BoxRec

scartissue wrote: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.

Yes Dan it was. The photo that I used to paint Becerra's image has him holding a 20,000 dollar check signed by Cal Eaton.I left out the check that he was holding between his fingers.Think of a fighter of that caliber today?Add a couple of zeros.

My wife serving the champ Gato Gonzalez camarones ,carne asada, refries, and arroz.

Rodolfo Gonzalez

My wife Maria and the man who came to dinner

I remember Rodolfo Gonzalez telling me that his cousins Jose Becerra and Alacran Torres were not only influences on Gato's career,but held his feet to the fire when it came to boxing.Gato said he wanted to live up to their accomplishments,and he did.

The woman behind the champ,the lovely Barbara

Rodolfo Gonzalez enjoying some of my wife's cooking"Estilo Michoacán"

dagosd2000 wrote:

Jose Becerra

I remember when Becerra,who was at the top of his career,was upset by Eloy Sanchez.Becerra hung 'em up after that.A real shock.

The Dying Of The Light

When I visited Cheto's Gym that day and they told me that Vargas was in the hospital I wanted to go see him. Vargas used to fight on the undercards in Tijuana and was a popular little featherweight. He was built like a fire hydrant. He was short even for a 125 pounder.He looked like all his extremities had been cut off a few inches short.But he was always game and what he lacked in natural ability he compensated with durability.I never saw him off his feet ,and to mention it,I never saw him really hurt.In fact if he got tagged,it just made him madder.

He was a friend of Chano who owned the Bosco Gym on Negrete Street downtown.I was lifting there while I was coaching American football at Cetys and me and Vargas became pals.Once in awhile ,after one of his fights, we'd hit the bars in the Coahuila and give the place a good whirl. I don't think vargas had any change left over after one of those nights.

They told me at Cheto's that Vargas was pretty sick and that he was staying at a "sanitorio" in the Zona Norte.They gave me the name of the place and the directions.I didn't have a hard time finding it.The hospital was on the second floor above a cantina. The name of the hospital was called "Golodrinas".The name was painted on the side of the building in black letters.Mexico is big on these little clinics.It's about all people can afford.The quality of treatment you get in these clinics depends on what the ailment is.If it's something more or less common you'll come out OK. If it's something a lot worse,then it's another story.

I asked the nurse at the frone desk what room Vargas was in. She said it was the last room at the end of the hallway. I walked down the dimly lit corridor until I came to the room.Inside I saw that there were two other patients sleeping. Each bed was different.They were old and made of iron.The beds were lined up parallel to each other. I could see Vargas sitting up reading .The room was stark and didn't have much furniture besides a few chairs and a night stand and a lamp at each bed. There was a big picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe on the wall facing the beds.
"Hey amigo,how did you wind up in here?"I said softly not to wake up the other patients.
Vargas put down his book on his lap.
"Roger.How did you know I was here?"he asked
I could see that Vargas looked gaunt and his complexion was yellowish.
"Your pals at Cheto's steered me here."
Even though Vargas's body looked sick,he beamed a big smile.He still had that thick black Indian hair that laid straight back on his head like he didn't even have to comb it. The light on his nightstand brightened his face enough so you could see all the scar tissue around his eyes. His earth toned face showed a growth of scraggly beard that wasn't worth shaving.
"Pull up one of those chairs,"he said."Keep me company for awhile."
"How do you feel?", I asked the ex fighter.
"Pretty good.As run down as this place looks,the food is not so bad."
"You get many visitors?"
"Some of the guys from the gym. I told my wife to stay away.It only makes her sad to see me in here.I'll be home soon."
"So what do you do all day in here?"
"I read mostly.The nurses are friendly enough,but they put this place above a bar. I can't get any sleep at night. Typical.,"Vargas said laughing.
I wanted to find a way to cheer him up.Being inside the room made me feel depressed.
"Remember after your fight at the Arena 72 when we went to the Fracaso?"I asked.
"That was quite a night,"said Vargas smiling at me.
"Remember when that big cockroach fell from the ceiling and landed in that girl's glass of beer?"
"We must have danced with every girl in the bar that night."
"Where did you go with the one you were last with. When you didn't come back from the room,I searched every bar in the Coahuila."
"We wound up getting in a cab a staying the night in Rosarito."
"Thanks for letting me know," I said rolling my eyes.
Just then the grin was lost from Vargas's face.He leaned over towards me.
"You know Roger. This thing I got is gonna' get me."
I felt a chill.
"Come on.You're too tough. You've got an image to hold up."
"It's OK."
Vargas put his hand on his forehead.
"The other night a "Maria" came to the clinic and said she couldn't find her little granddaughter. They were out side selling chiclets.Everybody searched for her.The old woman was panic sricken."
"Did they find her?"
"Nada."
A nurse walked in holding a tray with a big needle on it.
"I need to give Mr. Vargas his shot now," she said very pleasantly.
"Look,Vargas I'll go,but I'll come to see you again at the end of the week."
"No problem Roger. Say hello to those gym rats at Cheto's for me."
"Will do.Anything you want that I can bring back?"
"Yeah,that girl I was with at the Fracaso,"he said laughing.

