,sodas,candy bars,and even beer. The old man was a talkative guy. Gray hair, rosy cheeks, and fair skinned. You could guess he was Irish. He resembled his son. He was talking to one of the fighters who came over to the counter to buy a water.
"Now there was no one who was in better condition than Spud," said the father to the guy buying the water.
His wife who was heavy, and had gray hair like his ,was storing candy behind the counter. They looked like the man and wife in the old black and white movie "The Grapes of Wrath."
"Spud could skip rope better than any one I ever seen," continued the father. The guy with the water went in front of a mirror to shadow box.
Norris and Gilbert were now more than 30 minutes late and I was beginning to wonder. I went up to the counter to buy a candy bar.

Right away the old man starts up again.
"No one hit the speed bag better than Spud."
"Give me a Baby Ruth."
I pretended to ignore him . I saw his son fight. He wasn't very good.
"Anything else,?"said the father. I felt he wanted to talk some more about his son.
"No,I'm fine."
I waited 15 more minutes and figured maybe I got the time or the day mixed up so I headed for the exit. As I was about to make my way down,I heard the father say,"Spud could run 10 miles a day and not even get winded."
At the bottom of the stairs I saw Norris and Gilbert.
"Sorry we're late," said Gilbert. "Got a flat. Aren't you gonna stay?"
"Naw,I gotta' get back. The wife has dinner waiting."
Norris and Gilbert started for the stairs.
"Hey does Murphy's old man always talk like that about his son?"
They stopped and turned around.
"The old fella can't get him out of his mind since he died," said Gilbert.
I just looked at them without responding. I guess they figured I wanted some sort of explanation.
"After his last fight,he went home and died," said Gilbert.
"Oh,I didn't know," I murmered.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow at the Hall."
Just as they were to go up ,I said,"Wait,I'll go up with you. I might as well watch you spar a few rounds."

Some background on this post, I know it a very old post, but I still wanted to correct some misinformation or bad assumptions. The gym owner was Murf Murphy not Spud Murphy as you assumed. It was renamed after his son after he passed before it was just Murf's Gym. Spud had a good career as a fighter 7-6-1 professionally. His last fight was actually in 1979 close ten years after he passed. He died as he was getting ready for a comeback in his fighting career. He did pass of an aneurysm that was congenital not boxing related. As for Murf he was actually a top 10 contender in the 40's and 50's and had a managing and training career for many a decades with boxing gyms established in multiple locations in Denver and San Diego.
It's true Spud often looked beat up but he wasn't afraid to stand toe to toe with anyone. He sold out the old Coliseum because of his style of fighting while he was still in high school. He was a gold glove winner, silver glove winner and California champion in his amateur days.
As for Murf of course he was proud of his son, who wouldn't be.
If you are ever curious about Spud, and have access to Sean O'Grady ask him about him, I'm sure he can tell you all about him. Hell most of the old school San Diego fighters could tell you all about the Murphy's. Sadly Mom Murphy passed about a week ago.

I never said it was Spud's gym.I said his father ran the place. Spud's son PM'd me way back about the post.He also mentioned that his father's death was attributed an aneurism non related to boxing.No doubt that Spud had guts,but I'll stick to my guns about my opinion that he shouldn't have made boxing a career.Burke Emery, who used to handle Art Hafey,said the same thing. Trying to make a comeback after being out of the sport for ten years was not a wise decision. His father should have cautioned him about that.That 7-6-1 record has changed from the last time I looked at it in the Boxrec files(it was 6-10).I saw Spud take a lot of shots in the ring.He lacked a punch that could have turned things around for him in some of his fights. I'm sorry to hear that his mother passed away. I know they were a very loving and close family.I regret writing that post.I also regret writing some of my posts about Ronnie Wilson.Ronnie's son PM'd me and said I didn't put his dad in a good light. Both Spud's and Ronnie's sons were right and I apologized to them.What I remember about the two local fighters I should have conveyed in a different manner.Both Ronnie and Spud were not handled correctly.Ronnie's son agreed with me on that point.I was sent an article about Ronnie Wilson being homeless living in a park in Vancouver ,Canada.I used to work with Ronnie's father in law.He also worked at Juvenile Hall. He would complain that Sid Flarhety rushed him into fights too soon and didn't let his cuts heal properly.I know that Spud's dad was very proud of his son .He talked about him all the time at the gym. As for old San Diego fighters,there's not too many of them left anymore. Thanks for your input.

