BoxRec

If You're Gonna' Do It

A few years ago a pal of mine, that I used to workout with at the gym, invited me to lunch to introduce me to a friend of his.His friend was an ex fighter,but he had done most of his work in the ring as a sparring partner.As we were talking, the friend shared a story about a fighter he was preparing to get ready for a title shot. I remember watching the fight on television.Before I go any further with this,I'm going to tell you that I'm not going to mention the combatants' names. The fighter the friend was prepping for the fight didn't put up much of a show,not that he wasn't trying,he just didn't have the goods to beat the champ.He was outclassed. The friend said that midway through the fight,the fighter who was contending to win the crown, began having second thoughts.He hadn't won a round.He was starting to take beating.He didn't want to get hurt permanently .So he said to himself"the next good shot I take,I'm going to lie down."This is what he said to the friend of my friend. Thinking back on the fight,this scenario certainly seems believable.

The reason I didn't mention the fighter's name who gave up was that awhile back I read an article written by the man's son. The young man said that the crowning moment of his dad's career was that title shot. He remembered that his family believed dad would come home that night with the title belt.The son also said that his dad was sure that he would win.When the family saw their patriarch sprawled on the canvas they were heartbroken. The tears flowed,but they were so very proud of the father. He's not with us any longer,but that memory of that fight is a crowning moment with his family because they believe his effort was the embodiment for all the virtue he represented . So no names here. I don't think anyone that remembers that fight thought anything else except here was a guy that gave it his all,but just came up way short. It means absolutely nothing to me to print the truth with this. Whoever said the truth will set you free was full of crap.

So now I get to the point of what does a fighter do when he sees he's in over his head. He knows that he's going to lose real bad and take a beating.When the bully begins getting exposed during a fight,his ego will take a bruising as much as his body.Sonny Liston ,against Clay the first time around,spit out his mouthpiece and didn't come out for the bell. He claimed a hurt shoulder.After looking at all the welts on his face,I think that was more of an attributing factor.The rematch was even a bigger travesty. After chasing the new named Ali around the ring for a couple of minutes,the so called "anchor punch" gave the "Bear" just cause to roll around on the canvas like the anchor on the USS Missouri was dropped on his head. Two fights that stunk up the joint.

Then there was Max Baer taking the count at Yankee Stadium, from Joe Louis's fusillade, on one knee looking up at Arthur Donovan.The fans questioned Max's heart after that showing. His next fight was in Salt Lake City.

Then the most notorious absence of valor,the "no mas" by the paragon of macho men,Roberto Duran. Out of shape,Roberto momentarily went out of his mind,threw up his arm and turned his back on Leonard, and then uttered the words that will live in infamy in boxing annals. He still hears those two little words from the passerby in his homeland of Panama.

Maybe Mike Tyson thought he could fool us by trying to eat Evander Holyfield during their second fight. It certainly seemed very aggressive.Iron Mike could always say he lost on a foul.He was so angry that night that he lost his head and went crazy.He was crazy to think we'd buy that stunt.

But who am I to judge? If I was in there with a tiger and was getting my ass kicked,I'd look for a way out.Next good tap on the chin and I'd do the ol' flopperoo. I'd do what that fighter did that I talked about in the first two paragraphs. I'm sure it's happened many times before,I just don't know about it.

Joe Louis

Thanks for this story. Ernie Lopez's travels are one of many stories of ex-boxers who end up lost and homeless. They do some strange things. Tommy Harrison, a Heavyweight from the 1950's who hit very bad times didn't enjoy being loser Tommy Harrison. He told everybody he was the popular KO artist Bob Satterfield. Harrison lived on handouts on the streets of Chicago for many years before a writer discovered he was a fraud who had been knocked out by Satterfield. His story was told in the acclaimed movie "Resurrecting the Champ” staring Samuel L Jackson as Harrison.

Other famous boxers who had their identities successfully stolen by street bums include Tony DeMarco and Johnny Bratton. The DeMarco imposter would bum money and drinks off the patrons of various bars in LA and regale them with phony fight stories by the hour.

I recall a piece done in Ring Magazine several years ago by Ring stalwart Pete Ehrmann, who is based out of West Allis, Wisconsin. Pete found former welterweight champ Freddie (Red) Cochrane living there and wrote a really nice piece on him. He wrote how Red moved to Wisconsin to be near his daughter and told some elaborate stories on his career and everything was cool. Until a month or so later Ring had to post a bit of an apology. It appears the real Red Cochrane was still living in New Jersey and was shocked to read about his new whereabouts and 'firsthand' stories on his career.

A year or so ago I brought my grandson Adam to the fights. We went primarily to watch Tiger Smalls son,Prince,fight a featherweight match on one of the undercards,The venue was at the 4 Points Sheraton Hotel in one of the banquet rooms. Bobby DiPhilippis was promoting the bouts. The ring announcer,who looked the part of the "Vegas Lounge Lizard",was introducing all the celebrities at ringside.If memory serves me,I believe Terry Norris was present and James Kinchen. Leon Spinks was also in attendance. He was there to keep tabs on his nephew,Leon Spinks III.,who was fighting the semi main.Before the main event big Leon was gracious enough to pose with fans for pictures inside the ring. I have a shot of Adam with the ex champ.

But I got ahead of myself. The last introduction by the announcer was quite a surprise for me. He said that in attendance was one of Archie Moore's great local rivals,Johnny "The Bandit" Romero.Now these two fought in the 1930's.Romero,according to BoxRec was born in 1910. Arch hit the scene in 1916. Archie lived to be 81 and died in 1998. So I'm thinking if this old timer is Johnny "The Bandit" Romero,he's around 105 years old. When Romero's name was said,there wasn't much of an applause. Most everybody didn't know who he was nor did they know the significance of his fights with Moore.

I saw the old guy sitting there a few rows back from ringside. He looked like he was by himself.He was sort of smiling and seemed content. I didn't see anyone approach him.I didn't either. I knew it wasn't the real Johnny Romero. The record books have him dying in 1978. Fight promoters belong in the same crowd with the P.T. Barnums of the world.


My grandson Adam and Leon Spinks

A No Brainer

I'm no mechanic. My brake pedal was getting soft.I could hear the "chirping."The brakes would only get worse.My son in law is real good at fixing things. Carpentry,plumbing,working on cars. He can build things from scratch. Doesn't need to look at a blue print.He can improvise and "jerry rig" with the best of them.But lately he's been working his ass off with the Sherriff's Department. He's at the jail and they work 12 and a half hour shifts.Now he's on graveside so he sleeps mostly during the day. If I asked him he'd put in my brakes,but I didn't want to cause him to not get enough rest.So plan B is to buy the brake pads in San Diego and take them to Tijuana. I'd save myself a couple of hundred bucks. The savings translate to the cost of the labor.Instead of dishing out 90 bucks an hour stateside, a Mexican brake guy in TJ will give me a gringo deal for 15 dollars per hour.