At the end of the week,I went back to visit Vargas,but the nurse said that he wanted to go home.
"How was he feeling?"I asked her.
"No progress", she answered as she looked at her paperwork.
I had a sunken feeling.
"By the way.Did they ever find that little Indian girl?"
"She appeared on the stairs last night. Her head was wrapped in bandages."
"What do you mean?"
"The kidnappers had taken her eyes,"said the nurse impassively.
I didn't say anything, just turned on my heel.i walked downstairs to the bar.The music was real loud. They'd probably keep those patients upstairs up all night again.

The Baby Kisser

I ran into Javier at that little coffee shop on the boulevard just after the season ended.Coaching American football in Tijuana was an enlightening experience,but it didn't do nothing for my bank account.The pay stunk,but I was getting as much as anyone else that worked there as a coach/teacher.Cetys was a private school for the rich mucky mucks in TJ. The students' parents were loaded.At that time it was dough made mostly on the up and up.The money came from big business enterprises in Mexico,and the U.S. The cartels were beginning to flex their muscles,but the word was that none of their kids were at the school.


I had decided that I couldn't make a living pretending to be Vince Lombardi below the border so I took my teaching credential and my skills north,but before I made the move I went back to the school in TJ to square away a few things-clear out my desk,say my goodby's,and look over my shoulder knowing that I'd never go back.It was a nice run,but I couldn't stay.Also, I wanted to have one last look at the coffee shop on the boulevard where we'd all go after practice and sit around drinking 20 cups of coffee and swapping lies.Sitting at the counter,drinking coffee,was Javier,one of the players on the team.I was happy to see him.

Because the school catered to the aristocracy of the town,The students seemed more grown up.They didn't act silly or pretentious.There wasn't the big generation gap between student and adult.Everyone called each other by their first or last name.Javier fit the mold of the typical student.
"Roger,what are you doing here?"Javier said to me as he saw me walk in.He also looked happy to see me.
"Having one last cup before I go. Mind if I join you?"
"Of course."
Javier was a good looking kid. Like the other students, he looked and acted older than he was,but maybe that assessment was derived from my American paradigm.Light skinned,blue eyes, and sandy brown hair that he cherished because it denoted his European side,Javier was smoking a cigarette as he drank his coffee.Like most of the kids and staff at the school,he spoke very good English.
"So you're giving up on Cetys?"he asked wryly.
"Javier,the kids that go here have parents that are more loaded than in the States."
"Too bad that Fimbres pays everyone so little. More than the public schools,but not that much more."
"He owns the biggest chain of supermarkets in Baja."
Jose Fimbres was one of the wealthiest people in Mexico. Owning the three Cetys schools(Tijuana,Ensenada,and Rosarito)was like a hobby .He wanted to show the people he had a moral compass.
"I have to admit though that I've never seen such a dedicated staff,"I said sincerely.
"My grades will transfer to the university schools in California. That's how prestigious it is around here."
The waitress brought me a cup of coffee. The coffee shop on the boulevard was upscale,but the waitress was getting the minimum in wages and the way Mexicans tip,she probably lived in one of the barrios on the outskirts of town.
"Javier,how is your wife's father doing with Jibaro?"
"He's hard to control. Now that he's got the title it's gotten worse."
"Perez married his daughter.How's that working out?"
"There's the problem."
"I'm sorry to hear that,"I said.
"You know that guy has to make an 'X' to sign his name.The old guy made him a champion."
Javier crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray in front of him.
"Remember when Ali was going to put on a workout at the auditorium down the street?"I asked him.
"That was when he fought Norton."
"He pulled out of that."
"It would have been a disaster,"said Javier.
"You still have that poster I gave you about that exhibition?"
"I got it in my room. The way this memorabilia thing is going it's probably worth something. Why?You want it back?"
"No,of course not.But there must have been hundreds of those posters,in Spanish and English,nailed on every lamp post in TJ.I only took one."
I finished my coffee.The waitress came over and refilled my cup.
"Ali would have really got it stuck in his a-- if he'd come down here,"said Javier.
"Mexicans don't like guys that are into themselves like that."
"That 'I am the greatest' crap would have backfired.They would have run him out of town."
"I think he sensed that,"I said."That's why he didn't come down."
"But didn't he come to Tijuana to buy some gear?"
"He went to Deportes Viking to buy a Reyes heavy bag.I think he donated it after the fight," I said.
"Ali was the toast of the continent in Africa when he fought Foreman,but here it's different,"said Javier finishing his coffee.
"In Zaire, Ali won the people over with his charm,and he was with blacks.He ran through the villages stopping along the way to kiss babies."
"Foreman was holding on to his chain trying to control his Dobermans."
"And doing his Sonny Liston impressions.'I want to kill you' ",I said with a smirk.
"Having the people with him helped a lot,"said Javier.
The waitress came over again holding the coffee pot. I held up my hand.
"Roger,what did you think about none of those other coaches ever picking up a tab in here?"
"They probably thought that they were getting away with something."
"Coach,it's on me tonight."
"Thanks pal."
As we moved from the counter,I saw that Javier didn't leave a tip. I took out a dollar and left it on the counter.As we walked out the door Javier stopped momentarily.
"Roger,you know Ali could have kissed every baby in Mexico and it wouldn't have done him any good."

