BoxRec

L.A. kidd wrote:yeah, dagos it shocked me that jack O'Halloran would say that. I'm not making this up, but, I can't understand the reasoning of his claim.

I haven't read the book,but he describes it as being"fictionalized". In other words it's a novel. Maybe his claim that Anastasia was his father was a part of the pretentions.

Christmas Eve

I did my student teaching at Juvenile Hall.Henry Brown,who was my mentor teacher,helped me get trough the six months I needed to perform to finalize getting my credential.I worked without pay.It was tight financially for me in those days.Henry boxed professionally briefly,but wasn't making a living with it. He was married with a son and decided to get into teaching. When I began with him at Juvenile Hall,he'd been there for 15 years. I applied for a position at Juvenile Hall after earning my credential. I was turned down because the Court Schools said they were looking to hire a "female or a minority."Henry,who was African American went to bat for me with the principal,but he echoed the same news that was handed down to him from the district. But it was a blessing in disguise because when I was substitute teaching and coaching football at Point Loma High School,I bumped into a buddy that had played ball with me at City College. He was coaching at the school we were scrimmaging.He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was looking to get to get a full time position somewhere. He told me there was an opening at a high school in the San Ysidro and that the principal was a good friend of his. I got set up for an interview and got hired on the spot.The principal was Mexican and a Korean and Vietnam War vet.It didn't take long to feel each other out. The first question he asked me was something about lesson plans and I returned his probe with that my wife was a Mexican national and that we had lived in Tijuana and who was your favorite Mexican fighter. I was signing the papers down at Personnel within the hour.

Early in my career as a teacher ,I needed to teach our semester breaks . I needed the extra cash. I had no problem getting an assignment at Juvenile Hall. The principal knew I got shafted by the District and Henry Brown was always there to pitch in a good word. Teaching at Juvenile Hall isn't exactly what you would call a "traditional" assignment. There's no summer break,let alone a summer vacation,but there were always turnovers there and temporary openings until the positions were filled. I remember the first time I filled in.It was during the Christmas break.I was warmly greeted by the principal.Rocky Nobile was his name.He was a tough dago from New Jersey. He had opened the school 30 years ago. This was gong to be his last year.He knew that his kind of methodology was over.He swore like a Marine drill instructor and his attitude toward the female staff would make Donald Trump look like Cary Grant. He knew it would have been only a matter of time that they'd force him out. But all the old staff understood and loved him. It was the new breed that was conspiring. I got my assignment from Rocky.I was to get one of the units with the older kids. That was fine with me. I'd be alongside Henry Brown. Before I got to my unit I met Henry in the office.
"Rog,it's good to see you again,"he said with a wide smile.
Henry had boxed under the moniker of "Downtown Henry Brown."There wasn't an ounce of fat on him still.He was tall for a middleweight.He had one of the most pleasant faces. Soft spoken and always very calm in his demeanor. He didn't have big muscles ,but he was what they call sinewy. He could do pushups on his finger tips and was a vegetarian. I think he picked up that habit with his new religion. I never asked but I think he was some sort of Muslim,but I'm not sure because he was always chanting during the course of the day.
"Always good to see you my friend.I've got three weeks off during Christmas,"I said.
"I hear Rocky gave you the 17 year olds."
"Yes,that was good for him to do that. I'll be working with you."
"You don't mind starting on Christmas Eve?"
"Makes no difference to me.Money is money."
"You'll never guess who got locked up for 1st degree murder."
"You mean to tell me Alex is in here?"
"Yes",answered Henry."He'll be with you."
Henry was referring to Alex Carter. He was a black kid that I had coached briefly when I was with one of the city high schools. The kid was a three letterman,but his behavior was volatile.He had trouble making grades,but it was his sociopathic temperament that was off the charts.He was always sucker punching someone in the lunch court and had knocked up his history teacher's daughter and then beat the hell out of her for getting pregnant. After high school no college would take a chance with him. He didn't have the grades anyway. So he fell in with the drug dealers in his neighborhood.That's when he shot somebody.