I like going to Tijuana anyway.It's a change in scenery.I've said it before.There's no greater difference between an international border than the U.S. and Mexico,especially San Diego and Tijuana. The language.The food.The economic situation.Religion.Call it the culture.People in the U.S.(at least inSan Diego)are more anal,caught up in the rat race,complain about little things,and are self absorbed.For me,going to Tijuana is a reality check. It's also a humbling experience.Sometimes I look at the people walking in the streets and wonder how much money they have on them.Do they have a job?Do they carry ID? I'll make an analogy.Dogs in San Diego are pampered and well fed.They're totally dependent on their masters. Dogs in TJ are always on the alert. They're street smart. They have to be or they'll get eaten by the dog packs. Same goes for the people in Tijuana. They're more street wise. They have to be or they'll get trampled on.With all that there is a subliminal mistrust of people.Darwinism is more on the surface.In the U.S people are a lot more gullable.There's atill a moral compass that people hitch their star to.

Back to my brake problem.I buy the pads at AutoZone.Here I'll get a better price. Now I go to TJ.The mechanic I usually trade with was located in the Zona Norte.His garage was on a street that ran parallel right next to the border.You could spit over the fence and hit the U.S.(Maybe if Trump gets in you won't be able to spit that high).Teo, was name of the guy that owned the garage. My brother in law,who referred to himself as "El Mumia"(The Mummy) used to work for Teo. "El Mumia" slept in a work shed at night and as long as he had some pot to smoke he was content to share night time accommodations with the pit bulls." El Mumia "never had a car.He fit in with the rest of the element in the Zona Norte. Hustling is the mantra.Teo finally had to let my brother in law go.He was either caught stealing or just was unmotivated to work for a dollar an hour.More money to be made breaking the law.Nobody cared. You do what you have to do whether it's some gal peddling her hips in a bar or on the street,or peddling junk on a dark street corner.Plenty of people are law abiding ,but they don't pass judgement.Life is too much of a struggle to take time for condemnations. You can walk through the Zona Norte(more commonly referred to as the Coahuila) and see a whorehouse next to a church that's next to a school that's next to a store that's next to a house.Little kids play in the street. It's a mixed bag if I've ever seen one and nobody has that much time to get in someone else's business.

But a funny thing happened when I went down there to see my mechanic,Teo. All the little businesses on the block were boarded up.I don't know why,but they were all dark.Now I had to locate another place that did brakes,but I knew it wouldn't be hard.Tijuana is chock full of dentist and medical offices,optometirsts,eating places,and mechanical ,body and fender ,paint,and windshield businesses,and lawyer offices.

I drove my car up 3rd Street heading towards Parque Guerrero.That's a hangout for those guys that come up to your car holding a hammer wanting to let you know that they can bang out out a dent,repaint the surface,and if you want,tint your windshield.I went to the backside of the park that I usually go to for body work.The same guy has been there for more than 40 years.My dad even used him.Still talks about my dad even though my dad passed away almost 20 years ago. He shows the street urchins how to do all the aforementioned trades.Those kids become craftsmen before they reach the 6th grade.The thing is they probably don't go to school. School for the poor down there leads to nowhere.

My friend told me though he doesn't do brakes(doesn't have the set up for it),but he referred me to a guy that had a little brake shop around the corner. So I went there and I saw that the sliding gate on the chain link fence was locked,but I know that if there was someone inside, I could get them to come out if I shouted. You see many people who have a business also live there with their family. I saw clothes hanging on the line so I knew someone was home.The two junkyard dogs added to my shouts and soon a woman wearing an apron walked out.
"Abierto"?,I asked.
"Si,senor.Viene mi marido."
Sure they were open. They wouldn't want to say that they weren't open. If I left,they'd think I'd just go somewhere else.

An old guy with receding hair,gray at the temples,qnd a thin finely trimmed mustache,limped out to open the gate.
"Si senor,"he said with a friendly face. His day was starting off good.
"I have the brakes,"I said in Spanish. "Can you put them in?"A very rhetorical question.
"Of course.I'll need two hours."
"The price?"
"Thirty dollars."
No way I'd try to bargain with him with that price. I saw some little kids come outside. One kid got on an old bike. Another kid turned on a big old television set that on a chair. The wife began taking the clothes off the line. I grabbed my crossword puzzle book and walked back to the park. While I was doing my crosswords on a park bench,the various vendors were setting up their stands.There was the guy that sold the homemade churros and potato chips.I saw a man cutting fruit at his stand. Melons,cucumbers,pineapples.papayas,and hicamas would make up the medley.Next to where I was sitting,three women were setting up a grill and putting out sodas on a rack.they displayed a menu that offered flautas,tostadas,gorditas,and" tacos varios."
There were the chiles,salsa and raw in front on the counter.With all the cooking going on,taking in al the aromas,I was tempted to eat everything. Food stands were strewn all around the perimeter of the park,across the street,on the side streets,Menudo stands,ceviche makers,shaved ice and ice cream vendors.The varieties and the taste of food is definitely better in TJ than affluent San Diego.

After waiting around two hours doing my crosswords and eating churros,I walked back to the brake guy. My car was still up on the jacks.
"Everything OK?"I asked.
"Si amigo ,"said the old guy as he was pounding the brakes onto the wheel. "I turn the drums. I do good job. One more hour and it is ready.'
I'm used to "Mexican Time" so coming back in an hour was no shock. So I walked back to the park and sat down with my crosswords with a bag of roasted peanuts. In an hour and a half I walked back to the brake shop. The old guy was letting my car down off the jacks.
"Listo,my friend. The brakes are strong,"he said with pride making a fist.

Now I need to explain something here.It's about how you pay down there.I know everyone that works like that in TJ wants a tip,but I never tip.At least not with money.You see if I tip him ,let's say ten bucks,and I come back,he''d just raise his price ten bucks and then expect another ten dollar tip.In other words, I pay like a local would.No tip.Although the local wouldn't leave a tip, I still give a gratuity.I know that every man over 50 years of age in Mexico is a big fan of Mexican boxing. Now my old mechanic's shop was closed,but I was prepared with my"tip."Now I was ready to work my charm with the old guy, As I handed him the thirty, I asked him if he liked Boxeo Mexicano.
"Seguro,"he said punching his fists in the air in front of him. I opened the glove compartment of my car and took out a folder. I opened the folder and showed him the picture that was inside.
"You know who this is?"
He smiled."Ruben Olivares.El Puas."
"It's signed.This is for you.
He was at a loss for words.
"This is for me?"he finally asked meekly.
"It is my gift for you.You did a good job on my brakes.I will tell all my friends to come here."
"I give you my business cards,"he said.
I thanked him again and got in my car.He guided me out the gate to the street .As I began to drive off I saw him showing the photograph to his son.I knew that that was better than a ten buck tip.Now we would do business again. Things would be on a personal level. It was a no brainer.