Very gud fighters, respect!! :)

Good Work If You Can Get

Last week I dropped in at Tiger Smalls Gym in Mission Gorge to see how Tiger's tiger, Prince ,was progressing.Prince has been fighting locally and in Tijuana for the past three years. His record is 10 wins without a loss and you can throw in a draw with those figures.The draw decision was in Prince's debut at the Las Pulgas Night Club in Tijuana. (BTW J.C. Chavez Jr. made his boxing debut at the same venue).

I've seen most of Prince's fights.He's a tall kid(around 6 ft.) at 125.He's cruising into his early twenties and so far doesn't have difficulty making the featherweight limit. But there's a twofold problem.One, he needs to step it up with better competition,but his father doesn't want to put him in over his head unless Prince can work with quality sparring partners. Professional fighters of a higher caliber.A veteran fighter who can display tricks of the trade on a first hand basis.Of the fights I've seen of Prince,he hasn't lost a round,but some of those opponents weren't exactly on a road to becoming champions not to mention contenders or even a main eventer.

Tiger Smalls expertise is very comprehensive.Tiger was a pro and knows the intricacies of the sport.He has a feel for the gym and can get his points across without being a stern taskmaster.He also manages his son,but can't afford to put him in over his head .Acting on a feeling over anxiousness could lead to disaster.Tiger took a time out to talk with me at the gym.He had a class of non boxers who he was putting through a fast regimen of calisthenics mixed with boxing techniques.
"You guys work on the heavy bags using those combinations I showed you,"he barked.
Tiger is one of the most likeable sorts I've ever seen putting his charges through their paces. His students love him and Tiger reciprocates those feelings. There's no pretentiousness in him.When Prince fights,even across the border,there's always a big entourage wearing Prince Small shirts inside the arena rooting him on.

I first went over to say hello to Prince. He had the headgear on,the mouthpiece was still in place.He was wearing gray sweats and his long sleave shirt was sopping wet. He was resting on a big truck tire.
"So how's it going with you?"I asked him.
"Ok,"he answered humbly.
Prince is for the most part a kid of few words,very polite,and does everting his dad asks of him.
"No trouble with the weight?"I went on.
"Nah,"he came back with.
"How's the sparring going?"
This is were I wanted to go .
"I need better sparring partners."
"Any fights coming up?"
"You need to talk to my father."
Tiger came over to pull off his son's gloves.
"What do you have lined up,Tiger?"
"I'm working on something in Las Vegas at the end of September,"he said.
"Is Prince getting good work in?"
"I've got to go with you to Tijuana to that gym you talk about."
"The CREA."
"That's where the hot fighters in Tj go,"he said.
"That's the place. Chavez left Sinaloa to train there. He knew that if he could pass that test he would be ready to move on."
"We need to go with you some Saturday down there."
"Let me go there and find out when the gym opens. I think it's around 3 in the afternoon when the fighters arrive.Magarito,even though he has his own gym in Colonia Francisco Villa even trains there. Even Morales,who has a gym in the Zona Norte,is a frequent visitor.It's like Stillman's in the Apple. You're from Brooklyn."
"Find out what's going on."
"Look, Tiger" ,I said wanting to level with him."If you've got an important fight lined up you might want to rent a place down there for a couple of weeks so Prince can work out with those guys everyday."
I wished Tiger and Prince the best of luck and said I'd get back with them. I haven't yet,but I will,but it will be the same message.I've had this conversation before. The kid needs work. He knows that and so does Tiger.Unless they can commute to Los Angeles,Tj is the better option.There's little in San Diego. National City has a gym that the late Junior Robles trained in.I've been there.I couldn't get a good handle on it. I went there inquiring to network the late fighter into the California Boxing Hall of Fame.After getting the cold shoulder,I left Rick Farris's number with some guy explaining what my purpose was. To my relief the phone number was passed to one of Junior's relatives and the Junior got in.As far of the quality of fighters at that gym,I couldn't tell.