I walked over to the dorm where I was assigned. Juvenile Hall,because it's a temporary holding facility for minors,isn't so much dangerous,but mundane and boring.The food is tasteless.the surroundings drab,and the amusement is minimal. like most jails,the prisoners learn bad habits from each other and try to con the staff all the time. I knew what I was getting myself into. When I was working in "regular" school ,I used to tell the kids not to be fooled by their friends who had done a stretch at the Hall about they had to say about the place. Those coconuts would go around bragging that the lockup had a swimming pool,that they'd hop the fence at night and go to the 7/11,and then at night sneak over to the girls facility and jump in the sack with them.I'd tell my students that Juvenile Hall was for losers and while you guys were at the beach having fun during the summer,your jail bird friends were whacking off every night to some picture of a female in TV Guide. My first day teaching,I saw Alex right away.He wanted to beat me to he punch and started off the conversation wanting to impress me. He knew that I knew why he was locked up.His Crip gang boss ordered him to make a hit on a rival gang member. Alex had put a slug into the back of his head.
"Hey Coach Esty,how are you doing?"he asked with a s--t eating grin. He was always a cocky sort.Arrogant to the point where if you weren't one of his minions,he was instantly repulsive.
"I'm doing Ok. I can see you can be doing better."
"I ain't got nothin' to worry about. They're gonna' get me the best lawyer and I'll be out of here."
"It's Christmas Eve. Anyone coming to see you?"
"Just my mother. They don't allow little kids in here so my little sister can't come around and they don't let non relatives come."
"So what does your boss say?"
"They're gonna' get me the best lawyer around,but I haven't been able to reach these guys."
"When is your court date?"
"Next week,but I'm not worried."
"Remember when Henry Brown got you to go to the gym?You could handle yourself pretty well."
"F--k Coach Brown. He was always preaching at me.Besides I could have made it as a fighter. I just didn't want to listen to Coach Brown anymore."
""Coach Esty,I've got to make a certain phone call in a minute.Do you mind if I skip class?"
"Go right ahead."
"They're going to fill me in on my defense."

I didn't see Alex again after that,but the probation officer filled me in later.Turns out that Alex never could reach his guys. He was going to be assigned a public defender. On top of all that, because of the seriousness of his crime, he was going to be charged as an adult.He would be transferred to Youth Authority to await trial. The judge wouldn't let Alex's attorney submit any outside evidence regarding the circumstances of his crime. In other words Alex was thrown under the bus.He got 17 years.He escaped the gas chamber because he was a minor.He sereved his stretch at San Quentin.

After my stint was up at Juvenile Hall,I went to say good by to Rocky and Henry. I saw Henry in the parking lot as we were getting into our cars.
"Have good new year,"I said to Henry."We've got to get together again."
"That we will do,"he said.
"Ol' Alex looks like he's up against it."
"Now his mother is going to have to drive all the way up there to visit him on Christmas,"said Henry with a shrug.

Another guy who served time ,but straightened himself out later.Rocky Graziano. At least he never killed nobody.

Indian Summer

There's been some discussion about Muhammad Ali being a hero because he refused to go to Nam after getting his draft notice,but there are others that believe he should have gone to Leavenworth. Sure ,Joe Louis volunteered.He put on exhibitions for the troops at all the camps. He never left the States.Ray Robinson got his notice,but before he was about to be shipped out to England,he claimed that he tripped down a flight of stairs and developed amnesia.Popular uncrowned welterweight, Armando Muniz, was an undefeated amateur boxer in the service during Viet Nam when he was in the Army. He told me as long as he kept winning,he'd stay stateside.The studios and John Ford convinced the Draft Board that John Wayne would serve his country better making war movies in Hollywood.Later during the War,Wayne wanted to get in,but by that time,the War was winding down and they told him to concentrate on his film career. Frank Sinatra,who fashioned himself as a tough guy,got the mob to influence the government that he had a punctured ear drum.He never served.Ronald Reagan was in the Signal Corps.He told the GI's,in those films, to always wear a condom when banging those overseas broads.

I'd watch all the sports on TV when I was younger.I could count on one hand the athletes that went to Vietnam.The only guy that comes to mind was Rocky Bleier who played for the Steelers. The ballplayers my father's age went in. It was never mentioned during their games. I guess they thought it was their duty to serve. But now comes the point whether you could equate the justification of Vietnam against fighting the Nazis and the Japs.A nation that didn't want to get involved in foreign wars changed its attitude after Pearl Harbor.I remember listening to Hall of Famer Bob Feller saying that Muhammad Ali was an ingrate for not wanting to serve his country. The day after Pearl Harbor,Feller went down to enlist in the Navy. All he could think about was ?to fight." Joe DiMaggio went kicking and screaming. They put him on some atoll in the South Pacific and he did nothing but sulk because he wasn't hearing the cheers at Yankee Stadium.