The great jazz singer,Billie Holiday ,near the end of her life.

Suspension

Athletes and artists draw some parallels.The talented.The prodigy.With huge amounts of practice they rise to the paragons of their craft.That effort they put out in the gym or the in the studio is not trudgery.It's worked off inspiration.Then they're acclaimed as masters.Geniuses.But those accolades are not assumed without passion.When an artist or an athlete come into their own, it's at an early stage.Once they can transmit their skills, let's say through their brushes or boxing gloves,they will eventually become immortalized.

But I said the artist and the athlete share some likenesses.Father time will eventually erode an athlete's performance.Usually by that time the desire has waned. Training is a chore.The reality of athletic competition is unforgiving. There's no faking it. Joe Louis said the best he ever felt in the ring was against Max Baer.That was a few years before he won the title.We remember the young Duran and the young Ruben Olivares.We remember those days when they were unbeatable.But I also remember a tired,old Ruben Olivares being stopped by some unknown fighter from a punch to the shoulder at the Arena Coliseo in Mexico City. It was his last fight,a 4 rounder.No matter how much knowledge the once great ones have between the ears, the execution is not there anymore. They see the opening,but the synapses from the brain can't relay the message to the muscles in time.Once the old athlete begins to fade,his legacy will have a note of tragedy attached.We can't disguise Joe Louis lying prostrate,semi unconscious,a leg suspended on the lower ring rope.

But that's the scenario for the athlete.The human body is the barometer.For the artist,fakery can be sold,bought by a pseudo intellectual public.But since judgement is always subjective in the art world,it's just my opinion against yours.But I've always felt the "Young Lions" of the artisans arrive at fruition at a tender age like the athlete. When the bloom bursts open is when the flower reaches its eminence.Once Charlie Parker could finally wok out his ideas,after hours and hours of "woodshedding") he changed the music.It was a genesis.Coltrane came along and played the tenor like nobody else . It wasn't a copy of anything before,and it all made sense and was breathtaking.Then he dropped acid with Pharoah Sanders and the sound became noise. Picasso was a greater painter in his early years.Then came up with Cubism brushed those canvases hastily.It was gimmicky.Fellini's showed his "genius" with his early films.La Strada is studied in film school,but I think his masterpiece is The Night of Cabiria.Guilietta Masina's (Fellini's wife)performance is the most poignant,powerful tour de force I've ever experienced by an actress.But the dialogue and the actors are all Italian(unlike La Strada , also starring with Masina,Anthony Quinn and Richard Basehart).The Night of Cabiria is not name dropped much.La Strada is a great movie.It's one of Fellini's early works,but The Night of Cabiria beats it,in my opinion.But we can argue back and forth with our opinions. Like what's the best tasting beer?

Sports is not so subjective.That's why on these forums the back and forth usually is about" coulda so and so beat so and so both being in their primes?" I guess that's all you can do unless it's something like" could Louis,in his prime, beat Marciano since they already fought each other?"These arguments go on forever.For me it doesn't pique my interest .Too hypothetical. The same questions are just posed with a different format.I used to join in,but I don't like to find myself,eventually,with my leg suspending on the lower ring rope.




Guilietta Masina as Cabiria

What You See Is What You Are

"You still doing paintings of fighters?"asked Ed the bartender as he was putting a head on my beer.
"I'm backing off a little."
"Why's that?"asked Ed as he put the glass on a coaster.
"When I write on the forum about a certain fighter,I then feel compelled to paint him."
"So?"
"Compulsion is not the same as inspiration.I've painted over a lot of the fighters I've painted."
"So what do you paint now?"asked Ed.
"Anything that I feel inspired to paint.It comes off better that way."
Ed began straightening the bottles on the shelf behind the bar.With his back turned to me he, continued his conversation.
"Ever watch those old reruns they have on those TV channels?"he asked.
"I used to,but I can't stand the commercials."
"What do you mean?"
"They're mostly those pharmaceutical ads.You know.Do you have heart disease?Do you have diabetes? You can't get it up anymore.Are you suffering from depression.Have you or a loved one been exposed to asbestos? They've got a drug for everything."
"And then they tell you about the side effects."
"The FDA makes them disclose that."
"I think the United States is the only country that permits the drug companies to advertise on TV,"said Ed.
"I don't like watching those commercials."
"Well they figure just old people watch those programs."
"Well it ruins it for me."
Ed finished dusting off the liquor bottles and turned on the television set with the sound off.
"What do you think about the election?"asked Ed.
"I guess it's come down to Clinton and Trump."
"So who do you want?"
"Anybody but Clinton,"I said.
"Why's that?"
"Trump puts his foot in his mouth,but Clinton and her husband have gotten away with murder."
"What do you mean?"
"Put it this way. You'll never see it on the news."
"I was hoping Sanders would get in there,"said Ed.
"He seemed like he has more of a moral compass,but he is a dreamer."
"I don't get how he wants everyone to be equal and join hands and be as one,"said Ed.
"It's something like that."
Ed took my glass and put another head on it.
"Does your granddaughter and her husband still come over from Tijuana?"asked Ed.
"Yeah.They have to wake up early to cross the border.They arrive around midnight,get a few hours rest,and then go to work after taking my great granddaughter to school up here."
"It's good that she goes to school in San Diego,"said Ed.
"Sometimes my granddaughter doesn't start till late, so her and my wife watch novelas in the morning."
"Does your granddaughter speak English?"
"Sure,but she's mostly into the Mexican programs. My wife keeps the channel on the Mexican station all the time.I've never tried to influence her.Besides,she identifies with it."
"That's what's upsetting Americans. Foreigners don't assimilate like before."
Ed turned off the TV.
"There's no sports on yet,"he said. "It's too early."
"Well,it's just you and me in here.Put on something different."
"I guess I could put on one of those channels that show those old programs ,but I don't want you to feel like an old man."

The incomparable,Ella Fitzgerald

Man In The Street

"Where's your purse?,"I asked my wife as I drove my car inside the parking lot.
"Today is Dia De Las Madres.Muchos ladrones en la calle. Today and Christmas time. I no bring mi bolsa."
My wife was going to buy flour tortillas at the tortilleria on Constitution that only makes flour tortillas.Then she was going to walk back to 2nd street to the Mercado, that was catecorner from the Guadalupe Church , to the carniceria to buy meat for the carne asada she was going to cook up that night. She's been going that carniceria,"Carniceria Chon", for as long as I've known her.The old owner still comes in everday,but doesn't work at the counter much. He leaves those responsibilities to his son and nephew.His hair has grayed and his stomach protrudes proudly over his belt line.His bronze colored round face has wrinkled,but the lines seem to portray a story that translates to a lifetime of work that is his cornerstone. When he sees my wife ,the owner steps up front wrapped up in his old sweaters.He greets my wife with a pleasantness that the old Mexicans can adeptly make you feel that you're amongst friends. He now addresses my wife as"Dona Maria".
"Pasale Dona,"he'll say." Adelante por favor."
The owner will carefully slice the beef from his selected cuts and wrap them neatly in butcher's paper.All the while my wife and the old man will talk about grandchildren and great grandchildren and the past.The stories are all that are left after so many years,but that's what life is built on.