I hope Prince can find a gym where his sparring partners can bring out his potential.You can skip all the ropes in the world , punch every bag in the gym,and do roadwork the breadth of the country.A fighter needs to hone his skills and get pushed to his limit by working out with good fighters.



Prince Smalls and his dad,Tiger.Two good guys.

Fight Town

Tijuana is a fight town. A lot of big names have grown up in Tijuana's barrios,learned the art of self defense inside the numerous little gyms in the neighborhoods,earned their bragging rights in that gladiator arena called the CREA,battled their way through the contenders' ranks,and then topped off their quests wearing world title belts. Some never got to wear the crown.Gaspar Ortega comes to mind,but he certainly was a warrior who fought them all and is very proud of how he left his mark. "Indio" Ortega doesn't live in TJ anymore.He calls home New York City where he was top bill on many of the cards at the Garden,but former champions like Erik Morales,Tony Margarito,"Jibaro" Perez,and the late "Dinanamita" Estrada still call TJ their home. Margarito was born on the U.S. side ,but replanted his roots in Colonia Pancho Villa in the west end of Tijuana.

I remember when I was working at the school in Tijuana coaching American football. At that time "Jibaro" Perez and "Dinamita" Estrada were fighting their way through the bantamweight division. The local venues like the Municipal Auditorium,Arena 72, and the old downtown bullring would sell out whenever those two who climb inside the ring and go to battle. Tijuana was energized by their performances, anticipating the time when two local kids would sit atop the pinnacle.Although fighting at the same weight they never faced each other. Estrada won his version of the bantamweight title at the Arena 72 against Raul Valdez. "Jibaro" accomplished his goal by handing the great "Happy" Lora his first loss in Las Vegas.

Both Tijuaneros had the city in their grasps.They were the talk of the colonias. You see, there's wasn't really any other sport in Tijuana that captured the fans' interest. The professional baseball team,the Potros,had just been suspended by the league for "throwing" the Mexican championship series. There was no division 1 soccer team in town.Basketball and American football were practically non existent because of lack of interest in the sport.(It's changed somewhat now) So it was "Dinamita" and "Jibaro" that carried the self esteem of the city with their crowns.

You could say Perez was the better fighter of the two. He was tall(5'10")using his height and reach to his advantage.He was nice to watch,fundamentally sound with a good punch. He reminded me a little of Salvador Sanchez.Estrada didn't have that kind of height and reach like Perez.He had to work inside and trade to win,but he could also bang away.He was a little like Arturo Gatti.Sometimes you'd look at his puffed up bloody face and think the towel would be thrown in,but like Gatti,there was no quit in "Dinamita".Mexicans choose the nicknames for their fighters very carefully.

But eventually,after success became something to expected with those two boys,the fire at both ends of the candle extinguished.It seems to be a trait with Mexican fighters.Sinning replaces winning ,and then it's the road to obscurity. The fame and the friends are gone.All that remains is their pictures in the bars ,them standing their with all the glassy eyed aficianados holding their shot glasses.After the fall they cilmb back inside the ropes fighting the mediocre until the time comes when even the mediocre can put them to sleep.Now the hardest part presents itself. What do I do with my life now?The self searching is done in an abyss.Hopefully there is a family support group that can get through to them,but glory is difficult to replace with sympathy.

"Jibaro" seems back on track with a new family and his hand in training fighters. He brings back memories and smiles when he circulates the boxing circles. As for "Dinamita",he victimized himself in the murky unforgiving world of drugs.He was shot and killed last year inside his SUV in the Colonia Nueva Tijuana.But "Dinamita" can also elicit memories and smiles when Tijuana's best are mentioned. It's bittersweet that the smiles are often marked by a slight turn at the corner of the mouth.