So then we get back to the merits of Nam and WWII. Franklin Roosevelt,who was the first U.S. President not to serve in the armed forces,had the backing of the country and our allies committed to defeat Hitler and Togo.Then you contrast that era with Vietnam. Before that episode in our history, nobody had even heard of Vietnam nor knew where to find it on a map.Nam's "Pearl Harbor" was the Gulf of Tonkien "attack."Turns out later it was "made up" to give us an excuse to retaliate and appease the generals. They thought they'd briing Ho Chi Minh down to his knees in six weeks.Our involvement in World War 2 was 3 and 1/2 years. Vietnam was 10. You had academics like Kissinger(who was never in the service)and McNamara( who worked on reports in the States for the Army Air Corps) massaging our leaders and playing lap dogs with the Pentagon. The domino theory.Remember that? After it was all over,not only Viet Nam,but Cambodia and Laos turned Red.

You might ask,how was I spending my time in the mid 60's and early 70's? I got my draft notice in 1965. I was going to college and let my units slip below 12 credits.The SSS was on me like fleas on a dog during the summer. I remember getting on the bus to go up to the induction center In LA. There were about 60 other guys on that bus,but I was sure I'd convince the personnel at the induction center that they'd put me on their pay no mind list. I had it all planned. They wanted you to urinate in this jar. Well,I pissed like race horse and when I put the jar on the counter ,I made sure the pee sloshed all over the doctor's' papers.He seemed like he was used to that kind of behavior and waved me through the line.Next was the IQ Test. I guess that's what it was. Well,the way I answered those questions I made J Fred Muggs look like Einstein.Next was the shrink. I told him that I had attempted suicide and that I was on LSD. He never looked up from what he was writing.After this chaos ended, a 2 Stripe grabbed my arm and told me to wait in the corner. I looked inside the room where all the rest of the guys had their right hands up taking the oath.They were going in. I was going home. I knew I could outsmart the Army.

For curiosity sake I asked the 2 Stripe why I was being sent back to San Diego.
"You're overweight for your height.You'll be classified 1Y."
And that was it. I went back on that bus.Me and the driver. Man,did I show them I thought.Now just because the Army wanted no part of me,there was still the other branches of the military. They would have been glad to have me if I wanted to volunteer,but I had escaped the Army.Why would I want to volunteer for the Marines?I could always be a football hero.

I played football. Maybe I thought of myself as a hero. But it was all wind and smoke. I was also a drug user and an alcoholic. There were plenty of "users" in Vietnam,but I wanted to indulge in Southern California. I never protested the Vietnam War.I didn't want to spit on any of those soldiers disembarking off those transport ships. Most of those guys got caught in the draft. They never wanted to go.When my friends got back and joined the rest of us partying at the beach,I had seen that they had changed.Oh,they liked the drugs and the booze,but they also had this "I don't care" attitude.Some sold drugs,became Hell's Angels,went to prison,OD'd. Life was living in one big swirling strobe light. Muhammad Ali was a anti hero and eventually become a real life hero receiving the "Presedential Freedom Award" from George Bush Jr,a fella' with a mysterious hitch in the Air Force reserves.

When Jimmy Carter got himself voted out of office because he couldn't get those hostages out Iran(the failed commando raid),Muhammad Ali offered himself to the Ayatollah in an exchange for the hostages.That never got off the ground. Eventually, the animosity of some of the Middle East rulers and zealot Islamic radicals have put us in this quagmire and its fallout,terrorism, that we see today. But it's hugely different than Viet Nam in this vital aspect. There's no more draft. If there was a draft,we'd see the riots in the streets and the college campuses that those of us who can remember,remember. Our country is flocked with chicken hawks. They let the guys who signed up do the fighting. They know what they were getting themselves into. Maybe they want to serve their country.Maybe they are doing it to protect our freedom. Some want to test themselves in the most dire situation a man can be in.Then there are those who know that they will give their lives for the guys in the foxhole next to theirs because they know this sacrifice would be reciprocated.

