Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 27 Jun 2016, 13:05
The West Coast Boxing Hall of Fame - Sunday September 25th 2016. Everyone mark your calendars. I wouldn't miss this one for the world.dagosd2000 wrote:
BoxRec
Classic American West Coast Boxing
Page 1657 of 1796
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 28 Jun 2016, 04:10
Kel
Just saw on the news the passing of Southland sportscaster Tom Kelly.I remember Tom Kelly mostly calling the games for USC football.He was a local icon,beautiful speaking voice with a smooth delivery. His no bombast delivery was apropos for the laid back sunny California area. A tall handsome gent with a friendly smile,he wasn't a radical who stirred the pot for the sake of drawing attention to himself or to get a story.
Kelly was a jack of all trades with the sports genre. For a year he did the play by play down here in San Diego for the football Chargers. I wish he had stayed longer. Awhile back he emceed the World Boxing Hall of Fame annual banquet in Los Angeles. I know Rick Farris was a pal of Tom Kelly. I'm sure Rick is feeling sympathy for Tom's family. When he was in the booth working with a colleague Tom Kelly would often be called Kel,a nickname connoting respect and admiration. A friendly guy,you'd often hear his voice calling a local high school football game,a college track meet,and an occasional boxing match. He was in demand to host local sporting events and celebrations. He felt comfortable in his skin. He was of the old school of announcing,a sort of a Vince Scully,but not that recognized outside the SoCal area.It probably didn't matter to him. He wasn't pretentious enough to step on anybody to get ahead in his profession. Will miss you Tom,or may I call you Kel.
Just saw on the news the passing of Southland sportscaster Tom Kelly.I remember Tom Kelly mostly calling the games for USC football.He was a local icon,beautiful speaking voice with a smooth delivery. His no bombast delivery was apropos for the laid back sunny California area. A tall handsome gent with a friendly smile,he wasn't a radical who stirred the pot for the sake of drawing attention to himself or to get a story.
Kelly was a jack of all trades with the sports genre. For a year he did the play by play down here in San Diego for the football Chargers. I wish he had stayed longer. Awhile back he emceed the World Boxing Hall of Fame annual banquet in Los Angeles. I know Rick Farris was a pal of Tom Kelly. I'm sure Rick is feeling sympathy for Tom's family. When he was in the booth working with a colleague Tom Kelly would often be called Kel,a nickname connoting respect and admiration. A friendly guy,you'd often hear his voice calling a local high school football game,a college track meet,and an occasional boxing match. He was in demand to host local sporting events and celebrations. He felt comfortable in his skin. He was of the old school of announcing,a sort of a Vince Scully,but not that recognized outside the SoCal area.It probably didn't matter to him. He wasn't pretentious enough to step on anybody to get ahead in his profession. Will miss you Tom,or may I call you Kel.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 28 Jun 2016, 04:13
Another personal viewpoint of my favorite boxing subject,Joe Louis
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 29 Jun 2016, 01:54
In regards to the death of Tom Kelly, it seems that very few of the top Los Angeles sportscasters of the 1960s and 1970s are still alive, let alone still working at their craft. But in his 67th and final season as a baseball play-by-play announcer for the Dodgers, the great Vin Scully is still working at the age of 88 during the home games. But Scully generally hasn't go on the road for Dodger games recently. In addition to having enormous talent for his craft and a very clear, pleasant voice, Scully has been a consummate, well-prepared professional and a fine, humble gentleman in the truest sense. Like many other people, I often wonder if someone like Scully could make it as a young play-by-play announcer today. I doubt if he would, which definitely is a bad reflection on the present American sports environment.
- Chuck Johnston
- Chuck Johnston
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 02 Jul 2016, 20:26
No Need For A Castle In Spain
I got a sister in law who lives in Tepito. For those of you that are unaware,Tepito is a neighborhood in Mexico city. It's a poor barrio.A barrio that has a tradition of being a tough place to grow up and live in. To say that you live in Tepito is like wearing a badge of honor in a way. Tepito is a metaphor for the typical grueling way of life that most Mexicans endure to make it from day to day.But life has to have a pause or two of levity in order to make it worthwhile.A perfect example of someone who rose to the top ,bringing with him a sense of humor that is needed if you are to survive the trials and tribulations of Tepito, was the great Mexican comedian and international film star Mario Moreno,known affectionately as Cantinflas.He represented the common man of Mexico.The underdog.Laughing as he' experiences disappointment.The street smarts that were instilled in him growing up were translated into his performances . He was a national treasure.
My sister in law,like many of the people living in Tepito,is an established local. Most people make their living selling their wares in the streets.My sister in law sells eggs and cheese with her oldest son Lauriano at her side.They pick up their products before dawn at the big Mercado outside of the city.Lauriano,driving their patched up old pickup truck,then go to their designated spot in the street and set up for a long day's trial of selling what they have to offer.
The streets in Tepito are clogged with vendors selling everything imaginable-clothes.electronics,produce,meat,tools.Any commodity that people need to have to exist. Some items are stolen.Some are counterfeit.It's the biggest swap meet in Mexico. The "tianguis" (the Mexican name for swap meet)is the most well known bargaining mecca in Mexico. Nobody earns enough to live on "easy street"or let alone can they struggle out of Twpito to any higher standard of living.At least not selling,unless it's drugs.But for most,they've come to grips with living in Tepito.Like what I alluded to,if you live in Tepito it means you can take it. You have to be tough and street smart to get through it day by day.They wear that invisible badge.The patron saint of Tepito is Santa Muerte. The saint of death.It's an exclusive club.
Tepito is no different than any town in the world. There are schools and churches,parks and stores.Families experience life and death and bear a code that represents a life in this hardened barrio that is exclusively theirs. Take Tepito out of Mexico and there is a loss of genuineness.
My wife's oldest sister left the little ranch in Paredones,Michoacan,shortly after her father was killed.he was a paymaster for a mining company. One afternoon he was riding his mule down from the mine through the rugged crags,the crew's payroll in his saddle bag.The bandidos were waiting for him at the pass.They jumped him taking the payroll and then slitting his throat with a machete.After this tragedy,it was up to my mother in law and the rest of her nine children to to find a way to survive. My sister in law wanted no part in rearing the young ones.She was mean to the kids so they say.Beat them constantly.One day she took off for Mexico City.She wasn't missed,again so they tell it. There,she met a man,married,and had five children. But her husband was a "boracho".He died of liver disease.Now she had to fend for herself . She scuffled together ,with her son Lauriano,eking out a living selling eggs and cheese in the streets of Tepito.
Of her five children,three are girls and two boys,Lauriano and his younger brother Carlitos. I remember visiting her with my wife in the late 60's. The crowded apartment that were living in had no running water.The upstairs bedroom was were the girls and their mother lived.There were four cots lined up side by side.The cots were partitioned from each other by a rope with a sheet draped over it. This set up provided a modest privacy. The boys slept downstairs in the kitchen. In Mexico, with the poor,every room is the bedroom.
The girls went to a nursing school in the city.I remember opening their textbook. The copy write date was 1947.Only one of the girls passed the courses.I heard she married her instructor.Her sisters got married before they were twenty and now live in remote areas in the south in the states of Chiapas and Yucatan.They have given my sister in law many grandchildren and great grandchildren.But you can't buy groceries with little babies.
Lauriano stayed with his mother in the streets selling the eggs and cheese,but Carlitos had an ambition to be a fighter. At the time Ruben Olivares was the biggest name in Mexican boxing. By the way,Oliveres was from Tepito as was Carlos Zarate,"Raton" Macias,and the immortal Kid Azteca. Boxing was a legitimate poor man's out of a place like Tepito.Carlitos wanted to find his way out too.Sometimes Carlitos would help his mother and older brother Lauriano sell eggs and cheese,but most of his afternoons were spent in the gym.
Lauriano resented the fact that his little brother was exercising his time away in the gym instead of peddling in the barrio to try to pay the bills. My sister in law kind of felt the same way.She couldn't fathom why her son would wile away his time getting hit in the face for nothing. I want to add that although Lauriano was a breadwinner,he had a drinking problem like his father.When this kid drank he was a mess.In short, he was a bad drunk.Nasty and a chicken s--t.You wouldn't want to turn your back on him when he was drunk.Blame it on the Indian in him or what,but it was best to know where he was in the room when he went on a binge.
Well one night Lauriano had had a snoot full.It was late and Carlitos was coming back from a evening with his novia.It was told to me that there was an argument between the brothers at the front door.Maybe it had something to do with his Carlitos's lack of pulling his his weight as a provider.Well I guess Lauriano hit his brother with the empty tequila he had just finished off.The result was that Carlitos lost an eye.His dream of becoming the next Ruben Olivares wasover.
It's been a long time since I've been to Mexico City.My wife's family doesn't talk much about my sister in law,at least not in front of me.My wife,now that her mother has passed,is the matriarch of family. I heard something that my sister in law is still selling eggs and cheese in the streets in Tepito.Her daughters don't communicate with her that much.And her sons? I guess Carlios got married.He has a little son.Lauriano tied the knot too,but his drinking drove his wife away.She got tired of the beatings .She left taking their young daughter.Carlios and his wife and son live with the my sister in law.Lauriano lives by himself.I heard he wants to open up a business selling counterfeit levis with his brother Carlitos in Tepito.
Mario Moreno-Cantinflas
I got a sister in law who lives in Tepito. For those of you that are unaware,Tepito is a neighborhood in Mexico city. It's a poor barrio.A barrio that has a tradition of being a tough place to grow up and live in. To say that you live in Tepito is like wearing a badge of honor in a way. Tepito is a metaphor for the typical grueling way of life that most Mexicans endure to make it from day to day.But life has to have a pause or two of levity in order to make it worthwhile.A perfect example of someone who rose to the top ,bringing with him a sense of humor that is needed if you are to survive the trials and tribulations of Tepito, was the great Mexican comedian and international film star Mario Moreno,known affectionately as Cantinflas.He represented the common man of Mexico.The underdog.Laughing as he' experiences disappointment.The street smarts that were instilled in him growing up were translated into his performances . He was a national treasure.
My sister in law,like many of the people living in Tepito,is an established local. Most people make their living selling their wares in the streets.My sister in law sells eggs and cheese with her oldest son Lauriano at her side.They pick up their products before dawn at the big Mercado outside of the city.Lauriano,driving their patched up old pickup truck,then go to their designated spot in the street and set up for a long day's trial of selling what they have to offer.