The Manual

I was looking forward to finishing my last year of school.i remembered when I had started teaching and looking at the old timers at my site who were in their final year.They seemed not to have a care in the world. They knew they'd be left alone.Retirement was just around the corner.At the start of each school year the district puts on a rally,sort of a dog and pony show,where all the administrators,teachers,and staff get together at one of the school's gyms for a pep talk. It's a mandatory thing where you have to sign in so they know you were there.Most everbody takes this event with large doses of cynicism.But I didn't care.It was going to be my last year.

I hooked up with one of my fellow history teacher colleges that taught at the school. He was a tall slightly overweight African /American in his mid forties named John. I noticed that the gray was beginning to creep through his hairline that wasn't there at the end of the prior school year.He was about the only one I was close to on campus.We shared an interest in books and movies and our politics were similar.I took a seat near the top of the bleachers and waited for him to arrive. When I saw him sifting through the crowd I got his attention and he sat beside me.
"How did everything go back home?"i asked.
"It went OK I guess.i gave the eulogy,"John said with a sigh."My brother is still back there.As I was speaking, my brother left the church."
"How old was your dad?"
"He would have turned 90 in the fall."
"He led a full life,"I said wanting to lift his spirits.
John looked straight ahead.
"Did you know that the cemeteries are still segregated in the South?"
"I didn't know that?"I replied with some shock.
"At least in that part of Alabama."
"I think Earnie Shevers was born not to far from you guys grew up,"I said.
"I wouldn't know anything about that,"said John.
The dais on the stage was starting to fill up with the usual dignitaries.It was all going to be just wind and smoke.
"I remember watching your dad's last fight at the coliseum in San Diego.Is that when your family came out to California?"
"No. I was out here when I was in the Navy.My dad wanted to end his career on a winning note,"said John.
"Well he sure had the best of that Puerto Rican kid. Handed him his first loss."
"I was too young to remember any of that."
"Your dad had over a hundred fights.That kid might have been undefeated,but only had a handful of fights. Your dad gave him a boxing lesson."
"They say he was a really good boxer."
One of the best I'd seen."
"Maybe that's why he never got the dementia afterwards.He slipped a lot of punches."
The sound crew was setting up the microphones on the stage.The big shots were acting pretty hunky dory up there waiting for it all to start.
"You know Rog,"John went on,"even though my dad was a fighter I never liked the sport."
"I'm beginning to like it a lot less these days myself,"I said.
"My father never pushed it on me."
"I see too many ex pugs with scrambled eggs for brains,"I said." All that's left is for their families to suffer."
"There's no cure,"said John.
"What did your dad do after he stopped?"
"He was a brick layer. He knew that trade and it kept us fed.He wrote a book,kind of a manual on boxing after he retred,but he could never find a publisher.It was his dream."
"Well if anybody knew anything about boxing it was your dad,"I said.
The superintendent walked onto the stage. The show was getting close.
"Your dad never got that break that could have got him a title shot,"I said.
"He had too many managers.Besides,he never really had a big following."
"He fought Joe Brown in one of those non title fights and lost a decision.They say he out boxed the old master."
"But they fought in New Orleans and Brown was very popular there."
"He should have got a shot at the title after that."
"It was all politics,"said John.
"They say when your dad went to Italy to fight the Italian champ he was turning him inside out.In the last round the referee stepped in and said your dad hit him low and was disqualified."
"He told me about that one.He said they weighed the wop on a different scale.My dad could have made 135 in his street clothes."
"It's funny. Your dad never was one who worked the body much.I didn't know that thing about the scales."
"It was all politics,"said John.
"There was story going around that when he fought in Juarez his opponent's girlfriend snuck into his hotel room the night before and spent the night."
"My father said she wanted to see how big a black guy's c--k was,"said John laughing.
The super began tapping the microphone.
"Too bad my dad could never get his manual published,"said John.
"Maybe you should write a story on your dad's life.A lot of good stories there,"I said.
"I know,"said John,"I should have paid more attention."