When I went back twenty years later after high school to coach football at my ol' alma mater,I remember an old timer who was one of the assistant coaches. His name was Jimmie Howard.He was born in Iowa.He had some minor responsibilities with the coaching staff.He didn't know too much about football.I copped this attitude that this guy was sort of a joke.He limped around with a prosthetic shoe.His head was shaved and he always had a toothpick in his mouth. He talked like a good ol' boy and even though he referred to just about all the players as "numb nuts and thimble dicks", he was really very jovial and good natured. Everybody called this guy "Sarge."Everybody liked him. At first I didn't understand why no one ever told him that sometimes he would get under everyone's feet. One time he got me upset because he didn't how to line up his defensive line the way I wanted him to against my offensive linemen. I snapped at him pretty hard.There was another coach who was on staff,a retired Marine Corps colonel.His name was Eddie Johns.He had coached at Oregon and at the Marine Corps Recrui Base in San Diego.Those players never went to Nam because, believe me ,they could kick ass on any service team in the country. They were loaded with players from the big universities and the NFL. One day I pulled Eddie johns aside and asked him why they called Jimmie Howard,"Sarge."
"Why that's Gunnery Sergeant Jimmie Howard. He earned the Congressional Medal of Honor in Vietnam," answered Eddie Johns with a puzzled look on his face.
"Him?," I asked with amazement.
"He led the most decorated platoon in Vietnam."
Thinking of my dad being a Marine in the big War and seeing combat,I felt an emptiness. I had had such little regard for this man. I looked up his record in the history books. He not only was a Congressional Medal honoree,but as a teenager, they put a Silver Star on him in Korea.In Vietnam he took his platoon out to find a North Vietamese radar installation. Well.they got ambushed by a battalion of North Vietnamese soldiers. Howard's men were pinned down. Eventually they ran out of ammunition.He told his guys to dig in.In the meantime he caught a round in his back that paralyzed him.He squirmed from foxhole to foxhole to see how his men were holding out.When one of his boys asked him what they should do because they had no more ammo,he told them to"Throw rocks!"A fleet of helicopters came to the rescue,but he radioed that momentarily it was not safe. "Come back when I tell you."

Jimmie Howard loved coaching football at the high school. He told me it was like being back in Nam.
"I can be with my Indians again,"he'd say laughing.
Jimmie Howard reenlisted when Vietnam broke out. They gave him some rear echelon duty,but he got cranky and wanted to be in the thick of things.They finally gave him a platoon of "Indians".He was happy again.

The final game of our season in 1993 was our tenth consecutive loss. We hadn't won a game.Jimmie Howard wasn't coaching anymore. He was the equipment manager.His helpers were these girls that put out the cones on the sidelines and made sure the headphones were working for the coaches, Also, they checked to see that all the water bottles were filled up.Jimmie drove around in one of those golf carts. He couldn't get around very easily anymore. After each game all the coaches would find a spot and eat a late dinner together. When the last whistle blew after the final game,I remember Jimmie going up to the head coach. He looked tired.
"I think I'll just go home tonight,"he said. "I'm a little under the weather."
That night Jimmie Howard passed away in his sleep.

I'll never forget the memorial they had for Jimmie Howard at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. All the brass was there wearing full regalia. The Commandant of the Corps,General Mundy,was present. He read a message from President Bush,the senior one.But the most touching memory for me was to see jimmie's family,his son,two daughters,and jimmie's wife. The women wore white gloves. They were very stoic. Solemn.One of the most humbling scenes I'd ever witnessed.Jimmie used to tell me that he cried when he watched the movie "It's A Wonderful Life." It was a wonderful tribute to a very kind man who always had a kind word to say about everyone. When I thought of the time I lost my patience with him on the football field, I broke down.

Ali never went in because he said "No Viet Cong ever called me n----r."I'm sure he would have heard a lot worse if he had been there. All those American Black servicemen who fathered children with those Vietnamese women.Those children were ostracized.Many were sent back to orphanages here in the States.Jimmie Howard didn't care what anyone called him. He just wanted to be with his "Indians."




Jimmy Howard resting in a MASH unit after the Battle of Hill 488.

Rog, that was one awesome story. Really blew me away.

scartissue wrote:Rog, that was one awesome story. Really blew me away.

Thanks Dan.Jimmie was very proud of his family. I believe at the time of his death all his kids were still at home. He used to refer to his wife as the "old battle ax".It might sound crude,but when he said it was with affection. I guess it was the Marine in him. He struggled with diabetes.They were always cutting away parts of his toes.He never complained. He never mentioned his medal of Honor or his war experiences unless you asked him. One time I was with him when he went to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot.It was close by to Point Loma High School where we worked. When Jimmy arrived at the gate to announce himself,the CO came down to greet him. Everything stopped. All those recruits wanted to get around him,but Jimmie was very humble. He was happy to be around some "Indians" again.