The streets in Tepito are clogged with vendors selling everything imaginable-clothes.electronics,produce,meat,tools.Any commodity that people need to have to exist. Some items are stolen.Some are counterfeit.It's the biggest swap meet in Mexico. The "tianguis" (the Mexican name for swap meet)is the most well known bargaining mecca in Mexico. Nobody earns enough to live on "easy street"or let alone can they struggle out of Twpito to any higher standard of living.At least not selling,unless it's drugs.But for most,they've come to grips with living in Tepito.Like what I alluded to,if you live in Tepito it means you can take it. You have to be tough and street smart to get through it day by day.They wear that invisible badge.The patron saint of Tepito is Santa Muerte. The saint of death.It's an exclusive club.
Tepito is no different than any town in the world. There are schools and churches,parks and stores.Families experience life and death and bear a code that represents a life in this hardened barrio that is exclusively theirs. Take Tepito out of Mexico and there is a loss of genuineness.
My wife's oldest sister left the little ranch in Paredones,Michoacan,shortly after her father was killed.he was a paymaster for a mining company. One afternoon he was riding his mule down from the mine through the rugged crags,the crew's payroll in his saddle bag.The bandidos were waiting for him at the pass.They jumped him taking the payroll and then slitting his throat with a machete.After this tragedy,it was up to my mother in law and the rest of her nine children to to find a way to survive. My sister in law wanted no part in rearing the young ones.She was mean to the kids so they say.Beat them constantly.One day she took off for Mexico City.She wasn't missed,again so they tell it. There,she met a man,married,and had five children. But her husband was a "boracho".He died of liver disease.Now she had to fend for herself . She scuffled together ,with her son Lauriano,eking out a living selling eggs and cheese in the streets of Tepito.
Of her five children,three are girls and two boys,Lauriano and his younger brother Carlitos. I remember visiting her with my wife in the late 60's. The crowded apartment that were living in had no running water.The upstairs bedroom was were the girls and their mother lived.There were four cots lined up side by side.The cots were partitioned from each other by a rope with a sheet draped over it. This set up provided a modest privacy. The boys slept downstairs in the kitchen. In Mexico, with the poor,every room is the bedroom.
The girls went to a nursing school in the city.I remember opening their textbook. The copy write date was 1947.Only one of the girls passed the courses.I heard she married her instructor.Her sisters got married before they were twenty and now live in remote areas in the south in the states of Chiapas and Yucatan.They have given my sister in law many grandchildren and great grandchildren.But you can't buy groceries with little babies.
Lauriano stayed with his mother in the streets selling the eggs and cheese,but Carlitos had an ambition to be a fighter. At the time Ruben Olivares was the biggest name in Mexican boxing. By the way,Oliveres was from Tepito as was Carlos Zarate,"Raton" Macias,and the immortal Kid Azteca. Boxing was a legitimate poor man's out of a place like Tepito.Carlitos wanted to find his way out too.Sometimes Carlitos would help his mother and older brother Lauriano sell eggs and cheese,but most of his afternoons were spent in the gym.
Lauriano resented the fact that his little brother was exercising his time away in the gym instead of peddling in the barrio to try to pay the bills. My sister in law kind of felt the same way.She couldn't fathom why her son would wile away his time getting hit in the face for nothing. I want to add that although Lauriano was a breadwinner,he had a drinking problem like his father.When this kid drank he was a mess.In short, he was a bad drunk.Nasty and a chicken s--t.You wouldn't want to turn your back on him when he was drunk.Blame it on the Indian in him or what,but it was best to know where he was in the room when he went on a binge.
Well one night Lauriano had had a snoot full.It was late and Carlitos was coming back from a evening with his novia.It was told to me that there was an argument between the brothers at the front door.Maybe it had something to do with his Carlitos's lack of pulling his his weight as a provider.Well I guess Lauriano hit his brother with the empty tequila he had just finished off.The result was that Carlitos lost an eye.His dream of becoming the next Ruben Olivares wasover.
It's been a long time since I've been to Mexico City.My wife's family doesn't talk much about my sister in law,at least not in front of me.My wife,now that her mother has passed,is the matriarch of family. I heard something that my sister in law is still selling eggs and cheese in the streets in Tepito.Her daughters don't communicate with her that much.And her sons? I guess Carlios got married.He has a little son.Lauriano tied the knot too,but his drinking drove his wife away.She got tired of the beatings .She left taking their young daughter.Carlios and his wife and son live with the my sister in law.Lauriano lives by himself.I heard he wants to open up a business selling counterfeit levis with his brother Carlitos in Tepito.
Mario Moreno-Cantinflas
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 04 Jul 2016, 12:52
Good morning, Gentlemen,
I am looking for records of fights for my uncle, Jack Lance.
After years of searching I've just now come across the first known record; from the Seattle Times;
Dated October 16, 1927
"Pair of big heavies will meet Wednesday
Slim Hanson, the poplar local heavyweight who made his first appearance in the pro ranks last week and won by a knockout in the opening seconds, will battle Jack Lance in the headliner of a card being arranged by Gene Crosson for next Wednesday night at White Center.
Lance is the boy who won fame last year by trimming Chub Crawford at Aberdeen.
Lance is six footer weighing 212 pounds."
I am looking for records of fights for my uncle, Jack Lance.
After years of searching I've just now come across the first known record; from the Seattle Times;
Dated October 16, 1927
"Pair of big heavies will meet Wednesday
Slim Hanson, the poplar local heavyweight who made his first appearance in the pro ranks last week and won by a knockout in the opening seconds, will battle Jack Lance in the headliner of a card being arranged by Gene Crosson for next Wednesday night at White Center.
Lance is the boy who won fame last year by trimming Chub Crawford at Aberdeen.
Lance is six footer weighing 212 pounds."
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 10 Jul 2016, 01:19
Bread And Butter
"Make sure you get at the bakery by 2 o'clock. That's when the bolillos are hot right out of the oven,"said my wife to me as I walked out the door.
""I've got plenty of time.Don't worry.I'll make sure I'll get there when they take them out of the oven."
Me and the wife were visiting my mother in law in Canon Jhonson.Every week we'd drive to Tijuana to be sure she was supplied with groceries and have enough money to buy the necessities to keep her grandchildren functioning happily.Every week this was the ritual that me and the wife relished. My mother in law was left to tend to the three boys.Her daughter,Virginia ,gave birth to the three boys sired by three different" cabrones." The boys were born in my wife's hometown, Jiquilpan.After each birth,Virginia would make the trek to Tijuana and dump the kid with my mother in law.To be honest,Virginia didn't have the mental stabilty to properly care for her sons anyway.To say it nicely,she was mentally challenged. Challenged or not,we decided to get her tubes tied.
"Get enough bolillos so we can take some home,"said my wife.
"Don't worry."i shouted back as I hustled out the door."I won't forget."
I skipped down the steps of the apartment and got in my car.My mother in law lived in the same place where me and the wife had lived when we were first married. The kitchen was very small with the bathroom located next to the refrigerator. Mold and cockroaches was the décor.The bedroom was adjacent to the kitchen. There was a big bed with a saggy mattress and a big box television on top of a nicked up dresser that devoured most of the room.Two small roms were behind the bedroom. Piles of clothes were all over the place because the closets were stuffed full.The boys slept in these rooms on a mattresses that were on the floor. Pictures of babies and little kids from the family hung by ropes on all the walls .The pictures tilted down because the big nails they hung on were very long .
That was a time when the road through Canon Jhonson was dirt and rocks pitted with ruts and sinkholes.Trash,old tires,broken furniture,and an occasional dead animal would occupy the crevices. During a heavy rain it was impossible to drive inside or exit Canon Jhonson. The road turned into a torrent that washed everything in its path downtown to Constitution Street .At the mouth of these rapids was a big office building. Everything that the water swept in its path found itself crashing through the door of this building. Because of the force of the water the building would practically be razed to the ground. One time after a heavy deluge,I saw a car that had smashed through the front door.To this day there is still the "se vende" sign on the property.
As I arrived at the mouth of the canyon and then turned left on Constitution,I noticed a slew of cars parked in front of the Tijuana Jail that was located a half block down the street on Calle Ocho. The Tijuanans affectionately called the Tijuana Jail,"El Ocho." A big crowd was milling around outside. I thought maybe some big time criminal was being taken in and the crowd was there to satisfy their curiosity.Just then a big limo pulled up and slowly edged its way through the crowd.The car stopped just short of the jail. Filing out to the curb was a little old guy wearing an old sweatshirt with a towel draped over his shoulder.A couple of other younger looking men followed wearing sweat pants and pullover sweatshirts.The last man to exit the car stood out like a bolt of lightning. He was a neon sign amid a sea of soft white lightbulbs.He waved and broke a big smile to the crowd as he strode out to the sidewalk.It was Mantequilla Napoles. The hottest item in Mexican boxing.He ran energetically up a flight of stairs that were next to the jail.On the other side of the stairs was the old fire station. The stairs led upward to the boxing gym that separated the two buildings .Mantequilla Napoles must have arrived to put in a training session I thought.Sure.He was to fight Eddie Pace in a couple of weeks at the old downtown bullring.He was going to put on a workout for the local fans.
I parked my car in front of the panaderia.I jogged over to the gym.i didn't want to miss this.The bolillos could wait. Besides,another batch would be put in the bins around 4 o'clock. My wife and mother in law would understand if I was a little late.
The upstairs gym was a small facility with a ring and various heavy and speed bags hanging from the low ceiling. The gym was crowdwd and hot. The sunbeams shining through the windows abutting the ceiling illuminated the dust that slowly swirled through the crowd.The smell of all the sweat that had imbedded itself in the canvas of the ring and the leather punching bags was unmistakably the scent of the boxing gym.
Napoles ciimbed through the ring ropes with the grace of a big cat.He was wearing an old cut off sweatshirt,boxing briefs,and a pair of high top black boxing shoes. He pranced around the perimeter of the ring,began bobbing and weaving,circling shaking out his arms,and eventually began to shadow box.After working up a sweat he started doing his exercises.Bicycle rolls,knee flexes,sit ups,and finishing with the medicine ball.With beads of sweat billowing on his "chata" face with the big full "bigote" and Siamese eyes,he was all grace and elegance with every movement. Napoles wasn't an expecially fast worker.He was never frenetic. Rhythm to his movements that translated to efficiency of punching,slipping side to side,putting his feet in the proper place to dispatch an opponent made Mantequilla Napoles the equivalent to the nonpareil inside the boxing ring.Every movement was executed like a Rembrandt using his brush. Even if he didn't connect he looked good. It wasn't an effort in futility.Like he knew he missed the target and just had to regroup and strike the next time.He used his sparring partners to work on the little things.A double hook.A left hook off the jab. Shifting his weight against his opponents body,A clinch against the ropes.Feignting and drawing his man into a counter.Sometimes I imagined Shakespeare was in his corner along with Kid Rapidez.