"Dinamita" Estrada

The Sign

Vargas was back in the sanitorio again. When I went back to Cheto's Gym,that's what they said.That surprised me. When I went to visit him the last time in the hospital,the nurse said he wanted to go home.That's where I thought it would end.But be as it may,I went back to "Las Golondrinas",the tiny clinic above the bar.I asked the nurse where I could find Vargas.She told me he was in the same room as last time.I walked down the hallway and stood at the entrance.I saw that Vargas was in the same bed,but this time he wasn't sharing the room with any other patients. He smiled when he saw me in the light.
"They must have told you I was back here again ,"said the old fighter.
I noticed that he had lost more weight and that his skin had added a dark purplish tone in addition to his jaundiced look.
"I thought you didn't want to come back to this place,"I said trying to keep up the levity.
"I don't think my wife wants me to die in the house,"he said with a laugh.
"You're a long ways from that,"I said.
"Not that far,"said Vargas."Besides I don't want to fight it anymore."
"How long have you been here?"
"A few days.At least I have the room by myself."
"Does anyone come to see you?"
"The wife was here this morning.She told me the kids are driving down from Los Angeles."
Vargas took a sip of orange juice from a paper cup that was on a table beside his bed.
"You know Roger,I never fought in the United States.That's the only regret I have with my career."
"But didn't you live in California once?"I asked him.
"When I was a kid I worked in the fields up in Fresno.That's when I knew I wanted to take up fighting.Fighting was a lot easier than working on your knees picking strawberries."
"Cesar Chavez straightened that out,"I said.
"But I never got my papers.His union was for the legals."
Vargas began to cough.He spit into a towel he had in his hand.
"We had some pretty good times ,"I said wanting to cheer him up.
"It was that life that put me in here."
"Do you ever think back on it all?"
"Not that much,"he said.He was struggling with his words now.
"The kids in the U.S. don't know how good they've got it,"said Vargas coughing.
"Some of them are pretty spoiled,"I said.
"Mexico has caused are own problems. We know that. You know it too. You're a friend against outsiders."
"I live in two worlds amigo."
"The Mexican news attacks the U.S. especially this Trump.But tell me. Why do so many of us want to come to the United States?"
"I know Vargas. I know."
"Mexico has no patience for illegals either."
"It's all propaganda."
Vargas began coughing again.
"Did you hear about the little Indian girl?" he asked after spitting into the towel.
"Yes."
"That's becoming more common down here.There's lots of money to be made in body parts."
The conversation had definitely taken a turn.
"Roger,I'm very tired amigo. I can't talk for very long."
"Look,I'll drop by at the end of the week when I come down to see my daughter."
"You don't need to.We'll part friends as we've always been."
I wanted to counterdict him,but thought it was the best way to let it go.
"Roger,say God bless to your wife. I wish I could have met her."
I put my hand on Vargas's shoulder.i could hear a rasp from his chest.I walked out,this time I did not stop at the bar downstairs.

As I was sitting in my car waiting in line on the Mexican side of the border to cross to the United States,I saw this huge billboard to the left of me.As I read what it said,I thought of what Vargas had to say.

Mind posting your portrait of the Schoolboy? (I think you posted it in the past) Seems fitting. What a fearless warrior. Hope he's smiling and enjoying the view from his perch.

Bobby Chacon's obituary can be found on the Los Angeles Times website. RIP Champ.....

- Chuck Johnston

This Guy Will Fight You

When I got news of the passing of Bobby Chacon,I got emotional.probably too emotional,so I'm writing this maybe not being rational enough,but I don't care. My former principal at my old school where I used to work down by the border,Sam Montes,grew up with Bobby in the projects in Pacoima.Sam used to tell me that Bobby was in a fight just about everyday,after school ,during school,out in the street,in the sand lot,in back of the liquor store,didn't matter where.Sam said Bobby would fight about anything.Bobby never weighed more than a hundred in change,but he would tear into anyone twice his size without blinking an eye.Sam told me that when Bobby fought those times with Ruben Olivares,Sam was at those fights pulling for Bobby.Sam's brother was for Ruben.When Sam got transferred to another school,I painted a picture of Bobby and gave it to him.When I gave it to him,Sam started crying in front of all the secretaries in the front office. I couldn't hold back either.It felt good to cry.

When I think of all the Chicano fighters who took on the Mexican nationals in LA,Bobby was the most popular with the Mexicans.He fought like a Mexican.If it meant leaving himself open so he could throw more leather, that was his plan of attack.He didn't mind the taste of his own blood.When Bobby and "Little Red" went at it for local bragging rights,it was two guys afraid of nothing.Bobby whipped Danny fair and square in wild contest that had the aficianados setting off firecrackers. Many years later that little puke Larry Merchant was interviewing Danny and was trying to fool with his mind.
"After all these years,Danny,looking back on your fight with Chacon,don't you think you actually won in the end?(Bobby was in the first stages of dementia),"asked the puke.
Danny kind of smirked.
"No,he beat me,"he answered calmly.