I let my wife out at the corner in front of the tortilleria. I told her that I was going down the street to Plaza Santa Cecelia to see if the key maker could fix the car chip key to my car.The button to open the door doesn't work.The other buttons work,but not the button to open the door.I had gone to the dealership in San Diego with the key. The guy behind at the parts desk popped the chip open.
"Here's the problem,"he said flatly."The button came off the circuit board."
"Can you solder it back on?"I asked hopefully.
"Naw.You have to buy a new one."he said matter of factly.
"What does a new one run?"
"A hundred and thirty for the key and another sixty five to program it to your car.What kind of car do you have?"
"Look pal,"I said with disdain."I remember when I had to get off my butt to change the channel on the TV. I'll just open my car with the key manually."

But Tijuana is a place where people learn how to jerry rig things. Things and, in a way their, lives.So I went to the little key stand with the hand painted sign above front in Plaza Santa Cecelia.I had a feeling that I wouldn't get a "No" for an answer. The kid behind the counter got up from his seat when he saw me approach the counter.i told him that all the buttons on the chip worked except the one that opens the door.I told him that the button had worked itself loose from the circuit board and that if it would be possible to solder back into place.

The kid popped open the cover.He tested all the other buttons on this device he had on the wall where these little lights would come on if the buttons worked.When the kid pressed the "open button" the light didn't flash.
"I can try,"he said thoughtfully.
Then an older guy came out from behind the back room. He took the key from the kid and studied it .
"I can try to solder it back on,"he said. "I don't guarantee,but if it doesn't work.you no pay."
"How much if it works,"I asked.
"Ten dollars,but you have to wait thirty minutes, The gun has to get hot."
"You got a deal,"I said
I took the key off from the key chain.
"I go next door to drink a beer,"I said."Vuelvo en treinta minutos."

I walked next door to the cantina. It was early and though it was Mother's day,the stores ,restaurants, and bars were slowly opening up . I could see some ladies sweeping out in front of their doors.I went to the bar next door.I asked the bartender if the place was open for business.He told me that it was no problem.
"Sientete.What do you want to drink?"he asked.
"Una cerveza.Tecate."
The bartender put a bottle of Tecate in front of me.I slid two bucks on the counter.He opened the cash register and gave me back fifty cents.I asked the bartender if I could take the beer outside and sit at one of the tables .
"Seguro."
I took my beer outside and sat at a table.No one else was sitting at any of the other tables.I nursed my beer.The sun was trying to get through the clouds.As the people started to move around getting things together,I looked over to "Cheto" Torres's Gym that was a couple of places down.I could see the door was open.I finished my beer,left it on the table,and walked over to "Cheto's". I stuck my head inside the door.There were a few younger kids punching the bags and skipping rope.An older kid was with another kid working the heavy bag.The older kid was showing him how to slip inside and then counter.He used the big bag as a tool.The younger kid seemed to be getting it,but was still pressed by the older kid to try to execute the technique properly. Frankly, I didn't understand what he was trying to show him.

A gray haired woman was sitting at the front desk in the entry way. She was leaning back in a swivel chair talking to a little girl that was selling chewing gum.The woman wasn't wearing any make up,but she looked very dignified and seemed content.I asked her if "Cheto" was around.She said he was going to come in later.I didn't know if she was "Cheto's"wife.I then asked her if Alex Lopez was still fighting.He was an up and coming prospect in TJ a few years back."Cheto" was handling him."Cheto"felt he had struck gold.The woman rolled her eyes.
"Esta cuidando los ninos,No have time no more,"she said breaking out in a laugh.

There was a big picture of Jose Napoles on the wall behind the front desk.
"I went to Ciudad Juarez to see "Mantequilla" Napoles last year."I said to the woman pointing at the picture.
"Oh,he's muy gordo now,"she said laughing,then puffing up her cheeks.
"No .He's very thin.He's got diabetes,"I said correcting her.
She turned her chair away from me and began again talking to the girl selling Chiclets. I walked to the opposite side of entry and looked at all the photographs a on the wall.There was a young Julio mCesar Chavez in his boxing pose.He used to own the gym before he sold it to
"Cheto."Most of the fighters in the photographs I did not recognize. I looked over to the woman to say "good by",but the woman was still talking with the girl.

I looked at my watch.It was almost thirty minutes since I gave the key to the key smith.As I neared his booth the kid got up and put the key on the counter.
"It works,"he said unemotionally.He then tested the key with that gizmo he had on the wall. All the lights went on this time.I put a ten spot on the counter.
"Thanks amigo,"I said and shook his hand. He looked a little surprised that I did that.

I walked back to the mercado to find my wife. She was still talking to the old butcher.They were laughing about something. There were several wrapped packages in butcher paper on the counter. I heard my wife ask her compadre if he had any fresh menudo. He told her that if she could come back Friday he would have some for her.



"Cheto's Gym"

Damn it, Rog, you did it to me again. I felt myself sitting outside with you having a Tecate listening to that speed bag at Cheto's gym calling out to us. You paint as well in text as you do on canvas.

scartissue wrote:Damn it, Rog, you did it to me again. I felt myself sitting outside with you having a Tecate listening to that speed bag at Cheto's gym calling out to us. You paint as well in text as you do on canvas.

Thanks Dan.I'm going on a road trip for a week to Arizona. Take in a Diamondback game,visit some wineries,see some ghost towns.Not many people out there.The roads are long and the desert scenery relaxes me. See you guys in a week.Rog

Top Billing

So I begin watching an Abbott and Costello episode on my DVD player and it's the one with Max Baer playing the part of the champ "Killer" King. He and his Mrs., played by Mary Beth Hughes doing a Judy Holliday impression,are looking to rent an apartment from Sid Fields the landlord in the same building where Bud Abbott and Lou Costello call home. Poor Costello gets off on the wrong foot with "Killer" when Lou accidently lifts up Mrs. King's dress with a broom handle. Of course "Killer" is the jealous sort and immediately goes after Costello. Platinum blonde Mrs. King steps and prevents the "Killer" from doing a homicide on the little pudgy fella'. It goes on like this."Killer" swears if he ever sees Costello making a move on his wife he's going to use him like a punching bag,but it's Mrs. King who has to always break things up.She tells her big galoot of a husband not to quit acting like a baby. Costello is harmless. Of course Costello can't help but keep stepping in it and getting chased around by the jealous champ.

Eventually,"Killer" has gone through all his sparring partners and is worried that if he can't find another cannon fodder he won't get prepared to defend the title. In the usual motif, Abbott convinces "Killer's" manager,played by Lyle Talbot, to use Costello as a sparring partner. The deal is sealed with the promise of 200 bucks for a few days work. To get Costello to buy into this 200 hundred dollar payday,Abbott doesn't reveal that his job is to be a sparring partner,especially for "Killer" King.