After sparring at his controlled pace,Napoles would work the speed bag with separate hands sometimes slipping his head from side to side of the bag and then resuming the striking with both gloves.Winding up his routine would do rope skipping.Not at a hell bent pace a la Ray Robinson,but a soft steady spring, feet barely lifting from the floor.All the time he was in there he'd have that stoic look. He was all business inside a ring.He saw everything in front of him. He always knew what was going on.What to expect.At the end he might not have trained hard enough, and his cuts were opening up faster,but he still knew what was going on.His body was his betrayer.
I had seen Napoles fight earlier in the year against the American journeyman Herbie Lee at the bullring.Before he even threw a punch just watching him saunter down to the ring wearing that green shorty robe with "Napoles" in white block letters on the back,I knew he was something special. It was my first exposure to see him fight and after taking Lee apart with a plethora of combinations my intuition was validated.All of Mexico was ready to see Napoles make his break to fight in the US for the first time.Maybe some in LA were captivated with Indian Red and Hedgemon Lewis,but I knew ,along with the "aficianados",that those two boys had no chance.
The workout ended. No one wanted to leave. Everybody wanted to get close to Napoles.He was now smiling and talking to his adopted countrymen.His true nature outside the ring emerged.His Cubano rhythms permeated the air. It wasn't a workout.It was a festival.Mexico had made Mantequills Napoles one of their own. He was made a citizen by the president. He made movies.He was on the cover of magazines.He played the trumpet in his salsa band. Jose Alfredo Jimenez wrote the song "El Rey' as an homage to Mantequilla.He could drop an opponent for the count with either hand and then stroll to a neutral corner, an arm resting on the top rope.All the time with that "chata"face.
Finally after Napoles left the building,i made my way out down the stairs onto the street. I walked back to my car. I remembered that my original assignment was to buy hot fresh bread.I entered the bakery. The shelves were almost empty.
"Any hot bread?"I asked the counterman.
"We sold out an hour ago. You'll have to come back in the morning."
There wasn't much I could do but go back to my mother in laws.I thought about making an excuse. Some sort of fabrication,but just decided to tell the truth.Even though the women in the house could care less about boxing,they'd understand.I'd get a short earful,but they would understand that it was the boy in me. It was the boy in all macho men.
Mantequilla Napoles
"Make sure you get at the bakery by 2 o'clock. That's when the bolillos are hot right out of the oven,"said my wife to me as I walked out the door.
""I've got plenty of time.Don't worry.I'll make sure I'll get there when they take them out of the oven."
Me and the wife were visiting my mother in law in Canon Jhonson.Every week we'd drive to Tijuana to be sure she was supplied with groceries and have enough money to buy the necessities to keep her grandchildren functioning happily.Every week this was the ritual that me and the wife relished. My mother in law was left to tend to the three boys.Her daughter,Virginia ,gave birth to the three boys sired by three different" cabrones." The boys were born in my wife's hometown, Jiquilpan.After each birth,Virginia would make the trek to Tijuana and dump the kid with my mother in law.To be honest,Virginia didn't have the mental stabilty to properly care for her sons anyway.To say it nicely,she was mentally challenged. Challenged or not,we decided to get her tubes tied.
"Get enough bolillos so we can take some home,"said my wife.
"Don't worry."i shouted back as I hustled out the door."I won't forget."
I skipped down the steps of the apartment and got in my car.My mother in law lived in the same place where me and the wife had lived when we were first married. The kitchen was very small with the bathroom located next to the refrigerator. Mold and cockroaches was the décor.The bedroom was adjacent to the kitchen. There was a big bed with a saggy mattress and a big box television on top of a nicked up dresser that devoured most of the room.Two small roms were behind the bedroom. Piles of clothes were all over the place because the closets were stuffed full.The boys slept in these rooms on a mattresses that were on the floor. Pictures of babies and little kids from the family hung by ropes on all the walls .The pictures tilted down because the big nails they hung on were very long .
That was a time when the road through Canon Jhonson was dirt and rocks pitted with ruts and sinkholes.Trash,old tires,broken furniture,and an occasional dead animal would occupy the crevices. During a heavy rain it was impossible to drive inside or exit Canon Jhonson. The road turned into a torrent that washed everything in its path downtown to Constitution Street .At the mouth of these rapids was a big office building. Everything that the water swept in its path found itself crashing through the door of this building. Because of the force of the water the building would practically be razed to the ground. One time after a heavy deluge,I saw a car that had smashed through the front door.To this day there is still the "se vende" sign on the property.
As I arrived at the mouth of the canyon and then turned left on Constitution,I noticed a slew of cars parked in front of the Tijuana Jail that was located a half block down the street on Calle Ocho. The Tijuanans affectionately called the Tijuana Jail,"El Ocho." A big crowd was milling around outside. I thought maybe some big time criminal was being taken in and the crowd was there to satisfy their curiosity.Just then a big limo pulled up and slowly edged its way through the crowd.The car stopped just short of the jail. Filing out to the curb was a little old guy wearing an old sweatshirt with a towel draped over his shoulder.A couple of other younger looking men followed wearing sweat pants and pullover sweatshirts.The last man to exit the car stood out like a bolt of lightning. He was a neon sign amid a sea of soft white lightbulbs.He waved and broke a big smile to the crowd as he strode out to the sidewalk.It was Mantequilla Napoles. The hottest item in Mexican boxing.He ran energetically up a flight of stairs that were next to the jail.On the other side of the stairs was the old fire station. The stairs led upward to the boxing gym that separated the two buildings .Mantequilla Napoles must have arrived to put in a training session I thought.Sure.He was to fight Eddie Pace in a couple of weeks at the old downtown bullring.He was going to put on a workout for the local fans.
I parked my car in front of the panaderia.I jogged over to the gym.i didn't want to miss this.The bolillos could wait. Besides,another batch would be put in the bins around 4 o'clock. My wife and mother in law would understand if I was a little late.
The upstairs gym was a small facility with a ring and various heavy and speed bags hanging from the low ceiling. The gym was crowdwd and hot. The sunbeams shining through the windows abutting the ceiling illuminated the dust that slowly swirled through the crowd.The smell of all the sweat that had imbedded itself in the canvas of the ring and the leather punching bags was unmistakably the scent of the boxing gym.
Napoles ciimbed through the ring ropes with the grace of a big cat.He was wearing an old cut off sweatshirt,boxing briefs,and a pair of high top black boxing shoes. He pranced around the perimeter of the ring,began bobbing and weaving,circling shaking out his arms,and eventually began to shadow box.After working up a sweat he started doing his exercises.Bicycle rolls,knee flexes,sit ups,and finishing with the medicine ball.With beads of sweat billowing on his "chata" face with the big full "bigote" and Siamese eyes,he was all grace and elegance with every movement. Napoles wasn't an expecially fast worker.He was never frenetic. Rhythm to his movements that translated to efficiency of punching,slipping side to side,putting his feet in the proper place to dispatch an opponent made Mantequilla Napoles the equivalent to the nonpareil inside the boxing ring.Every movement was executed like a Rembrandt using his brush. Even if he didn't connect he looked good. It wasn't an effort in futility.Like he knew he missed the target and just had to regroup and strike the next time.He used his sparring partners to work on the little things.A double hook.A left hook off the jab. Shifting his weight against his opponents body,A clinch against the ropes.Feignting and drawing his man into a counter.Sometimes I imagined Shakespeare was in his corner along with Kid Rapidez.
After sparring at his controlled pace,Napoles would work the speed bag with separate hands sometimes slipping his head from side to side of the bag and then resuming the striking with both gloves.Winding up his routine would do rope skipping.Not at a hell bent pace a la Ray Robinson,but a soft steady spring, feet barely lifting from the floor.All the time he was in there he'd have that stoic look. He was all business inside a ring.He saw everything in front of him. He always knew what was going on.What to expect.At the end he might not have trained hard enough, and his cuts were opening up faster,but he still knew what was going on.His body was his betrayer.
I had seen Napoles fight earlier in the year against the American journeyman Herbie Lee at the bullring.Before he even threw a punch just watching him saunter down to the ring wearing that green shorty robe with "Napoles" in white block letters on the back,I knew he was something special. It was my first exposure to see him fight and after taking Lee apart with a plethora of combinations my intuition was validated.All of Mexico was ready to see Napoles make his break to fight in the US for the first time.Maybe some in LA were captivated with Indian Red and Hedgemon Lewis,but I knew ,along with the "aficianados",that those two boys had no chance.
The workout ended. No one wanted to leave. Everybody wanted to get close to Napoles.He was now smiling and talking to his adopted countrymen.His true nature outside the ring emerged.His Cubano rhythms permeated the air. It wasn't a workout.It was a festival.Mexico had made Mantequills Napoles one of their own. He was made a citizen by the president. He made movies.He was on the cover of magazines.He played the trumpet in his salsa band. Jose Alfredo Jimenez wrote the song "El Rey' as an homage to Mantequilla.He could drop an opponent for the count with either hand and then stroll to a neutral corner, an arm resting on the top rope.All the time with that "chata"face.
Finally after Napoles left the building,i made my way out down the stairs onto the street. I walked back to my car. I remembered that my original assignment was to buy hot fresh bread.I entered the bakery. The shelves were almost empty.
"Any hot bread?"I asked the counterman.
"We sold out an hour ago. You'll have to come back in the morning."
There wasn't much I could do but go back to my mother in laws.I thought about making an excuse. Some sort of fabrication,but just decided to tell the truth.Even though the women in the house could care less about boxing,they'd understand.I'd get a short earful,but they would understand that it was the boy in me. It was the boy in all macho men.
Mantequilla Napoles
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 10 Jul 2016, 08:05
Rog, you're a braver man than I. I think I would have fought the borochons for a place to sleep in the street until that bakery opened the next morning before returning empty-handed. Speaking of Napoles, I always remember reading an article on Napoles after his defense against Roger Menetrey of France. He kept it at a steady pace and won over 15 never exerting himself. The article suggested we may have never seen what Napoles actually has because he always seems to fight just hard enough to win. That always stuck in my head and with the beauty of youtube, it helped me connect some more dots. The Ralph Charles fight looked like it was going to be another Menetrey fight until about the 5th round Charles had the audacity to sting Napoles with a punch. Bad move, Ralph! You could see Napoles just shift into another gear and stopped him the next round. Also, the second fight with Adolph Pruitt. Pruitt had so much natural talent and came out to do the job on Napoles. Napoles, seeing this, again shifted into that deadly gear and if you watch that fight, that is two rounds of the most precision punching I have ever seen. Some of the tight openings Napoles exploited was like threading a needle. The dude was a machine.dagosd2000 wrote:Bread And Butter
"Make sure you get at the bakery by 2 o'clock. That's when the bolillos are hot right out of the oven,"said my wife to me as I walked out the door.