New Years Eve

I haven't had any desire to stay up for the New Year in quite awhile.I guess that's what happens as you get older. They could drop me into the wildest New years Eve bash on earth and I'd be looking for the door. For one thing I can't get drunk anymore. If I start to try to put one on I just get sick.Drugs are too strong for my system.My head would begin spinning around if took drugs. That's no fun. My wife found some marijuana when she went out recycling one day. I used to really enjoy smoking pot,but I decided to put it down when the kids started growing up. I didn't want them being potheads so I threw my last ounce of grass down the gutter. If,God forbid ,they went that way,they could say their old man wasn't a hypocrite. But when my wife brought that stuff home awhile back,my curiosity got the best of me. I mean I really liked smokin' a joint. So I bought some papers and went in the bathroom and rolled one. I lit up.Yes,the feeling was familiar,but fortunately or for the grace of God,whatever it was, I didn't like that sensation anymore. I don't even stay up to watch the ball drop in Times Square.I go to bed stone cold sober.

A few years back, snuggled under the covers ,on the last night of the year,I was startled by the phone ringing.I turned my head to the clock on my nightstand.It was a little before midnight.My wife was asleep. The first thought that popped into my mind was her nephew, Jorge.He has a habit of calling up when he's drunk and whining about how lonely he is to his aunt.I was ready to let him have it.
"Who in the hell is this?",I yelled into the phone receiver.
"Roger,"said a slurred voice."It's Jerry.How come your not here at Champs celebrating the New Year?"
It was Jerry Edwards.Jerry was a middleweight, local fighter, who had fought in just about all the venues in California and Tijuana.He even went back East and was upsetting some pretty good boys.At one time he was on the cusp of breaking into the rankings,but the hooch that led to the bust up his wife that derailed any illusions of him ever fulfilling his potential.He used to laugh and say it was the Irish in him.Whatever it was ,his good days were now in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.He sounded drunk on the phone,but what upset me the most,he had that arrogance in his tone. He always got snotty when he was drinking.
"Where in the hell are you?"I asked still upset.
"I'm at Champs jerk off.Get your ass down here. I want to buy you a drink and talk to you,"he said stumbling over his words.
"You sound pretty drunk. I thought you have a fight next week?"
"I do,but I'm OK.Get down here and lets talk about old times."
"Is Burke there?"
"That old man?Naw.He went home and went to bed.He didn't want to have a drink with me.That's why I called you. Now get down here."
I was losing my patience.I was in no mood to be sympathetic.
"i'm in bed.I ain't going down there."
"Are you in bed with your wife?" he asked sarcastically.
"You can go f--k yourself Jerry."
"Be nice Roger. You're not a tough guy. I remember when I first saw you when Kenny Norton coaxed you into the ring with him at the gym.He roughed you up pretty good."
"Is this how you get ready for a fight now?"
"Don't worry about me."
"Where are you going to fight?"
"I'll be in the bullring in Tijuana,but I'll tell you it's all gonna' be bull s--t."
"Who are you fighting? ,"I asked.
"Some local kid.It's all been arranged. That's why I'm celebrating tonight. It's New Years Eve."
"You've got to straighten yourself out,"I said."Go home and get some rest."
"It's been worked out already.Besides ,mind your own business.I called you to come on down to Champs and let me ,Jerry boy,your old buddy,buy you a drink,"he stammered on.
"I'm not going to Champs."
"You going to watch me fight next week?"
"Why should I if it's been set up?"
Jerry didn't answer.I could hear the clamor in the backround. Someone shouted" Happy New Year." The noise got louder,then simmered down.
"Roger,I thought you were my friend,"said Jerry.
He had toned down his voice.He sounded sleepy,like he was about to pass out.
"Roger, I didn't mean to say what I said to you about Ken Norton,"he went on."You showed a lot of guts."
"Forget it,"I said.
The phone went silent again except for the faint talking I could hear in the back round.Then I heard sobbing.
"Roger. You're the only friend I have.You don't know how fortunate you are to have Maria and the kids.I don't have anything like that anymore. I lost it all."
Jerry was breaking up pretty strong now.
"Are you driving tonight?"I asked starting to ease up.
"I can drive,"said Jerry."I'll be OK."
"Look. Stay put.I'll put on some clothes and be down there in 15 minutes."
"I'll be here. I'll buy you a drink.We'll toast the New Year.Things will be looking up again.You're the only friend I've got."