After Costello finishes his road work(he still doesn't know he has to lace up his gloves with "Killer"),he staggers inside the gym and is ready for a rub down. Now the trainer that comes over to the table with Costello spread out totally exhausted ready to get kneaded like a loaf of bread, has got one of those faces that rings a bell."Who is that guy?" I asked myself. I forget the story line and am working my brain to come up with that guy's name.He's a big guy.Looks like an ex pug.Maybe a grappler.Abbott and Costello liked to use fighters and wrestlers in their skits. The trainer has a couple of dumb lines.He acts like a dummy.

The show finally ends with somehow everyone getting conked on the head and then its a fade to the credits.Hopefully,that trainer's name will pop up in the cast list.Knowing Costello had a soft spot for the sweet science(Costello fought in the amateurs when he was a kid in Paterson ,NJ),I figure I'll get the guy's name.Sure enough, there it was.The last name on the cast list. Of course.It was Lou Nova.I should have known,but maybe because it was Nova, who handed Max Baer two horrible beatings ,I couldn't believe he'd get the bottom billing. But let's face it,Max Baer was a big ham who loved to self indulge.If you weren't having fun,what was life worth living for?If you look at a lot of pictures of Baer in the ring he's got his mouth open in the act of laughing or joking with his opponent.

Later,Baer became a part of the Hollywood circle.He played himself mostly.You couldn't direct him any other way if you wanted to get the most out of him. He was a happy go lucky guy who didn't take life too seriously.When he lost the title to Braddock,it seemed to take the pressure off. Why live life under pressure?Some say he should have taken fighting more seriously.He never lived up to his potential.But I don't think he ever brooded about what could have happened.Max Baer in the movies was Max Baer on the screen.When he was in his prime,just before he won the title,he costarred with the veteran actress Myrna Loy in the movie "The Prizefighter and The Lady".He was a philandering husband who was his own worse enemy.He played Max Baer.Myrna Loy keeps forgiving him and takes him back.At the time of that movie, Primo Carnera was the champ and he starred in the movie as the tiltle holder who defended his crown against Baer.It was scripted originally for Carnera to lose to Baer,but Primo wouldn't go along with that scenario.The fight wound up as a draw.

But Hollywood is a fantasy.You can write it anyway you want it.Direct it like you want.Put it all the together on your personal canvas.In the end,many people believe it all as the real thing. The truth becomes the lie and the lie the truth.People would rather believe what accommodates their ideas.Now in that Abbott and Costello short with Max Baer and Lou Nova,it was Max who stole the limelight .It was a nice gesture that Costello put him in his show,but Lou Nova was no thespian.I once read an interview with Nova.All he did was gripe about losing to Joe Louis and putting the blame on Ray Arcel.
"Ray Arcel never was a fighter.That's why I lost to Joe Louis."
I watch the reporters talking to Max Baer in the dressing room after getting pummeled by Joe Louis. Max shakes his head,smirks.shrugs his shoulders.He knew he got his ass kicked.There were those who said he lost heart,but it was what it was.Max went on after that not putting blame on anyone else.Just like in that Abbott and Costello episode,Max he could light up a room and the silver screen.He deserved top billing.Nova looked glum.Maybe he was type cast.Maybe he was still sore at Ray Arcel.I'm sure Arcel was taken aback by what he said.but then again Nova could always say he had Max's number.He should have been contented with just that.


Max Baer

The Holy Grail

"I read your story 'Top Billing" on the forum the other day,"said Ed the bartender as he rinsed a beer glass and then put it under the spigot.
"What did you think?"I asked.
"Well,I think Max Baer got top billing over Nova because he was the heavyweight champion."
"He was probably a better actor too,"I said as Ed put the glass of beer on a coaster.
"Yeah,Max was a big ham,but he was the champ.I know that don't mean much today."
"Back then there were not all these divisions and different title belts."
"It really meant something to win a championship back then."
Ed tore open a case of beer and began putting the bottles in the cooler in front of him.
"Most fighters start out in the profession thinking that they have the goods to win a championship,"said Ed.
"I know Burke thought he should have had a shot at Moore."
"Burke was good,but he couldn't have beaten Moore."
"He did win the Canadian title."
"I guess that gave him reason to call his place Champs,"said Ed as he cut open another case of beer.
The morning sun shone through the open front door.I stared at the sun's haze and the dust slowly moving within its rays. I was the only one in the place.I got there just after Ed opened the door.
"Yeah,Baer did win the big one,"I said."Even though Nova sent him into retirement,he never had a world title belt resting on his mantel."
"Remember when the consensus was that Carnera was the worst heavyweight champ?"
"But that's how Max became the champ."
"How about Schmeling being carried to his corner winning on a foul?"said Ed wiping off the top of the bar with a towel.
"I guess they'll take it anyway they can."
The mailman walked in and put the mail on the bar at the front door and then walked out quickly.
"I remember when Armando Muniz went down to Mexico and was giving Jose Napoles a beating,"I said.
"That was pretty bad."
"Armando told me Berumen,the ref,was related to Suiaiman.He also said that Sulaiman came into his dressing room before the fight and asked him if he thought he could win."
"Armando should have been the champ that night,"said Ed.
"That's something you think about the rest of your life."
"If you think about it too much,it'll drive you crazy,"said Ed as he rolled up his shirt sleeves.
"Jose did give him a rematch,"I said.
"Muniz lost that one fair and square."
"He told me he has no beef with that."
"Didn't he own a bails bond business?"
"Yeah. Married a great gal and raised a wonderful family. Likes to spend time with his grandkids."
"I think a lot can be said for that,"said Ed as he took my glass and put a nice head on my beer.


Max Schmeling

The Pretender

I only met Art Aragon once. It was a father/son banquet up in LA neck of the woods around eight years ago at a old time hangout named Steven's Steakhouse in Commerce .The restaurant was looking long in the tooth as was the neighborhood.They could have renamed Commerce something else.With all the outsourcing of work and the closing down of plants and factories, the burg had all the markings of a future ghost town. Fighters(and ex fighters) brought their dads and the other way around,the ex pug fathers were with their sons. I remember seeing Shane Mosley with his dad,Jack. A very heavy Mando Ramos was sitting beside his dad,Ray.Frank Baltazar senior had two of his former boxing sons,Frankie Jr. and Bobby with him at his table. I remember seeing the Golden Boy working his way around the tables exhibiting his old cockiness that was charming and funny.His son,Audie was with him,but I didn't see him, or if I did, I don't remember.

My eyes followed Aragon around the banquet room.Of course he didn't have to circulate ,but I guess his outgoing nature coaxed him into making the rounds.I'd say he was the main attraction with his fellow pugilists and the fans. At one time Aragon,in the 50's, was the largest sports figure in the Southland.LA. had the Rams and minor league baseball,but Art was the toast of the town.