""I've got plenty of time.Don't worry.I'll make sure I'll get there when they take them out of the oven."
Me and the wife were visiting my mother in law in Canon Jhonson.Every week we'd drive to Tijuana to be sure she was supplied with groceries and have enough money to buy the necessities to keep her grandchildren functioning happily.Every week this was the ritual that me and the wife relished. My mother in law was left to tend to the three boys.Her daughter,Virginia ,gave birth to the three boys sired by three different" cabrones." The boys were born in my wife's hometown, Jiquilpan.After each birth,Virginia would make the trek to Tijuana and dump the kid with my mother in law.To be honest,Virginia didn't have the mental stabilty to properly care for her sons anyway.To say it nicely,she was mentally challenged. Challenged or not,we decided to get her tubes tied.
"Get enough bolillos so we can take some home,"said my wife.
"Don't worry."i shouted back as I hustled out the door."I won't forget."
I skipped down the steps of the apartment and got in my car.My mother in law lived in the same place where me and the wife had lived when we were first married. The kitchen was very small with the bathroom located next to the refrigerator. Mold and cockroaches was the décor.The bedroom was adjacent to the kitchen. There was a big bed with a saggy mattress and a big box television on top of a nicked up dresser that devoured most of the room.Two small roms were behind the bedroom. Piles of clothes were all over the place because the closets were stuffed full.The boys slept in these rooms on a mattresses that were on the floor. Pictures of babies and little kids from the family hung by ropes on all the walls .The pictures tilted down because the big nails they hung on were very long .
That was a time when the road through Canon Jhonson was dirt and rocks pitted with ruts and sinkholes.Trash,old tires,broken furniture,and an occasional dead animal would occupy the crevices. During a heavy rain it was impossible to drive inside or exit Canon Jhonson. The road turned into a torrent that washed everything in its path downtown to Constitution Street .At the mouth of these rapids was a big office building. Everything that the water swept in its path found itself crashing through the door of this building. Because of the force of the water the building would practically be razed to the ground. One time after a heavy deluge,I saw a car that had smashed through the front door.To this day there is still the "se vende" sign on the property.
As I arrived at the mouth of the canyon and then turned left on Constitution,I noticed a slew of cars parked in front of the Tijuana Jail that was located a half block down the street on Calle Ocho. The Tijuanans affectionately called the Tijuana Jail,"El Ocho." A big crowd was milling around outside. I thought maybe some big time criminal was being taken in and the crowd was there to satisfy their curiosity.Just then a big limo pulled up and slowly edged its way through the crowd.The car stopped just short of the jail. Filing out to the curb was a little old guy wearing an old sweatshirt with a towel draped over his shoulder.A couple of other younger looking men followed wearing sweat pants and pullover sweatshirts.The last man to exit the car stood out like a bolt of lightning. He was a neon sign amid a sea of soft white lightbulbs.He waved and broke a big smile to the crowd as he strode out to the sidewalk.It was Mantequilla Napoles. The hottest item in Mexican boxing.He ran energetically up a flight of stairs that were next to the jail.On the other side of the stairs was the old fire station. The stairs led upward to the boxing gym that separated the two buildings .Mantequilla Napoles must have arrived to put in a training session I thought.Sure.He was to fight Eddie Pace in a couple of weeks at the old downtown bullring.He was going to put on a workout for the local fans.
I parked my car in front of the panaderia.I jogged over to the gym.i didn't want to miss this.The bolillos could wait. Besides,another batch would be put in the bins around 4 o'clock. My wife and mother in law would understand if I was a little late.
The upstairs gym was a small facility with a ring and various heavy and speed bags hanging from the low ceiling. The gym was crowdwd and hot. The sunbeams shining through the windows abutting the ceiling illuminated the dust that slowly swirled through the crowd.The smell of all the sweat that had imbedded itself in the canvas of the ring and the leather punching bags was unmistakably the scent of the boxing gym.
Napoles ciimbed through the ring ropes with the grace of a big cat.He was wearing an old cut off sweatshirt,boxing briefs,and a pair of high top black boxing shoes. He pranced around the perimeter of the ring,began bobbing and weaving,circling shaking out his arms,and eventually began to shadow box.After working up a sweat he started doing his exercises.Bicycle rolls,knee flexes,sit ups,and finishing with the medicine ball.With beads of sweat billowing on his "chata" face with the big full "bigote" and Siamese eyes,he was all grace and elegance with every movement. Napoles wasn't an expecially fast worker.He was never frenetic. Rhythm to his movements that translated to efficiency of punching,slipping side to side,putting his feet in the proper place to dispatch an opponent made Mantequilla Napoles the equivalent to the nonpareil inside the boxing ring.Every movement was executed like a Rembrandt using his brush. Even if he didn't connect he looked good. It wasn't an effort in futility.Like he knew he missed the target and just had to regroup and strike the next time.He used his sparring partners to work on the little things.A double hook.A left hook off the jab. Shifting his weight against his opponents body,A clinch against the ropes.Feignting and drawing his man into a counter.Sometimes I imagined Shakespeare was in his corner along with Kid Rapidez.
After sparring at his controlled pace,Napoles would work the speed bag with separate hands sometimes slipping his head from side to side of the bag and then resuming the striking with both gloves.Winding up his routine would do rope skipping.Not at a hell bent pace a la Ray Robinson,but a soft steady spring, feet barely lifting from the floor.All the time he was in there he'd have that stoic look. He was all business inside a ring.He saw everything in front of him. He always knew what was going on.What to expect.At the end he might not have trained hard enough, and his cuts were opening up faster,but he still knew what was going on.His body was his betrayer.
I had seen Napoles fight earlier in the year against the American journeyman Herbie Lee at the bullring.Before he even threw a punch just watching him saunter down to the ring wearing that green shorty robe with "Napoles" in white block letters on the back,I knew he was something special. It was my first exposure to see him fight and after taking Lee apart with a plethora of combinations my intuition was validated.All of Mexico was ready to see Napoles make his break to fight in the US for the first time.Maybe some in LA were captivated with Indian Red and Hedgemon Lewis,but I knew ,along with the "aficianados",that those two boys had no chance.
The workout ended. No one wanted to leave. Everybody wanted to get close to Napoles.He was now smiling and talking to his adopted countrymen.His true nature outside the ring emerged.His Cubano rhythms permeated the air. It wasn't a workout.It was a festival.Mexico had made Mantequills Napoles one of their own. He was made a citizen by the president. He made movies.He was on the cover of magazines.He played the trumpet in his salsa band. Jose Alfredo Jimenez wrote the song "El Rey' as an homage to Mantequilla.He could drop an opponent for the count with either hand and then stroll to a neutral corner, an arm resting on the top rope.All the time with that "chata"face.
Finally after Napoles left the building,i made my way out down the stairs onto the street. I walked back to my car. I remembered that my original assignment was to buy hot fresh bread.I entered the bakery. The shelves were almost empty.
"Any hot bread?"I asked the counterman.
"We sold out an hour ago. You'll have to come back in the morning."
There wasn't much I could do but go back to my mother in laws.I thought about making an excuse. Some sort of fabrication,but just decided to tell the truth.Even though the women in the house could care less about boxing,they'd understand.I'd get a short earful,but they would understand that it was the boy in me. It was the boy in all macho men.
Mantequilla Napoles
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 10 Jul 2016, 11:26
Dan,I know what you mean. If you watch Napoles fight Miguel Gonzalez in Mexico City you have the same scenario. Napoles had just lost his title to Billy Backus.The rematch was set in LA. But Jose wanted a tune up before he went after his lost crown.Gonzalez was a good fighter.He had beaten Curtis Cokes and was a contender with a lot of experience. Just the guy to get Jose ready. The bout,however,started off very slowly. It resembled a sparring session.For the first time the "aficianados"were doing their "chifles" thing(whistling)demanding more action.Then suddenly in the 6th round I guess Napoles thought he'd done enough work.He uncorked a left hook to Miguel's liver and it was over.
Another Napoles fight that showed him in total control over a boxing legend was his defense against Emile Griffith. Now a lot of people say that Emile had to come down in weight to get to the welterweight level.That he was dried out. I disagree.Emile was a natural welter,always.He weighed in for that fight at 145,less than Jose. I spoke to Griffith at the World Boxing Hall Of Fame Banquet.He said that the only fighter he couldn't outsmart was Mantequilla Napoles.
BTW.See you in LA at the West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame gig.
Another Napoles fight that showed him in total control over a boxing legend was his defense against Emile Griffith. Now a lot of people say that Emile had to come down in weight to get to the welterweight level.That he was dried out. I disagree.Emile was a natural welter,always.He weighed in for that fight at 145,less than Jose. I spoke to Griffith at the World Boxing Hall Of Fame Banquet.He said that the only fighter he couldn't outsmart was Mantequilla Napoles.
BTW.See you in LA at the West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame gig.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 13 Jul 2016, 21:50
Pals
John Bardelli,Pops Hanley,Dan Hanley,Rick Farris---World Boxing Hall Of Fame Banquet 2009
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 13 Jul 2016, 23:08
Blind Spot
This ain't aimed for the blokes across the pond.I'm talking about America's national pastime,basesball. They had the All Star game in our burg,San Diego,Tuesday evening.I have to admit,the city put on a pretty good spread. Beginning on Friday,the downtown area was a circus.Parades with All Stars past and present,Hall of Famers circulating amongst the fans along with current ball players and celebrities from the world of Hollywwod,activities for the family,exhibits,great food.San Diego hit a homerun.
My buddy Pete the Cop called me up last week and asked if I wanted to see the Homerun Derby Competition. He lamented that he had bought the "strip" of tickets that included the celebrity game,the Homerun Derby,and the All Star Game.My sisters have season tickets and Pete put his grips on the two seats for himself and his kid brother.My sisters sold the package for face value. Pete's a "goomba' so there was no intent in making an extra buck on their part. The total coat for the two ducats came to a lofty 1700 hundred bucks.
Well, Pete's brother is a bird colonel in the Army. At the last minute his CO assigned him to the duty in Hawaii from the heat of Kuwait.Now that don't sound so bad(at least from his slant),but big bro Pete was looking forward to seeing his brother come out to San Diego.See, Pete's little brother donated one of his kidneys to Pete because he had a kidney that was on the fritz some time ago.
But Pete isn't the sort that sulks about something like that. He's a cop. Men in uniform don't say "I've got other plans" to a direct order.So Pete gave me a jingle to see if I was interested going to the Homerun Derby.Sure!
Getting to the PetCo Park from my pad was a hassle. No way I was going to fight the traffic.The ballfield is located in the downtown area. Between rush hour traffic and the fans going to the game,I opted for the trolley ride.I get to Pete's condo(which was located right behind the ball park) about an hour before the festivities start. We have a beer, and then wind our way through the throng to our seats.