Ken Norton

The Town I Live In (Is Lonely)

Los Angeles turns out a lot of great Chicano fighters. The problem is that these boys aren't always the fans' favorites when they step into the ring in the City of Angels. Not so much today though, because there is a shortage of top notch talent in the Mexican American ranks:the Chicano. He's the American Mexican(born in the U.S.) with the Mexican lineage. Some Americans lump it all together. A Mexican from Mexico City is no different than the Mexican kid born in East LA.There is nothing farther from the truth. I was talking to Frankie Duarte at a WBHOF Banquet.He was shaking his head as he was telling me every time he fought a Mexican national,for example at the Olympic Auditorium,practically all the crowd was in the foreigner's corner.It was always that way.Why? Well,it's like the Mexicans want to cherish their heritage.Believe me,most of the Chicanos would cheer for the south of the border born fighter.

Looking back on that era of those matches(60's -80's) between the Mexican national and the LA local Chicano, I don't think there was a more electrifying focal point of the sport than Los Angeles ,California. The Olympic Auditorium was the most popular and frequented venue. I would book going up to the Olympic several times a year to immerse myself in the craziness. It was in the lighter weights where there was an abundance of terrific Chicano fighters.The list is an impressive one:the Sandoval brothers,Richie and Alberto;Alberto Davila;Frankie Duarte;Ruben Navarro;Carlos Palomino;the Mandos,Muniz and Ramos;Bobby Chacon. Throw in the Golden Boy,Art Aragon,and the great bantam Manual Ortiz, who packed them to the doors during the 50's,and you have something that we'll never see the likes of again in the Southland. Give credit to Aileen Eaton and George Parnassus to realize that they were sitting on a gold mine.They made it happen.

But the kernel of my thoughts right now are on the Chicano,not only the fighters,but the Chicanos,those Mexican Americans whose descendants came up North to work in the fields and do the labor the whites thought was beneath them.Without them we would have starved. They were here before the Blacks migrated from the South during the post war years. A Chicano neighborhood like Boyle Heights certainly holds on to their culture,but it also has a Chicano twist.A blend of the old Mexican with their transcending to the uniqueness of the Chicano. The Chicano established a parameter around their community. They married their own and kept the language.(God forgive the parents that didn't pass Spanish on to their children).They invented vernaculars like"buay" and "simon" to give a "coolness" to the language.The lowriders cruising on Whittier Boulevard is still a tradition. The Zoot Suiter evolved into the cholo. Family is the strongest link. Outsiders were not blood and to be there to back you up,but now with this gangster element permeating in the neighborhoods that
biological bond is unraveling. The kids are using drugs. The kids are selling drugs. The kids are gangbanging. They're going to jail. They don't respect their parents.But this is just microcosm of what's going on everywhere,this side of the border and south of it.

I remember when the counter culture was rapidly kicking in here in the U.S. Mexico was afraid their youth would copy cat us. I mean Elvis was just as a significant influence on Mexican culture as he was on the baby boomers.But the 60's had ingredients like long hair;not obeying your parents;and the big one,drugs. I remember crossing the border in our "woodies' going on a Baja surfing safari. If one of us had long hair,the Mexican cops would pull us over,take the guy with the long locks to the nearest barber shop,and then "plant" an ounce of grass in the car.Our parents weren't exactly thrilled.Mexico thought these measures would succeed in deterring the American menace. Today,Mexico is run by "Los Narcos'. When I went to Ciudad Juarez to look up "Mantequilla" Napoles, the city would suffer over 3600 murders during the year. It was the murder capitol of the world. Across the Rio Grande in El Paso, there were 4.

You can build a wall. You can pass legislation to try to force some sort of assimilation. When I was teaching school near the border,the Black and White teachers would get upset that the Mexican kids would speak Spanish to each other. Well,those kids spoke English too.They spoke English to the teachers. I don't remember any White or Black teachers taking a Spanish lesson.They thought if you live in the United States you must speak English. Well.the kids do. The parents who were born in Mexico have struggled to grasp English. The men need it on the job.The women though,especially if they are home with the kids,don't care about comprehending.All their family and friends speak Spanish.Sometimes they're proud not knowing English.

There are millions of Mexicans here in the U.S. Boyle Heights is just a small section of the multitudes of neighborhoods,towns,and cities, that in recent times,are now mostly populated with Mexican and Chicanos.In San Diego, Logan Heights was the predominantly Black neighborhood.That isn't the case anymore. The Mexican who comes here to live and becomes a citizen is called a "pocho" by Mexican nationals. The Mexican national will never let the Chicano off the hook. When I coached American football at that Mexican school in Tijuana,there was a kid on the team that wanted to come up with me and play ball in San Diego(I couldn't make any money working in TJ).We schemed a way to get him in a Foreign Exchange program. The stipulation was that he had to live with a family in San Diego.When I explained this to him,he shot back with,"I won't live with no Chicanos."