Earnie Shavers

The Manual Part 2

After the district kick off or warm up or what I always thought of as the dog and pony show,the teachers went back to their school sites to prep their rooms for the first day of classes.My room was in a bungalow behind the main building. There were three more bungalows next to mine strewn in a semi circle.The main building was old and most of the rooms weren't equipped with air conditioning. Even so the rooms that had air conditioning in the old building didn't put out much cool air. The system in my bungalow worked great. Plenty of cold air.Many of the kids and teachers would hang out in my room during the summer during breaks.But it wasn't visitations just because of the air conditioner. I always let my hair down with everyone.Talk flowed freely. Even the administrators felt comfortable sitting in my room.And it wasn't segregated. Kids,admin,teachers,custodial,all were on an even playing field.If someone didn't like it that way I'd bust some balls and they wouldn't come back.

I really didn't have much to set up.I kept my room in the same configuration. Standard rows,my desk at the back so the kids were in front of me. If I wanted to lecture,I'd walk to the front of the classroom. My door was open when I saw John walking towards the ramp to my door. He was carrying small satchel.
"What's up bro?"i said as he entered through.
"Rog,I want you to have this. It was my dad's manual on boxing. Read it.Tell me what you think,"he said.
"Sure.Sit down and take a load off."
"I've got a lot of rearranging to do ,but I have a little time."
I put the satchel with the book inside in front of me on my desk.
"My dad started to put this together after the Ortiz fight."
"I saw that fight on TV."
"You know that was the only time he fought in New York."
"I didn't know that,"I said.
"Over a hundred fights and only one fight in New York."
It did seem unusual,and a little sad.
"My uncle told me that my dad wasn't supposed to win that night."
I remembered that fight. I saw it on the television. John's father looked lethargic. like he was never in the fight. you had a sense he could have done a lot more,but never got going.
"Ortiz was Puerto Rican. He was on his way up and there were a lot of them in New York,"I commented
"It was all politics."
"Sometimes you can't fight it."
"Funny,that was his biggest purse. He made 6000 dollars."
"The sport is unforgiving in many ways,"I said trying to bring some perspective to everything,but feeling I failed.
"Well,I'm going back to my room.I've got to put the kids names into the computer."
"I'll talk to you at lunch then."
"I'll bring my lunch back here,"said John.

I watched John walk back to his bungalow. I was glad his room was near mine.I turned on my CD player and laid back.I put on some jazz music.I didn't need to put my kids' names into the computer. I was the only teacher on site that still used a grade book. Just then I saw a familiar face walking towards my door. It was Gilbert Baptist,the ex fighter and probation officer I'd become friends with at Juvenile Hall.Gilbert stuck his head in.
"Hey Gilbert.what brings you around?"I said. I was happy to see this guy.
"Rog,they said you were at this school.I'm here to check on a kid,but when I'd heard you were hear I had to come and see what's going on."
"Well I'm packing it in after this year so I'm on cruise control. How about yourself?"
"I'm out in the field. It's a lot better than being cooped up inside all the time."
"I bet,"I said."How's your son,the Little Champ?"
"He's doing great.Going to start middle school."
"Does he play any sports?"
"He likes basketball,but if he inherits my height he won't have much of a future in it,"he said laughing.
"See Terry Norris around much?"
"No we've lost contact."
"I remember your fight at the El Cortez with him. That was a great fight."
"After that I worked with him a lot to get ready for Leonard."
"You must have done a good job,"I said.
"I shouldn't have never fought Gerald McClelland on such short notice."
I didn't want to comment on that.
"You know he hit me so hard I broke my leg falling down."
"You were a good fighter,"I said trying to smooth things.
"I got just a broken leg. Look what happened to him."
"I thought he had Benn."
"Fighting is a dangerous game. I'm lucky I'm still well."
"You look just fine,"I said.
"Rog,I've got to run over to the office and check with the principal. You going to be around?"
"Sure.I'll be here at lunch."
"Then I'll see you then,"he said.