Now my sisters have these primo seats. Right on the field ,three rows back from the field , down the line past the visitors dugout. We get seated with a dog and a beer(which came to 15 dollars a pop.I took out my ticket gazed at its price tag-330 shimoleans.Pete had sold the celebrity game tickets for face value the day before. The All Star Game,Tuesday evening,was going to have Pete's wife Anna at his side.Remember, that was 1700 bucks for the seats.
Well, if you saw that Homerun Derby on your set(or the TV at your favorite watering hole)there were a ton of homeruns hit.More homers were hit than at any other Homerun Derby previously.I can't really say that I got my money's worth because it was Pete's treat,but I wondered how he felt after it was over. The issue was that we didn't see any of the participants swing a bat.All the rest of those All Stars were standing on the field in front of us milling around, playing grab ass,signing autographs,carrying their kids on their shoulders,and lining up a romp in the sack with the out of time hookers who gathered around the railing.
Great! 660 bucks and we(and everybody in the vicinity) couldn't see one cut! We had to watch the results on the big screen in the outfield!I felt like telling security to move those jocks out of the way,but what would have come from it?I figured there was around 200 million dollars in salaries blocking our view.What's a few dozen rubes sitting in 300 dollar seats gonna' do?We didn't have the clout.
But after digesting it all,I came to the conclusion that it was just a dog and pony show with an inflated price tag.To tell you the truth ,basesball has gotten away from me. I don't recognize most of the players. I grew up hero worshipping sluggers like Mays,Mantle,and Aaron.The steroid freaks that broke all their records are put on everyone's pay no mind list now. I couldn't even tell you who's in first place in the standings.
By the way,the All Star Game was played last night. Can someone tell me who won?
The great Roberto Clemente
This ain't aimed for the blokes across the pond.I'm talking about America's national pastime,basesball. They had the All Star game in our burg,San Diego,Tuesday evening.I have to admit,the city put on a pretty good spread. Beginning on Friday,the downtown area was a circus.Parades with All Stars past and present,Hall of Famers circulating amongst the fans along with current ball players and celebrities from the world of Hollywwod,activities for the family,exhibits,great food.San Diego hit a homerun.
My buddy Pete the Cop called me up last week and asked if I wanted to see the Homerun Derby Competition. He lamented that he had bought the "strip" of tickets that included the celebrity game,the Homerun Derby,and the All Star Game.My sisters have season tickets and Pete put his grips on the two seats for himself and his kid brother.My sisters sold the package for face value. Pete's a "goomba' so there was no intent in making an extra buck on their part. The total coat for the two ducats came to a lofty 1700 hundred bucks.
Well, Pete's brother is a bird colonel in the Army. At the last minute his CO assigned him to the duty in Hawaii from the heat of Kuwait.Now that don't sound so bad(at least from his slant),but big bro Pete was looking forward to seeing his brother come out to San Diego.See, Pete's little brother donated one of his kidneys to Pete because he had a kidney that was on the fritz some time ago.
But Pete isn't the sort that sulks about something like that. He's a cop. Men in uniform don't say "I've got other plans" to a direct order.So Pete gave me a jingle to see if I was interested going to the Homerun Derby.Sure!
Getting to the PetCo Park from my pad was a hassle. No way I was going to fight the traffic.The ballfield is located in the downtown area. Between rush hour traffic and the fans going to the game,I opted for the trolley ride.I get to Pete's condo(which was located right behind the ball park) about an hour before the festivities start. We have a beer, and then wind our way through the throng to our seats.
Now my sisters have these primo seats. Right on the field ,three rows back from the field , down the line past the visitors dugout. We get seated with a dog and a beer(which came to 15 dollars a pop.I took out my ticket gazed at its price tag-330 shimoleans.Pete had sold the celebrity game tickets for face value the day before. The All Star Game,Tuesday evening,was going to have Pete's wife Anna at his side.Remember, that was 1700 bucks for the seats.
Well, if you saw that Homerun Derby on your set(or the TV at your favorite watering hole)there were a ton of homeruns hit.More homers were hit than at any other Homerun Derby previously.I can't really say that I got my money's worth because it was Pete's treat,but I wondered how he felt after it was over. The issue was that we didn't see any of the participants swing a bat.All the rest of those All Stars were standing on the field in front of us milling around, playing grab ass,signing autographs,carrying their kids on their shoulders,and lining up a romp in the sack with the out of time hookers who gathered around the railing.
Great! 660 bucks and we(and everybody in the vicinity) couldn't see one cut! We had to watch the results on the big screen in the outfield!I felt like telling security to move those jocks out of the way,but what would have come from it?I figured there was around 200 million dollars in salaries blocking our view.What's a few dozen rubes sitting in 300 dollar seats gonna' do?We didn't have the clout.
But after digesting it all,I came to the conclusion that it was just a dog and pony show with an inflated price tag.To tell you the truth ,basesball has gotten away from me. I don't recognize most of the players. I grew up hero worshipping sluggers like Mays,Mantle,and Aaron.The steroid freaks that broke all their records are put on everyone's pay no mind list now. I couldn't even tell you who's in first place in the standings.
By the way,the All Star Game was played last night. Can someone tell me who won?
The great Roberto Clemente
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 14 Jul 2016, 01:43
hello dagos, stared reading from pp 1 now I'm on pp879. what a great site, for a 75 yr old boxing fan this is heaven.
saw all of your paintings, also, one think I would like to know though, in the movie 'cinderela man" this is a scene where a promoter
is telling jimmy braddock that max baer was responsible for the death of ernie schaff,,,,
he tells braddock that schaff was killed in the ring, after his fight with baer, this isn't true, schaff had many fights
after he fought baer, ive heard this story of how baer was responsible for the death of schaff, many times and it simply not true!!
saw all of your paintings, also, one think I would like to know though, in the movie 'cinderela man" this is a scene where a promoter
is telling jimmy braddock that max baer was responsible for the death of ernie schaff,,,,
he tells braddock that schaff was killed in the ring, after his fight with baer, this isn't true, schaff had many fights
after he fought baer, ive heard this story of how baer was responsible for the death of schaff, many times and it simply not true!!
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 14 Jul 2016, 07:52
L.A. kidd wrote:hello dagos, stared reading from pp 1 now I'm on pp879. what a great site, for a 75 yr old boxing fan this is heaven.
saw all of your paintings, also, one think I would like to know though, in the movie 'cinderela man" this is a scene where a promoter
is telling jimmy braddock that max baer was responsible for the death of ernie schaff,,,,
he tells braddock that schaff was killed in the ring, after his fight with baer, this isn't true, schaff had many fights
after he fought baer, ive heard this story of how baer was responsible for the death of schaff, many times and it simply not true!!
I understand. People like to sensationalize. They said the same thing about Fullmer being responsible for Paret's death.Gene gave Benny a beating before his last fight with Griffith. If I was handling a fighter,regardless if he was undefeated,and he took a terrible beating ,I'd let him go. Meldrick Taylor should have hung them up after losing to Chavez even though it was only his first loss.Fighters have a hard time walking away.Too often managers and promoters are in it for the dough.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 17 Jul 2016, 04:00
kikibalt wrote:Candy Lopez
Another forgotten Fighter from L.A.'s golden era. Candy had an attention gimmick, during his walk to the ring he and his corner people would toss candies to the fans.
division featherweight
stance southpaw
alias Al
country United States
residence Hollywood, California, United States
won 13 (KO 8) + lost 4 (KO 2) + drawn 1 = 18
rounds boxed 78 KO% 44.44
1957-03-23 130 Jimmy Lassiter 131 5-7-4
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States L UD 6 6
1956-06-02 131 Jesse Resendez 130 7-2-0
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W SD 6 6
1956-03-27 129 Benny Coca 129 5-4-2
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W TKO 1 6
~ referee: Tommy Hart ~
Coca was knocked down twice.
1956-02-04 130½ Billy Walker 128¼ 2-0-1
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W UD 6 6
1955-03-12 124 Larry Vasquez 129 3-1-0
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States L TKO 6 8
~ time: 2:37 | referee: Dynamite Jackson ~
1954-11-06 121½ Walter Caldwell 121½ 1-4-1
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W TKO 4 6
~ time: 0:43 ~
Caldwell was knocked down four times
1954-10-09 Collier Cox 10-4-2
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W KO 4 6
1954-07-24 124½ Kildo Martinez 127 2-4-4
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W SD 6 6
1954-06-05 121½ Gil Velarde 125½ 6-3-1
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States L SD 6 6
1954-03-27 124½ Fugi Rodriguez 125½ 5-5-0
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W PTS 6 6
1954-02-27 Manuel Ramirez 1-0-0
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W KO 4 6
1954-01-23 123¼ Mickey McGuire 126 1-0-0
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W KO 4 6
McGuire was knocked down once in the 1st, 3rd, and 4th round.
1953-12-26 122½ Mr Boston 123½ 5-7-2
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W TKO 5 6
~ referee: Dynamite Jackson ~
1953-11-21 Mr Boston 5-7-1
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States D PTS 6 6
1953-10-24 Tony Silva
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States W PTS 4 4
1953-08-22 123½ Vic Kid Ponce 125 4-1-0
Legion Stadium, Hollywood, California, United States L TKO 1 6
1953-06-22 122½ Bobby Leal 118¾ 0-1-0
Arena, South Gate, California, United States W KO 1 4
1953-06-08 123½ Joe Garcia 123 1-14-2
Arena, South Gate, California, United States W TKO
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 17 Jul 2016, 21:49
Not Ours To See
I got together with Gary again kind of by accident. A few years ago I was looking for a new gym to work out in,not a boxing gym(those days were long ago and far away),but just a gym with some weights and some machines that I could use to keep the blood flowing through my muscles. Down at the beach there's a gym run by the city that's very basic and suits me fine.Not anything like today's spas that have all the amenities and are pick up joints for the young and the restless.Since the gym is run by the city recreation department,the dues are very reasonable.I remember when the gym opened for business 40 years ago.It wasn't much,a rack of dumbells,an Olympic bench with about 300 pounds of plates,and a heavy punching bag.There was no fee to workout then,but since I was still in my prime,I was training at Leo Sterns Gym in North Park.Leo's is still there.Leo passed away some time ago,but the the guy who took it over kept everything like it was.You can still see the old black and white photographs of Mr. Americas Clancy Ross and Bill Pearl on the wall. Leo was their mentor back in the early 50's.