He was the "Golden Boy." He was also an American,born in New Mexico. When he was matched with Mexican nationals like Enrique Bolanos and Lauro Salas the fans were packed to the doors at the Olympic Auditorium. But like other local Chicano fighters like Albert Sandoval,Alberto Davila,and, more recently,Oscar De La Hoya, the aficianados would trespass into their back yards and root for fighter born down Mexico way.

Art Aragon was really more of a natural junior welterweight than a true welterweight.His big moment was when he trimmed lightweight champ Jimmy Carter at catch weights in a non title affair at the Olympic. Carter and him got together the next time around with Jimmy putting his title on the line.Again the fight was made at the Olympic Auditorium,but the "Golden Boy" tarnished the result with a disappointing loss. Towards the end of his career Carmen Basilio came out west after losing the crown to Sugar Ray Robinson, and got well on Aragon at Art's stomping grounds,the Olympic Auditorium.Carmen was too big and strong for him.

During his fighting career and after,the" Golden Boy's" face was seen on the golden screen.I remember him playing himself on a few of the old Dragnets.Art was popular with the stars,especially the ones of the weaker sex. Some of those liaisons with those starlets were probably not conducive to a Spartan training regimen,but Art's quest for a good time rivaled his appetite for a championship. Something had to give.He became buds with Audie Murphy in the making of To Hell and Back(Audie Aragon was thus Christened) and Art had a role in John Huston's very real movie about boxing,Fat City.Art played a trainer for Stacy Keach in the film.

Art also made a living with his bail bond business. His motto was "I'll get you bailed out if it takes me ten years to do it."That was Art,tongue in cheek all the way.But Art had a caustic side.He might have acted clownishly,but his b--- s--- radar was always on.I remember some over bearing guy crowding Aragon at the father/son banquet.The guy was trying to rub shoulders with him by saying he used to know all the fighters he fought against and that he palled with them and was in the gym with them all the time on a daily basis. Art squinted at the dude and made a study.
"I don't remember ever seeing you around.The next thing you're going to tell me was that you were a fighter."
Aragon scoffed , turned on his heel, and then walked away. The guy was left standing there with a stupid grin on his face.

Later that afternoon I introduced myself to Aragon.I made sure I didn't make any allusions of ever stepping inside a boxing ring.



Art "Golden Boy" Aragon

The Greatest

When Muhammad Ali strolled into San Diego to fight local Kenny Norton,I think he thought he'd have a walk in the park.I remember Ali would like to take a microphone up with him inside the ring and have a give and take with the crowd.I forget the name of the hotel that Ali and Norton were staying at the last two weeks prepping for their upcoming match that was to take place at the Sports Arena.Ali would train before Kenny. Muhammad used Billy Joiner,Alonzo Johnson,and Tony Doyle as sparring partners to get him prepared.I think everyone wanted to see Ali "float like a butterfly and sting like a bee"when he sparred,but this was a time when Ali's legs couldn't get him out of trouble anymore.Ali would lean against the ropes mostly during those sessions and keep his elbows at his side letting his workout pals slug him at will.He knew that was going to happen to him in the fight.Before his forced retirement,many in the boxing world thought that Ali couldn't take it. He was a scaredy cat.That's why he danced around so much. Well,after 3 and a half years away from a pro fight Ali's legs weren't what they used to be.I remember Howard Cosell commenting during the Bonavena fight wondering if Muhammad was sick. He couldn't get off the ropes.It was similar to Ray Robinson when he came back from retirement and fought Ralph "Tiger" Jones.The athlete's most prized possession ,his legs,were getting old. Now these boxing masters were getting tagged by shots that at one time they would just deftly slip away from.

The fans that watched Ali train during those two weeks were caught up with his antics. Most thought the ex champ was charming and funny. Some thought he was a draft dodging big mouthed N word.But that attitude wasn't just shared with the local red necks.One time the all pro football player and runner up MVP of the league Deacon Jones was watching from the back of the room, Ali put the crowd in stitches with his banter.Muhammad wasn't working out that day. He said he had a cold.
"Who am I fighting?"Muhammad asked the fans as he sat against the ring ropes bundled in his robe, microphone in hand."Ken Norton?Well.I'll have him sh-----g in his pants. They'll be calling him Ken Fartin'."
He got a roar with that one.I guess big bad Deacon Jones(who had been traded to the Chargers from the Ram's Fearsome Foursome)didn't like all the amiable attention Ali was nurturing.The Deacon had to make a wise crack. I forget what it was.Ali sprang up from the canvas.
"Who's that?"snapped Muhammad.
"What that's Deacon Jones ,"said some guy who probably wanted Ali to put HIS foot inside Jones's mouth beside the one he had shoved in there.
"Is he a wrastler?"asked Ali giving the football player the evil eye.
Jones started shifting his feet and stammered out a nervous laugh.
"Angelo!"barked Muhammad."Get me those gloves."
Angelo gave Ali a pair of boxing gloves.Muhammad then flung them across the over everybody's heads.The gloves plopped at the big man's feet.
"Put them on chump"sniped Ali."And get your fat a.. up here now!".
Jones balked.He knew what he'd be getting himself into. Ali wouldn't be resting on no ropes and let the pig skinner wallop him. It would be the other way around. Ali would have played with him like a cat toying with a mouse and then eaten him aliveJones turned away and walked off having to bear the sounds of all the giggling and mocking.

After the show was over and Muhammad felt that he gave everyone their money's worth(it was free to watch Ali and Norton train),Ali descended the ring with his masseur George Youngblood and his trainer Angelo Dundee.I brushed up against the former champ on his way out. On the back of his robe was written"Muhammad Ali The Peoples Champ."He said it was a gift from Elvis Presley.I asked him where the wife and kids were.
"Oh they said they were going to the zoo. I here you have a pretty good zoo in town."
Then I asked him, tongue in cheek ,if his wife was staying in the same room with him.
"Man,that's all I'd have to do to get a butt whipping. I made sure she stays on the other side of the hotel.I hear this Norton is out to get me."

After Ali put his act to bed,the room would clear out quickly.Kenny Norton would then saunter in with his sparring partner Eddie "Bossman" Jones.Norton was all business in there. He hit the heavy bag putting everything into it and spar fast rounds with the "Bossman." I don't think Norton took favor with all the adoration Ali was getting. Besides,Norton was the local boy.But when Ali fought,the world was his stage.

After watching both fighters go through their paces,the thought that Ali may be exerting a half hearted effort began creeping into my mind.Besides ,Kenny Norton was a good fighter.He was no football player.



The Greatest

The above story was written as a homage for the greatest heavyweight champion who ever lived. Muhammad Ali and Joe Louis were the two most significant sports figures of the 20th century. I'll never see another two like them in my lifetime.Ring the bell ten times and let's be thankful.