I remember Bobby with his caretaker at the time,Rosey,attending and enjoying many of those fight banquets in Los Angeles.I don't know what became of Rosey,but she sure was protective of Bobby.She didn't smother him,but you could feel her compassion. Bobby was a little kid again by that time.Maybe to the sheltered ones he came off as embarassing,but the guys that knew him,the guys that were in the ring with him,stood at his side. For the grace of God.

Rick Farris told me a story about Bobby at a WBHOF banquet signing autographs . He was sitting at a table with other fighters.Bobby was seated next to George Chuvalo.Bobby flipped the switch and went from Bobby the little kid to wanting to kick Big George's ass.Bobby accused Chuvalo of stealing his pen.

Maybe Bobby fought too much. All the high life made things worse. His wife couldn't take it anymore and ended it all.The puke Merchant wanted to pin Bobby down about that in that interview. Bobby's face got a blank look,that hundred mile stare.He looked coldly past the puke.
"I just didn't care,"said the little battler.

At one of the World Boxing Hall of Fame banquets ,I gave Bobby a portait of himself. He returned my gesture with a kiss on my cheek.Later when he went into the lounge,I saw a swarm of leeches around him getting him to sign memorabilia so they could sell it later. They gave him a cigar for his effort .All the time they were kidding him trying to stoke him on.I felt like doing something,but it was pointless. Bobby was having fun,like a little kid.

Now that I got the news about the death of Bobby Chacon I wanted to say something,and I cried again .Damn,it felt good.

Bobby

Great story and remembrances on Bobby, Rog. I will always remember Bobby when he started out. Couldn't believe it when he knocked out Ray Echevarria with a straight left in the first round. The ring announcer that night stated Echevarria had never been KO'd before. Haven't looked at Ray's record to corroborate that, but I was stunned when I saw him take out such a veteran. Equally stunned when I saw him KO Tury Pineda. I thought, wow, this guy is for real. I prefer thinking of Bobby in his early years - let's say up to the second fight with Olivares. Because after that the reflexes sort of dimmed and he was making every fight a war thereafter. But prior to those days, Bobby could slip, duck, parry with the best of them and had a brilliant, hard jab. Every so often I could see that old Bobby in there - the second Limon fight and the Arguello fights come to mind - but he was a hell-for-leather fighter after that second Olivares fight, fighting on heart.

I remember years later at an event of the World Boxing Hall of Fame a nervous looking Rosie having a dilemma and she told me that Bobby needed to go to the bathroom. I told her I would get him there. She thanked me for helping him, but I had to make it very clear to her that getting him there was all[u] I was going to help him with. While in there Bobby had removed his IBHF ring and left it on the sink while he washed his hands. I picked it up and said not to forget this. He told me it happened before. I asked Rosie and I heard a long sordid story of how he left it in a public bathroom and it was picked up and before they knew it it was up on e-bay. The cops could do nothing since it wasn't stolen, but left. And they actually had to buy it back from the guy who was uninterested in their plight. It just leaves you warm and fuzzy about the people out there, doesn't it?

Anyways, whenever I think of Bobby I think of my Pops and how Pops would get rattled when he saw Bobby coming. In his thick Irish brogue he would say, "Aww, Jesus, he's always trying to kiss me." A little eerie when you think about it, that Bobby died on my Pops' birthday.

Chocolate Thunder

I went up to the LA Forum last night to watch Roman "Chocolatito" Gonzalez win a heavier version of a Flyweight Title from the Mexican Carlos Cuadras. I knew I wouldn't get any takers to go with me so a few weeks ago I bought a ticket on line and went by myself. I shelled out a hundred bucks for an OK seats that was up a level from the floor.

I'd seen this Gonzalez fight on YouTube and he looked pretty good. He hasn't lost yet as a pro and he was unbeaten as an amateur.He hails from Nicaragua and of course the late Alexis Arguello is the kid's idol.What struck me about Gonzalez is his mastery of all boxing's components.He has excellent balance which is very difficult to achieve in a fighter that enables him to get the max on his leverage on his punches He can roll and slip punches,catch shots on his shoulders,counter,and dig to the body.His body lean is perfect.He throws his punches straight.He's in tremendous condition.However with all this going for him,he was fighting a division up from the flyweight class trying to wrest the title from the champion,Carlos Cuadras. Cuadras is Mexican so I knew the Los Angeles crowd would mostly be on the side of their "carnal."