When I joined the gym in Ocean Beach there was a picture on the wall of my old friend Gary.I used to work out with the weight and box with him before I got married.I asked the fella' who ran the gym if Gary was a member. He replied that Gary worked the night shift. He was a part time employee who was supplementing his retirement income.I hadn't seen Gary since the early 70's. I was wrapped up with making ends meet and raising a family. Gary was an amateur heavyweight and sometimes he used me as a sparring partner.Gary,at the time, was undefeated and he could handle the local talent with no problem.Sometimes Gary would be approached by some of the professionals to get them ready.I've related the time Gary took me to Burke Emery's Gym in North Park. Gary was scheduled to spar with Kenny Norton. Kenny had just turned pro and the fans in San Diego were taking an interest. When we got to Burke's Gary said his shoulder hurt and if it was possible that I could offer Ken some competition. I was reluctant,but I couldn't back off.I lasted three rounds with Norton. I never landed a punch.All I wanted to do is protect myself. Walking away with a bloody nose was my badge of honor. Gary said I did good. I thought he was on LSD. Some old trainer came over to me as I was pressing a towel against my nose and said I could beat 70 percent of the amateur heavyweight that were out there.I figured that's where Gary scored his LSD.
Me and Gary get together now, We talk old times over lunch at a local Mexican restaurant. He lost his first amateur fight against Mike Weaver in a Golden Gloves tournament in LA.At 26 years of age Gary was convinced that the pro sport held little promise for him.Gary began fighting in his hometown of Portland. His dad had encouraged him. He was friends with the Moyers and was in the same stable with Boone Kirkman.
We talk boxing a lot. Gary traveled around the west fighting amateur bouts and occasionally working out with some pretty good pro fighters. He told me he even relocated to Baja California for awhile trying to get the most out of the scant Mexican heavies. Gary was in the ring with Henry Clark,Joey Orbillo,Chuck Haynes,Scrap Iron Johnson,and Manuel Ramos.Gary had the goods to get those boys ready.I asked Gary who was the best fighter he ever put on the gloves with.Without blinking an eye,he said Sonny Liston. Sonny was prepping to fight Scrap Iron Johnson. Gary was called to service to give him some work,Me and Gary were consuming tacos in Nati's Mexican Restaurant in Ocean Beach when he described what it was like in the ring with Liston.Gary still looked fit.He once held the dead lift record.His muscles are still defined and his likable smile shouldn't be misconstrued for a passive sort.He's still got a good crop of sandy hair.He's got that boyish look,but don't let that charm fool you. He's wading into his seventies,but he's not a guy to take lightly.Sometimes he bends his ear and leans towards you when you're speaking. He can still handle himself.He's a tough guy.He's a born again Christian who adheres to a moral compass that I find is sincere.His honesty keeps me in check and I watch my language.
"When I lost to Mike Weaver it was that I didn't train."he expounded."I never did road work. I had such an easy time with the local guys that I thought I'd walk through Weaver. I was out of shape. I ran out of gas."
"I remember that fight.You had made up your mind after that."
"I had made up my mind after the second round."
"What was it that impressed you about Liston?"
"His jab.It was like telephone pole hitting you."
"He had a pretty good left hook didn't he?"I asked.
"He didn't show me the hook that much.His right hand was awkward,but he could uppercut with it."
"What was he like?"
"I didn't know him. He didn't talk much,but he seemed pleasant enough.He had this blond with him."
"I remember when Leotis Martin beat him."
"They were talking of a title shot for him if he won,"said Gary.
"He seemed to fall apart after Martin opened that cut in his mouth."
"Liston tried to get going again with his jab,but Leotis countered over the top of it and caught him flush."
"That was the end of the road for him."
"He fought Chuck Wepner,but he had nothing left."
"His death was unexpected,"I said.
"Living in Las Vegas.Hanging around those racketeers.Drugs.You never can tell."
There was a pause.It seemed the discussion of Sonny Liston was over.Gary got back to his tacos.Then I chirped up again.
"Didn't he have a craving for cheesecake?"
I don't think Gary heard me because he just kept on eating.
Sonny Liston
I got together with Gary again kind of by accident. A few years ago I was looking for a new gym to work out in,not a boxing gym(those days were long ago and far away),but just a gym with some weights and some machines that I could use to keep the blood flowing through my muscles. Down at the beach there's a gym run by the city that's very basic and suits me fine.Not anything like today's spas that have all the amenities and are pick up joints for the young and the restless.Since the gym is run by the city recreation department,the dues are very reasonable.I remember when the gym opened for business 40 years ago.It wasn't much,a rack of dumbells,an Olympic bench with about 300 pounds of plates,and a heavy punching bag.There was no fee to workout then,but since I was still in my prime,I was training at Leo Sterns Gym in North Park.Leo's is still there.Leo passed away some time ago,but the the guy who took it over kept everything like it was.You can still see the old black and white photographs of Mr. Americas Clancy Ross and Bill Pearl on the wall. Leo was their mentor back in the early 50's.
When I joined the gym in Ocean Beach there was a picture on the wall of my old friend Gary.I used to work out with the weight and box with him before I got married.I asked the fella' who ran the gym if Gary was a member. He replied that Gary worked the night shift. He was a part time employee who was supplementing his retirement income.I hadn't seen Gary since the early 70's. I was wrapped up with making ends meet and raising a family. Gary was an amateur heavyweight and sometimes he used me as a sparring partner.Gary,at the time, was undefeated and he could handle the local talent with no problem.Sometimes Gary would be approached by some of the professionals to get them ready.I've related the time Gary took me to Burke Emery's Gym in North Park. Gary was scheduled to spar with Kenny Norton. Kenny had just turned pro and the fans in San Diego were taking an interest. When we got to Burke's Gary said his shoulder hurt and if it was possible that I could offer Ken some competition. I was reluctant,but I couldn't back off.I lasted three rounds with Norton. I never landed a punch.All I wanted to do is protect myself. Walking away with a bloody nose was my badge of honor. Gary said I did good. I thought he was on LSD. Some old trainer came over to me as I was pressing a towel against my nose and said I could beat 70 percent of the amateur heavyweight that were out there.I figured that's where Gary scored his LSD.
Me and Gary get together now, We talk old times over lunch at a local Mexican restaurant. He lost his first amateur fight against Mike Weaver in a Golden Gloves tournament in LA.At 26 years of age Gary was convinced that the pro sport held little promise for him.Gary began fighting in his hometown of Portland. His dad had encouraged him. He was friends with the Moyers and was in the same stable with Boone Kirkman.
We talk boxing a lot. Gary traveled around the west fighting amateur bouts and occasionally working out with some pretty good pro fighters. He told me he even relocated to Baja California for awhile trying to get the most out of the scant Mexican heavies. Gary was in the ring with Henry Clark,Joey Orbillo,Chuck Haynes,Scrap Iron Johnson,and Manuel Ramos.Gary had the goods to get those boys ready.I asked Gary who was the best fighter he ever put on the gloves with.Without blinking an eye,he said Sonny Liston. Sonny was prepping to fight Scrap Iron Johnson. Gary was called to service to give him some work,Me and Gary were consuming tacos in Nati's Mexican Restaurant in Ocean Beach when he described what it was like in the ring with Liston.Gary still looked fit.He once held the dead lift record.His muscles are still defined and his likable smile shouldn't be misconstrued for a passive sort.He's still got a good crop of sandy hair.He's got that boyish look,but don't let that charm fool you. He's wading into his seventies,but he's not a guy to take lightly.Sometimes he bends his ear and leans towards you when you're speaking. He can still handle himself.He's a tough guy.He's a born again Christian who adheres to a moral compass that I find is sincere.His honesty keeps me in check and I watch my language.
"When I lost to Mike Weaver it was that I didn't train."he expounded."I never did road work. I had such an easy time with the local guys that I thought I'd walk through Weaver. I was out of shape. I ran out of gas."
"I remember that fight.You had made up your mind after that."
"I had made up my mind after the second round."
"What was it that impressed you about Liston?"
"His jab.It was like telephone pole hitting you."
"He had a pretty good left hook didn't he?"I asked.
"He didn't show me the hook that much.His right hand was awkward,but he could uppercut with it."
"What was he like?"
"I didn't know him. He didn't talk much,but he seemed pleasant enough.He had this blond with him."
"I remember when Leotis Martin beat him."
"They were talking of a title shot for him if he won,"said Gary.
"He seemed to fall apart after Martin opened that cut in his mouth."
"Liston tried to get going again with his jab,but Leotis countered over the top of it and caught him flush."
"That was the end of the road for him."
"He fought Chuck Wepner,but he had nothing left."
"His death was unexpected,"I said.
"Living in Las Vegas.Hanging around those racketeers.Drugs.You never can tell."
There was a pause.It seemed the discussion of Sonny Liston was over.Gary got back to his tacos.Then I chirped up again.
"Didn't he have a craving for cheesecake?"
I don't think Gary heard me because he just kept on eating.
Sonny Liston
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 23 Jul 2016, 20:03
Fighting A Dream
"Didn't Little Poison work out here once in awhile?"I asked Dick as we sat down in a booth inside the Pinoy Gardens Restaurant.
"I trained him as a favor for Harry Kabakoff,"said Dick.
Dick Yeats used to train fighters at the 32nd Street Gym at the big naval base in National City.He worked with mostly amateur Navy fighters,but sometimes a professional fighter would ask Dick for some help.
"Why did Harry come to you?"I asked.
"Jesus was in line for a shot with Olivares for the title.Harry wanted me to work with Jesse's defense."
Dick Yeats was a big man. He fought back during the Second World War as an amateur heavyweight. He won some fleet titles.After the war he turned professional.but a detached retina ended all that.But he was still an imposing figure.A big square jaw,a full crop of iron gray hair slicked back,and those bushy brows of his.His teeth were stained from all the smoking he did,a four pack a day man.He used to like to roll his own Bull Durhams.Dick sat across from me ,his big hands with the gnarled knuckles resting on the counter.Dick called me up and wanted to know if I'd like to have lunch,you know ,talk over old times.
"I didn't get too far with Pimentel.He kept his hands too low. Always wanted to hook with everybody.Most of the Mexican boys liked to fight that way. Too bad he got in there with a bigger hooker than himself,"Dick went on.
"I saw that fight up at the Forum,"I said."Olivares had him over the ropes."
"A lot of those Mexican boys built up their records in Mexico by fighting weak opposition,"said Dick.
"Fighters down there didn't spend a lot of time in the amateurs."
"Sink or swim."
"Rodolfo Gonzalez told me he was a 16 year old kid when he started out. They threw him in there with a guy who was twenty nine."
"That's a tough way to get up in the world."
The Filippino waitress came over to our booth.
"I'll have the lumpia special and an ice tea,"I said.
"Give me the same,"said Dick."But I'll have a Diet Coke."
Dick smirked at me.
"I got the diabetes too."