I was living in Tijuana when Oscar De La Hoya won his Olympic Gold Medal.The Mexican press reported it as kind of an afterthought."Oscar De La Hoya,the American,won a Gold Medal."Oscar never fought in Mexico. They didn't like him. He beat Julio Cesar Chavez and married a Puerto Rican.Mexicans consider Puerto Ricans too cocky and showoff too much.

But everything is in a flux. Mexican kids,Chicanos and nationals,act like kids in the U.S.more and more. So do the Puerto Rican kids. So do the kids just about everywhere else.Everyone is seeking an identity and they all look the same.

I was in Barrio Logan last week getting a leak in my radiator fixed at a little Chicano garage.Across the street was an old bar with the paint peeling off the stucco. I had passed this place many times,but never went in. The bar doesn't even have a name on the front. there's some neon beer signs in the window. That's it.I walked across the street . It was early in the day. The place had just opened.It was empty.An old Mexican gal wearing tight leopard spotted pants that exhibited her folds was behind the bar. Her make up was put on thick. She had on these earrings that were as big as hoola hoops. I could see the gray part in her hair that was pushing out her purple dye job.She came over and plopped her big rack on the counter in front of me. She gave me a friendly smile.
"What you have baby?"
"Give me a draft,"I answered.
"I never see you in here before,"she said sliding her boobs on the bar.
"I'm getting my car worked on across the street."
"You the first gringo I see in here for long time. My name is Rosie. I own this place."
"Glad to meet you,"i said."Call me Rogelio."
I saw a juke box in the corner by the door.I figured I could use the excuse to play some music to disengage my conversation.
"You mind if I play some music?"I asked.
"Go ahead baby,the songs aren't your style."
"Oh,I'll find something.'
I walked over to the machine and looked at the menu.It was like I fell into a time capsule.All the songs were Chicano lowrider tunes mixed in with some Norteno music. I was a kid in a candy shop. I wanted to drop a wad into that juke box. I inserted my money and walked back to my stool.
"I'm sorry we don't have your kind of music Rogelio,but the customers want it this way."
"Rosie,i grew up with Willie G."
The music began.The juke box had been turned up very loud.
"Rogelio,"said Rosie adjusting her bra strap."I think I want to know you."

https://youtu.be/bLdvmk12J24

The Town I Live in Is Lonely

Little Willie G and Thee Midniters



A great picture of Alberto Davila and his daughters






Ruben Navarro

Roger- Mando Muniz and Carlos Palomino were born in Mexico. Yet both lived in the United States for decades and served in the U.S. Army. As a result, I think that it is likely that both became American citizens. If they are U.S. citizens, it means that they are not Mexican nationals despite being natives of Mexico. I found it interesting that the Mexican fans appeared to support Jose Napoles, a Cuban-born boxer who resided in Mexico during most of his career, over Muniz, a Mexican-born boxer who resided in the U.S. during his entire career.

I myself considered Chicanos to be people of Mexican descent who are Americans regardless if they born in Mexico or the United States. While looking for the definition of the term, Chicano, on the internet, I found that people don't seem to be in agreement about it.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote:Roger- Mando Muniz and Carlos Palomino were born in Mexico. Yet both lived in the United States for decades and served in the U.S. Army. As a result, I think that it is likely that both became American citizens. If they are U.S. citizens, it means that they are not Mexican nationals despite being natives of Mexico. I found it interesting that the Mexican fans appeared to support Jose Napoles, a Cuban-born boxer who resided in Mexico during most of his career, over Muniz, a Mexican-born boxer who resided in the U.S. during his entire career.

I myself considered Chicanos to be people of Mexican descent who are Americans regardless if they born in Mexico or the United States. While looking for the definition of the term, Chicano, on the internet, I found that people don't seem to be in agreement about it.