The Forum wasn't sold out. That kind of surprised me. Maybe flyweights,no matter how good they are,can't attract enough attention,but I knew these two boys would put on a show.Cuadras,though not fighting in the bigger venues like Gonzalez,was going to put it all on the line in front of the big Mexican turnout.Aside from a draw,Cuadras also had never lost a pro fight. If you watch the replay on YouTube you're going to be in for a treat.I saw the replay this morning. I had it scored about the way the judges had it. I read some of the comments from the Mexican fans. They thought Cuadras got the short end of the stick.The definitely inspired their fighter. This Cuadras is one tough hombre.He didn't want to let his aficanados down,but he was fighting a" buzzsaw ",to use the common euphemism. If you can recall the first three Fernando Marquez/Israel Vasquez fights,last nights encounter was a carbon copy.Marquez was the technically more advanced,Vasquez the more raw and brutal. But if you had to choose who had the more guts,the degree of courage was as intense as it gets. Same thing last night,neither fighter could break the will of the other.Neither man wanted to stay in a clinch.

A fight like last night calls for a rematch.These two are the best at that weight level. They could do what PacMan and Pretty Boy should have done in their primes,fight each other a couple a times a year,But it's too bad that these two are little little guys. If they were lightweights there'd be more interest.But if you're into boxing,you don't care. The thing is though if these two boys go at it four or five more times they could burn out.I can't see either one of them going back to the gym on Monday.

Just a sidelight to end my observations. I mentioned this once before(and I'm not prone to do this because I'm not into all this "ranking" stuff),but Gonzalez(remember this is just my two cents)is the best pound for pound guy out there now.To have guys like Canelo and Fury ahead of him doesn't make sense.

But I guess if you weigh 112 pounds you're hard to take into consideration as being the best P4P.(I need to do a painting of "Chocolatito",but since I haven't done one of him yet(with all this grandstanding I've done for the kid,I sound hypocritical not having his portrait in my repertoire)so I'll offer Gonzalez's countrymam and inspiration ,Alexis Arguello,instead.

A Rose Is A Rose

When I was working as a teacher down in the South Bay next to the border I always got along with the Mexican administrators better than the White ones.In fact the Mexican admins took care of me,kind of a protection. They knew I knew what is was like with the kids.The Mexicans ,being principals and vice principals,had to toe the mark more with the district office unless they had to answer to another Mexican,but even then there would be problems between Mexicans in the hierarchy at the district office. If two Mexicans had it in for each other it was no holds barred.It was worse than White guy against the Mexican guy.

The White admins were OK with me.They knew I was in most of the time with the kids who were mostly Mexican and Chicano.I don't think the White brass thought I was a very good teacher,but they knew I was popular with the kids.At the high school the Mexican kids approached me to be the "advisor" of the Chicano Club. They didn't offer it to another Mexican. Jealousy and betrayal is a thread that runs through Mexican society unless everybody within the group are compadres. I guess the kids felt more comfortable with me being their representative.

One of my principals was this Chicano gal named Christine Aranda.She was from Boyle Heights in LA. She was a few years older than me,probaly in her early 60's.She was cuter than a bug's ear,a petite little thing with black hair worn up in a flip,dark eyes,a "morenita".She looked like the French actress,Leslie Caron. She had kept her shape.She knew she was still pretty,but wasn't a flirt.There's a saying in Mexico about "morenitas"."Que chulada es el maiz prieto."(How pretty is the Indian corn) When I'd look at her she always reminded me of that saying.

We were pretty close. The other Mexican male teachers on campus I don't think liked having a Mexican woman as their boss.They weren't antagonistic with her. They just didn't take her too seriously. The Mexican women teachers on the other hand showed more animosity. But me and Christine were buddies. I'd talk to her about my Mexican wife and how she was from the ranch. Christine was born in the barrio in LA. She was an only child and lived with her father and grandmother(never asked what side).She studied hard in school and said that a teacher made a dramatic impression on her.She was beginning to falter when the teacher took her aside and told her she was on the path of falling for the first Romeo who crossed her path,she'd wind up pregnant,and then her options and her hopes would come to an end. She said she refocused after that,studied hard again,and went to the local college,La Verne.I used to kid her and said I went to La Verne and Shirley.She got a PHD in something and was very proud of that.She like to called "Dr. Smith" and everyone addressed her that way except the Mexican teachers and me.

She told me that her father owned a bar in Boyle Heights.He was quite a character she said.He'd be hired to tend bar at private parties and that he would bring her along to help out.She also said that her father was an alcoholic. It depressed her to see him that way,but she still loved him very much.He doted on her when he was sober,but he was seldom on the wagon. Two of his most popular customers at the bar were Mando Ramos and Bobby Chacon.Christine would say that after closing time they would all hop into Mando's convertible,a blond on the arm,and take off for a night of more partying.Sometimes she wouldn't see her father for days. I'm sure Mando and Bobby and the blonds were having the times of their lives. I'm sure Eileen Eaton and Jackie McCoy were pulling their hair out.