The waitress smiled and turned away.She was a skinny little thing,her long black hair draped down her back.
"Still a lot of West Pac widows around here?"I asked.
"As long as there's a Navy."
"Didn't you handle Jimmy Fuller?"I asked.
"When he got out of the Navy I took him over."
"But I remember when he fought pro at the Coliseum you weren't with him then."
"Harry stepped in at that time. I developed the kid,but Harry persuaded the kid to go with him."
"I remember he didn't do too much down here."
"He needed a lot more seasoning.If I had been with him ,he'd been better off.He told me that later."
"Jimmy and me used to pal around a lot.When he was alive I kept in touch with most of the fighters.But when he died I sort of got out of touch.Then I got married."
Dick sat back against the back of the booth.He unfolded his hands.
"Jimmy Fuller isn't dead,"said Dick.
"Sure is. I was at his service."
Dick looked up at the ceiling.
"I was just with his brother last week.He came to the home for a visit," said Dick still looking up.
"Jimmy never had a brother,"I said peering at Dick's face.
"Jimmy and his brother,I forget his name,were the two best boys I ever trained,"he said.
The waitress came over with our drinks.
"Who had the diet coke?"she asked.She smiled with a big gold tooth right in front. Dick didn't move.He was looking past me.
"I had the iced tea,"I said.
The waitress put down the iced tea in front of me and the Diet Coke in front of Dick.As the waitress started to walk way,Dick grabbed her arm.
"Make sure the cook makes my hamburger well done,"he said.
Jesus Pimentel
"Didn't Little Poison work out here once in awhile?"I asked Dick as we sat down in a booth inside the Pinoy Gardens Restaurant.
"I trained him as a favor for Harry Kabakoff,"said Dick.
Dick Yeats used to train fighters at the 32nd Street Gym at the big naval base in National City.He worked with mostly amateur Navy fighters,but sometimes a professional fighter would ask Dick for some help.
"Why did Harry come to you?"I asked.
"Jesus was in line for a shot with Olivares for the title.Harry wanted me to work with Jesse's defense."
Dick Yeats was a big man. He fought back during the Second World War as an amateur heavyweight. He won some fleet titles.After the war he turned professional.but a detached retina ended all that.But he was still an imposing figure.A big square jaw,a full crop of iron gray hair slicked back,and those bushy brows of his.His teeth were stained from all the smoking he did,a four pack a day man.He used to like to roll his own Bull Durhams.Dick sat across from me ,his big hands with the gnarled knuckles resting on the counter.Dick called me up and wanted to know if I'd like to have lunch,you know ,talk over old times.
"I didn't get too far with Pimentel.He kept his hands too low. Always wanted to hook with everybody.Most of the Mexican boys liked to fight that way. Too bad he got in there with a bigger hooker than himself,"Dick went on.
"I saw that fight up at the Forum,"I said."Olivares had him over the ropes."
"A lot of those Mexican boys built up their records in Mexico by fighting weak opposition,"said Dick.
"Fighters down there didn't spend a lot of time in the amateurs."
"Sink or swim."
"Rodolfo Gonzalez told me he was a 16 year old kid when he started out. They threw him in there with a guy who was twenty nine."
"That's a tough way to get up in the world."
The Filippino waitress came over to our booth.
"I'll have the lumpia special and an ice tea,"I said.
"Give me the same,"said Dick."But I'll have a Diet Coke."
Dick smirked at me.
"I got the diabetes too."
The waitress smiled and turned away.She was a skinny little thing,her long black hair draped down her back.
"Still a lot of West Pac widows around here?"I asked.
"As long as there's a Navy."
"Didn't you handle Jimmy Fuller?"I asked.
"When he got out of the Navy I took him over."
"But I remember when he fought pro at the Coliseum you weren't with him then."
"Harry stepped in at that time. I developed the kid,but Harry persuaded the kid to go with him."
"I remember he didn't do too much down here."
"He needed a lot more seasoning.If I had been with him ,he'd been better off.He told me that later."
"Jimmy and me used to pal around a lot.When he was alive I kept in touch with most of the fighters.But when he died I sort of got out of touch.Then I got married."
Dick sat back against the back of the booth.He unfolded his hands.
"Jimmy Fuller isn't dead,"said Dick.
"Sure is. I was at his service."
Dick looked up at the ceiling.
"I was just with his brother last week.He came to the home for a visit," said Dick still looking up.
"Jimmy never had a brother,"I said peering at Dick's face.
"Jimmy and his brother,I forget his name,were the two best boys I ever trained,"he said.
The waitress came over with our drinks.
"Who had the diet coke?"she asked.She smiled with a big gold tooth right in front. Dick didn't move.He was looking past me.
"I had the iced tea,"I said.
The waitress put down the iced tea in front of me and the Diet Coke in front of Dick.As the waitress started to walk way,Dick grabbed her arm.
"Make sure the cook makes my hamburger well done,"he said.
Jesus Pimentel
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 28 Jul 2016, 21:43
The Crowd Chaser
Been away from Champs Lounge for a couple of weeks.Me and the wife took one of those Viking Riverboat cruises down the Rhine River. Won't get into that now.All I will say was that it was very nice.We had a very nice time.So the other day I thought I'd stroll into Champs,have a beer,and get caught up with things with Ed the bartender.
I like going to Champs when it opens at ten.I usually have just one beer.My drinking days are over.I can't get drunk anymore.If I try I'll just wind up getting sick.So one cold beer is perfect for quenching my thirst.That's the satisfaction I get out of drinking. The hard stuff is history.
The morning was muggy.The sun was slowly burning off the gray overcast.I could hear the ceiling fan as I entered the bar.Standing at the far end, with his back turned to me, was a man behind the bar resting his elbow on the counter.He was wearing a long sleeve blue shirt.His reddish hair was cut short,one of those number one cuts.Right away I knew this guy wasn't Ed.I'd never seen him before. As I strode aside him I could see his paunch hanging over his belt.His shirt was wrinkled and buttoned all way up the front.He never moved as I walked past him.I took a stool a little down way from him.He turned his head towards me as he straightened himself up.His face was pasty white.He raised his thin eyebrows and cleared his throat.
"What can I get you?"he asked as he he moved back a little.
"How 'bout a draft,"I said.
"Any particular?"
"Just so it's not a light."
The bartender put a glass under the spigot and drew me a beer.He put too big a head on it.
"That'll be three dollars," he said as he put the glass on the counter.
"Where's Ed this morning?He usually opens."
"Ed doesn't work here anymore,"he said very nonchalantly.
"What happened?"I shot back .
"I don't know.I wasn't in the loop.Shirley's boy called me up last week and asked if I wanted to start work."
"Ed left last week?"I asked still puzzled.
"I don't know.I just got the call to start work."
"Well do you know where he went?"
"I have no idea,"he said impassively.
The bartender put his elbow on the counter again and stared towards the back room. He was only a few feet away from me.
"How's Burke doing?"I asked trying to extract more information from this guy.
He straightened himself up again.
"Oh,Burke's dead,"he said with a blank face.
"When did this happen?,"I asked feeling a sick to my stomach.
"I think it was a couple of weeks ago.I wasn't around."
"Was it the dementia that finally got him?I knew he was in a home."
"Like I said,I wasn't here. I wasn't in the loop on that one."
"Burke was a fighter.He took a lot of shots,"I said."You could see that he was losing touch."
"I heard he was a fighter. I don't follow the sport,"he said.
I didn't feel like talking to this guy anymore.He didn't seem like he was interested in what I was asking him.It was a mutual feeling. I had hardly touched my beer. The bartender walked to other side of the bar by the front door.He rested his elbow on the counter and stared at the wall. He shifted his weight onto his other elbow and made a groan.I looked at my beer. It didn't appeal to me anymore.Nothing did.
Maybe if I could have told that guy how Burke thought they stopped that fight he had with Calderwood in Scotland too soon and how he got in a beef with his manger saying they should have never gone over there in the first place and taken the fight. Or how Burke ran that bar in Montreal and would lock the doors at closing time and charge the customers two bucks a head to watch Burke and his Canadian pals take on all the "frogs" in a free for all.Burke said he never had so much fun in his life. Or how Art Hafey when he got inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame got emotional and explain in slow detail how Burke taught him how to throw that big left hook. The same hook that Art sunk into Ruben Olivare's gut in Monterrey, Mexico in front of El Puas's aficianados.Burke would often tell that story in the bar grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary."When Art hit him,he spit his mouthpiece out into the bleachers,"Burke would say throwing out his chest.Maybe that guy would like to know how when Burke was inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame,he was too shy to go up to LA to accept his award.Shirley and the rest of his family tried to coax him.He wavered back and forth,but in the end didn't go. The award was sent down to him in San Diego.Shirley told me later that he was very proud of that award.Like a lot of those fighters that get something like that, they feel very humble.
But as good as I could have come across with those stories,I don't think it would have made much of an impression on that guy.Besides the a-- hole didn't follow the sport anyway.
Burke and me
,
Been away from Champs Lounge for a couple of weeks.Me and the wife took one of those Viking Riverboat cruises down the Rhine River. Won't get into that now.All I will say was that it was very nice.We had a very nice time.So the other day I thought I'd stroll into Champs,have a beer,and get caught up with things with Ed the bartender.
I like going to Champs when it opens at ten.I usually have just one beer.My drinking days are over.I can't get drunk anymore.If I try I'll just wind up getting sick.So one cold beer is perfect for quenching my thirst.That's the satisfaction I get out of drinking. The hard stuff is history.
The morning was muggy.The sun was slowly burning off the gray overcast.I could hear the ceiling fan as I entered the bar.Standing at the far end, with his back turned to me, was a man behind the bar resting his elbow on the counter.He was wearing a long sleeve blue shirt.His reddish hair was cut short,one of those number one cuts.Right away I knew this guy wasn't Ed.I'd never seen him before. As I strode aside him I could see his paunch hanging over his belt.His shirt was wrinkled and buttoned all way up the front.He never moved as I walked past him.I took a stool a little down way from him.He turned his head towards me as he straightened himself up.His face was pasty white.He raised his thin eyebrows and cleared his throat.
"What can I get you?"he asked as he he moved back a little.
"How 'bout a draft,"I said.
"Any particular?"
"Just so it's not a light."
The bartender put a glass under the spigot and drew me a beer.He put too big a head on it.
"That'll be three dollars," he said as he put the glass on the counter.
"Where's Ed this morning?He usually opens."
"Ed doesn't work here anymore,"he said very nonchalantly.
"What happened?"I shot back .
"I don't know.I wasn't in the loop.Shirley's boy called me up last week and asked if I wanted to start work."
"Ed left last week?"I asked still puzzled.
"I don't know.I just got the call to start work."