I sat back in my chair and listened to the music.It was an old Charlie Parker recording of This Time The Dream's On Me.I opened the satchel and began thumbing through John's dad's manual on boxing. It was a dull read. I mean how can you learn how to fight by reading a book?I certainly wouldn't say that to John. I put the book down and began thinking about Gerald McClelland and what fine fighter he was. I though about how anyone can break a leg when getting hit on the chin. After awhile I began nodding off.I just didn't want to think of anything for awhile.



Gerald McClelland

dagos, thank you man, on the lowdown on lavorante, and I read your post about the current state of mexico, and I also read one of the books you mentioned on the cartels, you are right on with your assessment of mexico's sad state of affairs, I predict within a certain amount of years, the USA will be completely without a middle class, and there will be only rich and poor, like mexico, I see it coming. do you agree?

L.A. kidd wrote:dagos, thank you man, on the lowdown on lavorante, and I read your post about the current state of mexico, and I also read one of the books you mentioned on the cartels, you are right on with your assessment of mexico's sad state of affairs, I predict within a certain amount of years, the USA will be completely without a middle class, and there will be only rich and poor, like mexico, I see it coming. do you agree?

Thanks Kid.Yeah it's comin'.Next year the housing market freezes , the interest rates go up,more jobs are outsourced with Obama's new trade agreements,and you'll see the national debt skyrocket.People will work themselves into a nervous breakdown just to tread water. Mexico?Chuck Johnston keeps saying Mexico needs a revolution. They had one.The drug cartels won.Chapo Guzman---the real president of Mexico.

yeah dagos you are spot on, people don't understand the mexico situation because they are in denial about their own government [USA]

people ask why don't the Mexican people revolt, well, it's the same with the American people, Ronald Reagan who busted tons of unions,

nafta, outsourcing, wall street thievery, the catering of government to the one percenters, why don't the American people revolt?

because we would be crushed in about 2 hours. as would the Mexicans,

dagos, it's a world wide super rich men club, and we ain't in it.

The Handsome Fighter

I don't go into bars at night anymore,especially near closing time. Too many bad drunks blaming their troubles on the rest of world,and maybe the guy sitting next to them is the reason for the cause of it all,or at least represents the excuse. I'm at a time in life where I don't look for trouble so I'll just have a beer when everyone's sober,and that's when the doors open.

When Ed the bartender opens up Champ's around 10 in the morning there's usually no one waiting to break down the door to get in. It's not a hardcore drinking establishment like the old Arizona Café was in Ocean Beach. Tony Pandza would unlock the premises at 6 sharp in the morning and there'd always be a few of the rummies waiting to get inside and sit at the back corner of the bar that was "reserved" for clubhouse members. You know, they thought they were an elite group.