I suppose it's only a matter of a short time before Ali passes. He's going to be taking his train out in the metro area of my upbringing in Phoenix Az....Scottsdale to be a bit more precise.

I'm sort of hoping he gets a reprieve and maybe rebounds, but he's getting close....I know it. We come and we go. Something we all have in common.

Make your important statements, and take your meaningful actions in life now friends, now is all we have.

Especially in the matters of forgiveness.

Rog, your paintings of a young, vibrant Ali are a fitting epitaph for him. Man, he was always my Dad and I's favorite heavyweight. Everytime there was a closed circuit telecast of an Ali fight, my Dad would pick up tickets for he and I and we would take off for the International Amphitheatre for the telecast on fight night. Great memories. RIP champ.

Footnote

There's that iconic photo in the 60's of Muhammad Ali seated surrounded by the foremost Black athletes of the period. On either side of Ali sitting down are Bill Russell and Jim Brown.Russell was the heart of the Boston Celtic dynasty,Jim Brown,the best running back in the NFL. But I've always had a bone to pick with this entourage,especially Russell and Brown. The erudite Russell was one of those guys that if you asked him the time he'd tell you how they made the watch.He wouldn't give a kid his autograph because, in his way. he thought it was a demeaning act.He was kind of funny,and when I mean kind of funny,everytime he went into one of his discourses,he'd validate his rhetoric with a big chuckle.He thought of himself as a leader in the Civil Rights Movement,but no cop in the South ever clubbed him over the head and tossed him in the pokey.The government took away his career when he was in his prime preventing him from making millions of dollars.That hurt more than a knock on the head.

Jim Brown was a guy with that chip on his shoulder.To this day he thinks he's the greatest player to ever suit up in pro football.His sense of humor was the size of a pin head. He liked to think of himself of having the potential of kicking Ali's butt.Ali tried to play him off,but one day Ali finally threw down the gauntlet.He challenged Brown to try to land a punch on his frame.Ali was classy enough that he wouldn't strike back. All Jimmy got for his effort was a fistful of air. When Big George was thinking he could eat Ali like a lion devouring his prey in Zaire,Brown was vicariously living that dream through Foreman.One of the first comments Ali made in the ring after the fight was"What happened Jimmy?".

The deal was that Russell and Brown thought they had this big following with the people. They didn't even have that much juice with the Blacks.Their problem was that they were too self absorbed.Their altruism couldn't be found on the radar.Muhammad Ali had a compassion. He reached out and the public grabbed his hand.When his plane landed in Zaire for the Rumble In The Jungle he didn't know what to expect. When he saw the multitudes of people,the common people,the underdogs,he was humbled.Foreman's greating party(the few that were at the airport)were turned off by his Dobermans. Ali ran through the countryside and the villages kissing babies and putting his arms around the locals.He didn't speak their tongue,but his genuineness was all that was needed to get the message across.He talked to them in English anyway. They understood.

JIm Brown and Bill Russell felt they were being upstaged when Muhammad Ali forged his way into the world's mantra.I remember Bill Russell saying that the Black athletes who were at that Black Summit wanted to know what Ali was all about.Ali might have said he was the Greatest,but his people knew that he was because he thought that way about them.The little guy was the greatest.That was what he was all about.He could make the meek feel that they could run with him anytime,anywhere.There's a great story Lonnie Ali told about her husband. She says that Muhammad (Cassius Clay at the time)went back home to Louisville to visit his family.Lonnie said she was with a group of little girls who ran up to the local hero to get attention. Of course this gesture was made to order for Cassius.He made a big fuss with the kids.Lonnie ,who was very self conscious about her looks(she hated her freckles)hung out in the back of the group. Cassius saw her sulking.He poked his head over the youngsters and focused on little Lonnie.
"Gee,you're pretty ,"he remarked with that patented smile of his.
That comment did more for her self esteem than all the child psychiatrist sessions in the world.This man had an intuition that put him a step ahead of the other guy.He had a gift for making people happy.Call it charm.Wit.Love.All those words fit him.

Even when Ali was in depths of his illness,he never lost his smile.Larry Holmes once said that he sometimes couldn't understand how Muhammad Ali could be a fighter.Ali was almost too nice a person to be a fighter.How does that song go?"What the world needs now...."


Ali,smiling all the way to the end

A Nation Of Children And So Am I

"Hey Zambrano how's it going amigo?!",I shouted across the patio.
There he was .Hector Zambrano the head custodian for the school I worked at.I knew him before when he used to be a fighter.Zambrano was pushing a cart with a stack of chairs on it when I called out to him.He put the cart aside and walked towards me with a big smile on his face.
"What are you doing back here?"he asked."Come to see us spin our wheels,"he went on laughing.
"Of course not.I came to see you,"
We gave each other a good abrazo.I looked for a moment at his face that was all wrinkled now .The old scar tissue as an aftermath from all his fights I could notice above his bushy brows .His hair was graying,but still full.He slicked it back straight just had he always had done.
"How's retirement Roger?"
"Everyday is Saturday."
"Let's go to the cafeteria and have coffee,"he said.
Zambrano got on his walkie talkie and said if you wanted to find him he'd be in the cafeteria.It was the last period for classes.The bell would ring in a half hour. We went inside the cafeteria.It was empty inside the dining room. One of the matronly Mexican ladies was finishing clearing the steam tables in the kitchen so that everything would be clean and ready for the next morning when the kids would come in for the pre school breakfast.Zambrano stepped up to the counter where Another Mexican lady was wiping down the stainless steel bakery oven.
"Mija",he said. "Dos cafecitas por favor."
The Mexican lady went to the big urn and drew two coffees filling two coffee mugs.
"Hector,"she said."Hay bastante cafe por solomente dos mas.Tienes suerte,"the Mexican lady said as she put the cups on the counter.
"Gracias Emeralda.Viene su novio ahorra?"laughed Zambrano.
The old woman smirked as she smoothed her apron.
"All I need is another man in my life.Between my husband and my three boys I have enough to deal with."
She then closed the wood shutters above the counter. I could hear her start up the dishwasher.