"Well do you know where he went?"
"I have no idea,"he said impassively.
The bartender put his elbow on the counter again and stared towards the back room. He was only a few feet away from me.
"How's Burke doing?"I asked trying to extract more information from this guy.
He straightened himself up again.
"Oh,Burke's dead,"he said with a blank face.
"When did this happen?,"I asked feeling a sick to my stomach.
"I think it was a couple of weeks ago.I wasn't around."
"Was it the dementia that finally got him?I knew he was in a home."
"Like I said,I wasn't here. I wasn't in the loop on that one."
"Burke was a fighter.He took a lot of shots,"I said."You could see that he was losing touch."
"I heard he was a fighter. I don't follow the sport,"he said.
I didn't feel like talking to this guy anymore.He didn't seem like he was interested in what I was asking him.It was a mutual feeling. I had hardly touched my beer. The bartender walked to other side of the bar by the front door.He rested his elbow on the counter and stared at the wall. He shifted his weight onto his other elbow and made a groan.I looked at my beer. It didn't appeal to me anymore.Nothing did.
Maybe if I could have told that guy how Burke thought they stopped that fight he had with Calderwood in Scotland too soon and how he got in a beef with his manger saying they should have never gone over there in the first place and taken the fight. Or how Burke ran that bar in Montreal and would lock the doors at closing time and charge the customers two bucks a head to watch Burke and his Canadian pals take on all the "frogs" in a free for all.Burke said he never had so much fun in his life. Or how Art Hafey when he got inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame got emotional and explain in slow detail how Burke taught him how to throw that big left hook. The same hook that Art sunk into Ruben Olivare's gut in Monterrey, Mexico in front of El Puas's aficianados.Burke would often tell that story in the bar grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary."When Art hit him,he spit his mouthpiece out into the bleachers,"Burke would say throwing out his chest.Maybe that guy would like to know how when Burke was inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame,he was too shy to go up to LA to accept his award.Shirley and the rest of his family tried to coax him.He wavered back and forth,but in the end didn't go. The award was sent down to him in San Diego.Shirley told me later that he was very proud of that award.Like a lot of those fighters that get something like that, they feel very humble.
But as good as I could have come across with those stories,I don't think it would have made much of an impression on that guy.Besides the a-- hole didn't follow the sport anyway.
Burke and me
,
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 03 Aug 2016, 20:28
The Same Ol' Same Ol'
My father said that Ray Robinson made a lot of money for the Outfit in Chicago after he won the welter title. He "carried" his opponents like a nursemaid all the way to the final round so the wiseguys could bet that way with the bookmakers.It didn't matter to Robinson. He knew he had friends in the Windy City.Carmen Basilio thought he got the short end of the stick when he fought Sugar Ray in Chicago.Basilio would say to his dago managers to keep him out of Chicago,but his goombas,Johnny DeJohn and Al Metro, had to play ball with Mafia boys if they wanted to make any money and keep their health. After Johnny Saxton got his "turn" getting the from Carmen in the Chicago Stadium,Robby got his payback a year later from the ex Marine in the same venue.
But Robinson wasn't riding on Cloud 9 after he came back from trying to be a song and dance man after the Joey Maxim fight.Tiger Jones revealed to the world(in Chicago.No mob help this time) that Robinson wasn't the same guy anymore.Two and a half years away from the sport,fighting the bigger boys at middleweight,and experiencing what Ali had to come to terms with after his hiatus,he had lost his legs.
I met Robinson on two occasions.both times my father handling the introductions . The first time was when I was a kid in Chicago.Meadowmoor Dairy (one of Capone's legit enterprises)was trying to get Robinson to put his name on one of their beverages.As usual Robinson drove too hard a bargain and we never got to see his face on a bottle of chocolate milk.But let that be bygones will be bygones as long as the Outfit could make money with the great Sugar Ray with illegal gambling. When my father introduced me to Robinson on the steps of the dairy,Robby seemed like a very happy,even shy sort.A very likable person was my reaction. My father was kidding him about how the mob rubbed out a mob lawyer who was doing funny things with the books.The hit was in a parking lot not far from where Robinson was standing outside the dairy. Robinson thought he was the mark.Yeah,Robinson and my old man got a lot of laughs reminiscing about that little tragedy outside the place where they made milk for little babies.
The second encounter I had with Robinson was in San Diego.Robinson had long been retired.He was living in LA with his second wife.We all know the story of how his fights went at the very end.My father took me to see Robinson fight in the old Tijuana Bullring against the local hero Memo Ayon.I kept thinking Robinson would come alive and show his old self in there. All we saw was that he was shot and it seemed that every Mexican was shouting at him calling him a f-----g n----r or a f-----g monkey.How could the greatest pound for pound get reduced to fighting in a bullring like bull---t and then having to eat it? When I saw him again in San Diego, Robinson was down here to see the Luis Rodriguez/Rafael Gutirrez fight at the Sports Arena.I was with my dad at the workouts prior to the fight. When he saw Robby he made a beeline over to the ex champ. My father was never starstruck by anybody. Robinson was no exception.Besides,he knew him.When my father got up to Robinson,he put his arm around him kind of rough like.
"Hey ,Sugar how you doing?" burst out my old man."Anyone shoot at you lately?"
"Hey Joe,"said Sugar Ray with a smile."What are you up to?"
"Keeping an eye on things,"said my dad.
Robinson looked at my dad still in his grasp.
"So who should I bet on?"said Robinson with a chuckle.
"We'll look out for Angelo with this one,"said my dad letting go of his arm.
"Just like Chicago,"shot back Robinson.
"Some things stay the same,"said my father.
Sugar Ray Robinson
My father said that Ray Robinson made a lot of money for the Outfit in Chicago after he won the welter title. He "carried" his opponents like a nursemaid all the way to the final round so the wiseguys could bet that way with the bookmakers.It didn't matter to Robinson. He knew he had friends in the Windy City.Carmen Basilio thought he got the short end of the stick when he fought Sugar Ray in Chicago.Basilio would say to his dago managers to keep him out of Chicago,but his goombas,Johnny DeJohn and Al Metro, had to play ball with Mafia boys if they wanted to make any money and keep their health. After Johnny Saxton got his "turn" getting the from Carmen in the Chicago Stadium,Robby got his payback a year later from the ex Marine in the same venue.
But Robinson wasn't riding on Cloud 9 after he came back from trying to be a song and dance man after the Joey Maxim fight.Tiger Jones revealed to the world(in Chicago.No mob help this time) that Robinson wasn't the same guy anymore.Two and a half years away from the sport,fighting the bigger boys at middleweight,and experiencing what Ali had to come to terms with after his hiatus,he had lost his legs.
I met Robinson on two occasions.both times my father handling the introductions . The first time was when I was a kid in Chicago.Meadowmoor Dairy (one of Capone's legit enterprises)was trying to get Robinson to put his name on one of their beverages.As usual Robinson drove too hard a bargain and we never got to see his face on a bottle of chocolate milk.But let that be bygones will be bygones as long as the Outfit could make money with the great Sugar Ray with illegal gambling. When my father introduced me to Robinson on the steps of the dairy,Robby seemed like a very happy,even shy sort.A very likable person was my reaction. My father was kidding him about how the mob rubbed out a mob lawyer who was doing funny things with the books.The hit was in a parking lot not far from where Robinson was standing outside the dairy. Robinson thought he was the mark.Yeah,Robinson and my old man got a lot of laughs reminiscing about that little tragedy outside the place where they made milk for little babies.
The second encounter I had with Robinson was in San Diego.Robinson had long been retired.He was living in LA with his second wife.We all know the story of how his fights went at the very end.My father took me to see Robinson fight in the old Tijuana Bullring against the local hero Memo Ayon.I kept thinking Robinson would come alive and show his old self in there. All we saw was that he was shot and it seemed that every Mexican was shouting at him calling him a f-----g n----r or a f-----g monkey.How could the greatest pound for pound get reduced to fighting in a bullring like bull---t and then having to eat it? When I saw him again in San Diego, Robinson was down here to see the Luis Rodriguez/Rafael Gutirrez fight at the Sports Arena.I was with my dad at the workouts prior to the fight. When he saw Robby he made a beeline over to the ex champ. My father was never starstruck by anybody. Robinson was no exception.Besides,he knew him.When my father got up to Robinson,he put his arm around him kind of rough like.
"Hey ,Sugar how you doing?" burst out my old man."Anyone shoot at you lately?"
"Hey Joe,"said Sugar Ray with a smile."What are you up to?"
"Keeping an eye on things,"said my dad.
Robinson looked at my dad still in his grasp.
"So who should I bet on?"said Robinson with a chuckle.
"We'll look out for Angelo with this one,"said my dad letting go of his arm.
"Just like Chicago,"shot back Robinson.
"Some things stay the same,"said my father.
Sugar Ray Robinson
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 06 Aug 2016, 20:08
Beneath Parker is Hearns and Starling. There is Harry Arroyo and Freddie Roach.bennie wrote:Nice shot, Rob. I should know more of these guys and it bugs me that I don't. Milt McCrory is there in the background...Boxingnut wrote:
This is a US amateur team from 1977. Sadly I can only identify 2 (I think). Alex Ramos is beaming in the middle and I think that is Curtis Parker just below him. Hopefully you guys can identify more.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 06 Aug 2016, 20:12
Flanking Roach is Tony Santana and Ronnie Shields.bennie wrote:Nice shot, Rob. I should know more of these guys and it bugs me that I don't. Milt McCrory is there in the background...Boxingnut wrote:
This is a US amateur team from 1977. Sadly I can only identify 2 (I think). Alex Ramos is beaming in the middle and I think that is Curtis Parker just below him. Hopefully you guys can identify more.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 06 Aug 2016, 20:23
That is a photo of Richard Rozellebennie wrote:The caption is wrong. It might be Greg Coverson or Scotty Foreman.Boxingnut wrote:
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 08 Aug 2016, 09:47
The great Jose Becerra passed away on Saturday. What a fighter. Would have been something to have seen him against Jofre. Was the cousin of 'El Gato' Gonzalez.
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 08 Aug 2016, 12:44
Thank you for the information. I couldn't find any internet reports in English about Jose Becerra passing away, only ones in Spanish.scartissue wrote:The great Jose Becerra passed away on Saturday. What a fighter. Would have been something to have seen him against Jofre. Was the cousin of 'El Gato' Gonzalez.
- Chuck Johnston
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 08 Aug 2016, 14:09
Jose Becerra
Re: Classic American West Coast Boxing
Posted: 08 Aug 2016, 15:13
Outstanding, Rog. Was that the pic after the Halimi rematch? I heard everyone on that card made out pretty good with the gate from that card. Again, great painting.