The other day I caught Ed as he had just opened the doors to Champs.You could smell the stale beer from the night before,that odor that's familiar with all similar watering holes. Ed was just finishing putting the rest of a case of beer in the cooler under the bar when he walked down where I was sitting."Draft?"he says.
"The usual,"I automatically responded.
"You know the draft is better than the bottle stuff now,"he said as he put a nice head on the glass.
I could see that Ed's bulge was protruding more each time I came to Champs when I felt to like catching up with the latest .As his stomach was growing ,his hairline was receding more and more making his round white face seem bigger.
"Still writing on that boxing forum?"he asked as he put the glass on a coaster.
"When I'm in the mood,"I said.
"I used to read that Boxrec,but it's all the same stuff rehashed."
"Those guys are into making lists."
"I don't see much point in it.Everyone's got their mind made up any how,"he said.
"I try to stay away from the give and take."
"I haven't read any of your stuff in awhile."
"I'm getting stale. How much is there on West Coast Boxing?At least about what I can come up with."
"You don't see any ex fighters writing on those forums,"said Ed."I don't think they even look at that stuff."
"Fighters are in an exclusive club.Why should they get mixed up with a bunch of know it alls that never put on the gloves?"
Ed began wiping the bar with a cloth while he continued talking.
"I remember your stories on Bob Murphy.They were pretty funny,"said Ed as he slowly wiped.
"They were passed down to me by those old timers at the Arizona."
" I know Radovich used to handle him in the amateurs."
"Looking back, wish I hadn't written that stuff."
"Why's that?"
"I took too many liberties. Made the guy look foolish."
"All you were doing was repeating what was told you,"said Ed.
"Repeating it like I saw it.Besides it was probably at that point where the exaggerations took over the truth.I just wanted to get a laugh.Sometimes I think fighters are put on this Earth to be at the expense of others."
"I know what you mean.Look how Burke wound up. Before his family took the place from him and put him in the home,I'd see these bums make fun of him.He was so far gone he didn't realize they were making riding him."
"Bobby Chacon is in a home now. The last time I saw him he was acting like a little kid.A lot of people were snickering at him.At least they could show pity."
"Well you can say he's still alive,"said Ed.
There was a silence,then Ed asked me about Lavorante,the heavyweight from Argentina.
"Remember when he died?"
"It was against a guy who was more or less a club fighter wasn't it?"
"He should have stopped after Ali beat him,"said Ed.
"They don't know when to stop. Besides, if they can still make many with them they'll send them out there.Even Quarry's brother had him in there at the end when he had no business fighting anymore."
"I remember Lavorante.He was a handsome guy.The girls sure went for him,"said Ed still wiping away at nothing.
"At least keep their opinions to themselves ."
"Rog,I've got to go in the back and bring out another case of beer.You OK?"
"I'm fine for now,"I said.
As Ed walked to the back room I remember something Hemingway put in one of his stories.It went something like this."A liar can write more convincingly than someone who was there."



Alejandro Lavorante

Rog, I love the way you write. I had to shake myself for a second, I thought I was sitting on the stool next to you. LOL!

scartissue wrote:Rog, I love the way you write. I had to shake myself for a second, I thought I was sitting on the stool next to you. LOL!

Thanks Dan.Often it's not the easiest thing in the world,but sometimes I need to get things off my chest.Posting on the forum helps. Keep up the great interviews.Rog

dagosd2000 wrote:

scartissue wrote:Rog, I love the way you write. I had to shake myself for a second, I thought I was sitting on the stool next to you. LOL!

Thanks Dan.Often it's not the easiest thing in the world,but sometimes I need to get things off my chest.Posting on the forum helps. Keep up the great interviews.Rog

Amen to both of You!!!

Backstage


I was never star struck by jazz musicians. In fact when an artist came to town,I would try to find a way of striking up a conversation one way or another.I always thought jazz musicians were some of the most approachable people in the world.My take on that was I think they thought they never were fully appreciated by the public. In the past it was guys like Sinatra that drew the big crowds,then Elvis stormed over everybody,later it was the Beatles and the Stones.Today,I couldn't tell you,but I know if 50 Cent came to town they'd have to book him in the ball park.Jazz musicians are always on the back burner. Oh they can make a living at it,but they ain't doing private performances for the king and queen.

It was some time during the mid 70's that it was announced that Dizzy Gillespie was going to perform at the Catamaran Hotel in Mission Bay.The Catamaran was getting a little long in the tooth you could say.It had given way to some of the newer bigger, hotels in the area like the Sheraton and the Hilton. But It didn't matter to me where the greatest jazz trumpeter of all time was going to blow his horn.

Gillespie was only going to play one set. It was to begin at 9 0'clock,but jazz musicians are about as punctual as a Mexican prize fight starting on time so I didn't see Dizzy's group setting up on stage until half past nine.The room was small and close.There were those tiny bamboo umbrellas on the tables and those Japanese lanterns strung below the ceiling to try to give some light. Fake palm tree were in the corners and an old outrigger canoe was hung on the wall behind the bar. I remember seeing Gillespie walking onto the bandstand wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a lei around his neck. The musicians began playing around ten.

I caught the tail end of those bop pioneers playing in the small venues. If I had a time machine I'd go back to 52nd Street and Harlem after the war,but thoughts like that were only a good way to put me in dreamland .Seeing Gillespie, with the lei around his neck, playing in front of a group of tourists from Nebraska was the best they could come up with in San Diego.I'd have to settle.