It's been sometime since I have seen Christine Aranda. She had a daughter,son in law, and grandchild living near by in San Diego.She started as a counselor at a school in Los Angeles when she met her future husband.He was one of those Tuskegee pilots in WWII.He was also her principal at the school.He had a lot of pull in the California school system.I guess he was a man's man and that,along with his education,made Christine fall for him.After his retirement he got his younger wife set up with a posh position at the district office(assistant superintendent) where I was working by the border.But then tragedy struck. Her husband suddenly died of a heart attack.A new superintendent came on the scene at the district and Christine was "demoted" to being a principal. It was a cut in pay and Christine was a duck out of water.She had never even been a teacher before.

But she was very resourceful.She stayed on for several years until she could work her way into a another administrative position in another near by school district.I'd visit her sometimes at her new office.She seemed melancholy. One time I took her on a cook's tour of Tijuana, I brought her through the Coahuila stepping over passed out drunks and watching a few bar fights that wound up outside..It was funny.As we were walking up and down the streets I saw some of my students. They ran over to say hello. They lived in that duel world that all Mexican know that frequent the United States and that the average White dude is oblivious to and doesn't really care about and doesn't want to understand.Like I implied,the White staff at the district were out of touch and seemed a bit awkward.

Awhile back I "Googled" Christine Aranda to see whatever became of her. All I came up with was that that name was also the name of a rose. Quite a metaphor I thought.



Mando Ramos

Damn it, Rog, you did it to me again. Now I want to find out whatever happened to Christine Aranda.

scartissue wrote:Damn it, Rog, you did it to me again. Now I want to find out whatever happened to Christine Aranda.

You know Dan I think it's better to leave it alone.i can always look back and remember the good times.I've changed a lot since then.She's probably has too.Even if she hasn't I don't want to go back to the past.Even if those were good ol' days I wouldn't be able to catch the lightning in the bottle.If I saw her today the thrill would be gone,I think.

Reminds me of an interview I once read on Jackie McCoy. He stated in the interview that one day he went with a friend to watch classic fight films. And like all of us, he too had his heroes from his youth. But came away disenchanted. he said, "On my way home I felt kind of sad. They weren't as good as I remembered them." I see what you're saying, dude.

scartissue wrote:Reminds me of an interview I once read on Jackie McCoy. He stated in the interview that one day he went with a friend to watch classic fight films. And like all of us, he too had his heroes from his youth. But came away disenchanted. he said, "On my way home I felt kind of sad. They weren't as good as I remembered them." I see what you're saying, dude.

Dan,about six months ago I ran into my old defensive line coach that I had in high school.The head coach had something against me and prior to our first game,I was a benchwarmer. Our first game was against a pretty tough opponent.They were moving the ball on us down to our goal line and it looked like they were going to score.My defensive line coach asked me if I was ready to play and went to the head coach and told him to put me in. I could hear them arguing.After this brief confrontation my line coach turned to me and yelled at me to get in there.Well as fate would have it I made three tackles in a row stopping their running back for a loss each tackle.We held them. We got the ball back on downs and went 99 yards to score the only touchdown of the game. After that I started every game.My line coach believed in me and the head coach prioritized success over personal grudges and left me alone. Well I always idolized my line coach after that.

When I ran into him again over 50 years later it was at a local restaurant. He was with a group from the retirement home. He was sitting in a wheelchair.I walked over to where he was sitting and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Coach!",I yelled with much emotion."It's a miracle to see you again!"
He turned his head around to me .
"Who are you?"he asked.
I could tell by his unfocused eyes that he was blind.
"It's me.Roger.You were my savior.You believed in me.Remember?"
"Oh yes,I remember.Didn't you play with the 67 championship team?"
"No,I played in 62."
Just then a woman who was with the group got up from her chair and walked over to where we were.
"Punky,"she said softly."You need to take your pill now with your lunch."
"Can you mash it up for me?" he asked.
The woman,who by now I figured to be a nurse,mashed up the pill with a spoon.
"Gloria,"said my old coach."I want you to meet a fellow teacher I worked with at the school.He taught chemistry."
The nurse smiled at me as she mixed the mashed up pill with his food.
"Gloria,"he went on."I want you to meet Jeff.He played on the 67 championship team."
I bent down to the old coach and kissed him on the cheek. As I walked back to where I was sitting I broke down. I couldn't control myself. I called the waitress over and gave her my credit card.
"See those people over at that table," I said to her."I'll take care of them.And do me a favor.Don't tell them it was me."
It wouldn't have mattered anyway.