Me and the ex fighter sat at a small table by the door to the cafeteria. The door was open.
"How are you getting along with the new principal,"I asked.
"He's alright.He doesn't bother me.For a gringo he's ok. It's my crew that gives me problems."
"How's that?"
"When Gabriel was our boss,we didn't like him.He thought he knew it all. Then he retired and I was moved up to be the boss.Now these guys hate me. They do everything to work against me."
"Sounds like a Mexican thing."
Zambrano laughed.
"We're a nation of children."he chuckled.
We both sipped our coffees.There was a silence for awhile.
"Hector,I remember you fighting on the undercard of the Saad Muhammad fight at the Sports Arena."
"No,I fought the prelim when Rodriguez fought Rafa Gutieerez at the Sports Arena."
"That must have been the time,"I said apologetically."
"That was the last fight I ever won."
"I remember you won five or six straight when you started,"
"Then I lost all the others", he said looking down at the table.
"Why did you keep going on like that?"
"I liked fighting.It was better than working. Besides I got a chance to fight in Italy later on."
"How was Italy?"
"After I came back I didn't even have enough money for cab fare."
"It was better you stopped."
"I stopped because my wife said she was going to leave me."
"This is better being here."
It seemed that the discussion of Zambrano's boxing career had ended.
"Hey I bought a house in TJ.I'll show you a picture,"he said anxiously.
Zambrano opened his wallet and showed me a picture of his house.
"I live in Libertad.I rent the house out on this side.The rent pays the mortgage. See the big fountain in the patio ?I put that in. Real Mexican."
"I like the Harley.That yours?"
"Yeah.I cross with it to work everyday. That way I don't get stuck in the line."
"It's a beautiful bike,"I said.
"I keep it locked up inside the garage and I don't ride it up the hill. They'll take it away from me."
"I know what you mean,"I said.
We finished our coffees.
"I've got to get back,"said Zambrano."I know those pendejos are hiding from me. I've got to track them down."
"It was good seeing you again Hector,"I said.
We got up from our chairs.
"You still have a daughter that lives in Canon Jhonson?"asked Zambrano.
"A daughter.Three grand daughters and seven great grandchildren."
"Congratulations."
"You know something Hector.When life gets me down I like being around those kids. They're always happy."
The ex fighter smiled.He showed a big gold tooth in front.
"Well carnal, I hope to see you again.Don't forget Zambrano,"he said still smiling.
"My thoughts are always with you amigo."
Before walking out the door we gave each other another strong abrazo.

Kid Azteca

North Star

Remember that Mexican actress Katy Jurado?She was in High Noon.Played Lloyd Bridges' girlfriend. Shortly after that movie she married Ernest Borgnine.Her film career in the States tailed off(as did her marriage with Borgnine),but she was still making Mexican flicks.I hadn't heard from her in awhile,but it was some time ago that I was standing in line at the checkout counter when one of those National Inquirers caught my eye.There was ol' Katy Jurado's picture on the cover.There was this big quote above her picture.
"Katy Jurado says'I'm back!'".
As I was putting my groceries on the counter I read a little bit of the article.She was going to have a part in a movie in the United States.Katy Jurado never had top billing in a film in the US.The part she was going to play sounded like another minor role. In Mexico she was a big star.Here she kind of flickered. But to be a part of something in the United States for Mexican entertainer and athlete is something special.It's status. A prestige thing.

One time when I was in my wife's hometown, the director of the Cultural Center told me there was going to be a lecture on Benito Juarez.Juarez and Lazaro Cardenas(who was born in my wife's hometown,Jiquilpan)were two of the most morally just presidents on the country's long list Frito Bandidos politicians.I remember sitting in on the lecture. The professor who gave the discourse could talk about nothing else but comparing Benito Juarez with George Washington.I could buy a little of that,but Benito Juarez was his own man. The professor kept looking at me every time he drew the simile.

I remember the day when the great Mexican fighters fought just as many important bouts in their homeland as in the United States.But today there are hardly any big time fights worth mentioning in Mexico.Canelo Alvarez is on top and will stay that way putting on big shows in Las Vegas and San Antonio.

Frida Kahlo and her socialist/Communist husband Diego Rivera were first recognized in Untied States. Rivera was commissioned to do murals during the Depression Years by the Roosevelt administration.It only near the end of her life that Frida Kahlo was asked to show her work at an exhibition in Mexico. Today, with all the kidnappings and extortions rampant in Mexico,many of Mexico's notoriety have relocated to the US side.Mexico's great mariachi singer Vicente Fernandez,after his son was kidnapped(he was finally released after the ransom was paid,albeit with a finger missing)decided to pull up stakes and move to Texas.

Dodger Adrian Gonzalez,though born in San Diego,grew up in TJ .His parents are Mexican nationals.His family had businesses in TJ. Adrian,like many talented baseball players in Tijuana ,played high school ball in the Sweetwater Union High School district near the border on the US side.The prestige and exposure could only come to fruit here. Eventually Gonzalez had to move his family out of TJ to the US .The drug traffickers were getting to close.

If a Mexican has the papers to live in the United States or just come over temporarily on a visa whether it's to buy a car or just to put gas in the one he has,it's a move up in the world.

Don't let no one kid ya'.If our border along Mexico was like the one we share with Canada,we'd see a human tidal come from down below that would be devastating. You can't blame the majority on them.All they talk about is the United States-making comparisons and wanting to get over here.It costs around 5 grand to find a "coyote" to bring someone across. The "Pollo" is lucky if he's not left to die in the desert or if he can get to a "safe house",the Mexicans there will shake him down for more money. If his family can't come across with the dough,the man will become an indentured servant more than likely,the woman, probably the same or forced into prostitution.

These fat cats like Jorge Ramos the newscaster on Telemundo who's all pissed off.And this ex president Vicente Fox who wants to stick up for his Mexico really piss me off. It is elitists like these guys whose families go back since Mexico's inception that have put the yoke on poor and held their feet on their necks.The aristocracy have always benefitted from all the money that our tax dollars have thrown away down there,not to mention our big corporations.Pancho Villa would have hanged these guys up from every tree limb in Mexico.

I'll wrap this diatribe up with this "illegal" question. Trump played this all wrong. It's not the illegals that have me concerned as much as the "legal" migration.I know an American that works at the US Consulate in Ciudad Juarez,That's the consulate where Mexicans living in Northern Mexico go to get some sort of document(Green Card/visa) to enter the United States.He told me any Mexican that can get approved for an appointment is a "gimme".But here's the kicker. YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A US CITIZEN TO SPONSOR SOMEONE TO COME HERE!.Someone with a Green Card(who's not a US citizen can legally petition for a foreigner to come to America.Where else can someone who is not a citizen of the country they live in bring a foreigner into the country?Incredible.It's all a big trade off.We get what we want from Mexico(a break on the price of oil,putting our corporations down there with the money we lend them,and making sure that we have a government that is friendly to our interests)You'll never see Mexico have a Castro or a Hugo Chavez running their politics..In return Mexico gets to siphon off the unemployable through legal avenues by way of our State Department and yes,we look the other way with the narcos and their trafficking and other sordid exploits.

I was in TJ today. We took our poodles down to stay with our daughter for two weeks. Maria cashed in enough bottles and cans so we can take a vacation on one of those Viking River Cruises. We' ll be going down the Rhine River making eight stops ,then getting off in Amsterdam and staying there for three days. On the way back to the border from my daughter's house I was thinking about gassing up. Pemex ,Mexico's national oil company ,has the monopoly on oil and gas in Mexico. I looked at the sign on one of their stations.The price added up to around 5 dollars a gallon.The federal minimum wage in Mexico is 5 dollars a day. Trump wants to build a wall.It would only be transparent.


Frida Kahlo