I didn't recognize any of his sidemen ,but that wasn't unusual for a musician of his stature.They were probably local guys and though they didn't ring a bell with me,they were all right. Dizzy talked to the audience before putting his horn to his lips. That horn,what do they call it?My old man always said that Dizzy had sat on his trumpet and that was why it was bent that way. He mumbled that jive jargon that he had trademarked,but now seemed put on and out of date.He started off with an old war horse,Manteca,played an original new piece that sounded like Manteca,and then stayed with the Latin theme.I was hoping he wouldn't do that,but again,I had to settle. He gave his sidemen plenty of time to stretch out. To tell the truth they were as impressive as Gillespie and sounded much fresher. After playing the signature Salt Peanuts and then going into the break with 52nd Theme, the boys repaired backstage.That was my cue to follow.

The door was ajar to the dressing room. I poked my head in.Gillespie was sitting at a table with the other musicians. The room with beginning to fill with cigarette smoke,
"Well just don't stand there,"Gillespie shouted. "Come in and have a drink."
I knew that was going to happen.I quickly drew up to a stool next to him.
"Beer OK with you?"asked Dizzy.
"Sure.Beer is fine."
The other cats were smoking cigarettes like mad and pouring big shots of whiskey into their glasses.
"How do you like the music?"asked Dizzy.
"It's great ,"I said feeling the conversation was sort of status quo.I wanted to find an opening and then I accidently stumbled on one."I always listen to that album'The Greatest Jazz Concert Ever,"I went on probing.
Gillespie laughed.
"That wasn't the greatest jazz concert ever,"he chuckled."They called it that because the sound was so good."
"But Parker,Powell,Mingus,Roach,and you, That was as good as it gets."
"Yeah man.We were pretty good,but it was the sound of that recording that was remarkable. It was a live performance and in those days a live performance was difficult to get right."
"You guys sounded good to me,"I begged on.
"You know what man?I didn't play for s--t that night."
"Why's that?"
"Charlie Mingus put that gig together on the night of the Walcott rematch with Marciano. Massey Hall wasn't half full.Everyone was tuning in to the fight. I kept going backstage to hear the fight on the radio.When Walcott got knocked out in the first round I was sick.Besides,I lost a bundle."
"My father was in the Mafia in Chicago.He told me Walcott wasn't supposed to win that night."
"You're sh----n me?"
"The mob guys in Chicago had everything squared away.About the most excitement that night was Jersey Joe's wop manager making a beef afterwards about his guy getting a quick count."
"And all this time....,"said Gillespie,his voice trailing off.
"They always talk about Liston getting hit with nothing against Ali in Maine. Look at that fight in Chicago.Jesrey Joe should have at least been nominated for an Oscar."
"Well I'll be damned,"said Gillespie. The smile was off his face and he seemed to be staring across the room.
"Say Dizzy, You think you could play Max Making Wax when you get back out there?"
"What was that?"he said seeming to shake him up a little.
"You know.That bop song,Max Making Wax."
The smile returned to his face.He began to scat the tune.It was a riff that was way upbeat.
"Yeah.Max Making Wax."he chortled.

The group returned to the bandstand.Dizzy let his sidemen take over with songs that were originally written by them. Dizzy played some short solos and did some fills,then he went to the mike.
"I don't know what it is,maybe the salt air,but I'm ready to go to bed.It was a pleasure being here in San Diego,"he said.
I guess the audience was satisfied with that.There was no commotion.I watched Gillespir turn his back and walk backstage stiil wearing that lei around his neck .I looked at my watch.It wasn't even midnight.As Gillespie disappeared I thought he probably forgot to play Max Making Wax.



Dizzy Gillespie

If you have a chance, take a look at footage of the incredible world lightweight title bout between Ad Wolgast and Battling Nelson, which took place in Point Richmond, California on February 22, 1910 (lots of bouts took place on George Washington's Birthday at the time). Wolgast won the title when the referee stopped the bout to save Nelson, the reigning champion, from further punishment during the 40th round. In such a lengthy bout, Wolgast and Nelson set a tremendous pace and displayed an astounding amount of heart and stamina.

- Chuck Johnston