- Chuck Johnston

I know that Mando and Carlos were born in Mexico. The Ruelas brothers,who I omitted ,were also born in Mexico,but grew up in LA and based their careers here. Chuck,you're very academic. You know a lot of facts,but sometimes that information doesn't translate to what's going on.To look up the definition of "Chicano" on the internet to get an understanding of who a Chicano is,shows me you have a lot to learn about Mexican society. You've never been immersed in it.No offense,you live in one world. Hispanics,regardless if they are Chicano or not,live in two worlds.I would always tell my "Mexican" students to use what you know about both those worlds and apply it with a formal education. Mando and Carlos did. It takes a lifetime to get a "feel" for what it' is to be Latin. You can look up all the information in the world in books and the internet about what that "feel" is and never get it. I've lived in Mexico,been married to a Mexican national from the ranch for 45 years,cross the border every week,worked in Mexico,and have family and Mexican friends( and enemies),have a home in Michoacán,speak Spanish,and( to genetically get in synch) have 100 % dago blood. My childhood was on the same page as that of the Latino. Of course there are differences,but I've always understood what was coming down.Mexican society is as diversified as any other.Too often Americans want to pigeon hole Mexicans together.You find it "interesting that the Mexican fans appeared to support Jose Napoles...over Armando Muniz." That tells me you don't get it. Jose Napoles was made a citizen of Mexico by the Mexico's president. Mando and Carlos became U.S. citizens and lived here. That was the big difference.Napoles fell in love with Mexico,like Sugar Ramos,and wouldn't live anywhere else.Before I stop typing,I saw the second Napoles/Muniz fight in the Auditortium in Tijuana. While the two were battling it out,there were a few in the audience that shouted out "Napoles eres un pinchi n....r." Let's put it this way,Mexico will never have a black president. That's something you'll never find in an encyclopedia.

The Town I Live In (Is Lonely) Part 2

Where I used to live in Tijuana,Canon Jhonson,is where my daughter,Rosa, lives now.Her real name is Esperanza,but she wants to be called Rosa.Often,Mexicans liked to be called by another name. She lives in the same house that she lived in when she was a girl. She moved back to Tijuana when she got married.She moved back to that same house.She lives there with her husband.Her three daughters, my three granddaughters ,grew up in that house.Unfortunately, her husband wasn't much of a breadwinner,but when my granddaughters married,their husbands made sure that their mother in law would not be in need. Of course my wife and I are there for her also. Rosa is a saint. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that.My daughter sacrifices everything she has for the family.She takes care of her daughters kids during the day when everyone is at work and at school in San Diego.. She looks after the neighbor's handicapped daughter during the day. She'll stand in line for hours to cross to cross the border to visit us and then take the trolley. She always brings pastries from the panaderia with her when she comes over.She cares more about the family than herself. Esperanza doesn't play the martyr.She never complains.She doesn't necessarily exude jolliness,but then she never has a forlorn look.We all think about her. The other day my wife and I were in Tijuana.My denture had cracked. My dentist is downtown. I've had her for years. She takes me right away. It's cheaper going to her than if I used my insurance to see a dentist in San Diego.She had the cracked denture repaired in a couple of hours. Her husband owns the little factory that makes and repairs the dentures. It is somewhere near her office,but I don't know where.After the repair was done,we went to Canon Jhonson to visit Rosa.She was there taking care of her youngest daughter,Erika's, baby girl, Isabella. My wife and I sat down at the kitchen table. Rosa brought us over a couple of glasses of "Jamaica" that she had just made.

I could hear footsteps outside the screen door. Rosa's miniature poodles began barking. It was Ivan,my Erika's husband. her came by to pick up Isabella. He joined us at the kitchen table. Before he could sit down ,there was a glass of "Jamaica" in front of him.Rosa was frying flautas in a big iron skillet. The kitchen was full of smoke.She wanted to know if we were hungry. My wife and I had eaten in "Centro". Ivan had just driven back from San Diego from his job at the Marriott.He is a lead man of the daytime clean up crew.Ivan has a round brown face and a stocky build. He's always talking it up about how he wants to get ahead. He's got plans.He just became a U.S. citizen. I helped him with a letter to Immigration and Naturalization.
"Gracias,I'm hungry,"he answered.
"How many flautas do you want?,"asked Rosa.
I'll have two,"said Ivan.
"Have more,"said Rosa.""There are plenty."
"Rosa brought over a plate of four flautas.She refilled Ivan's glass. Beside the plate,she placed a bowl of homemade chili in front of him.Ivan began chomping away.As he was swallowing he turned to me.
"Roger,did I tell you that I have another job?"
"You mean you don't work at the hotel anymore?"
"Oh yes,I still have that job,but after I get off at the Marriott,I set up tables for banquets at the Hilton down the street."
"That's a lot ",I remarked.
"No, that's nothing. I'm looking for more work. There's room for me to work on the weekends."
"Your not letting any grass grow under your feet."
"What's that mean?,"he asked with a puzzled look.
"That means you're not lazy."
Ivan was on his last flauta.Rosa put another hot flauta wrapped in a napkin on his plate.
"I'm building my house,"said Ivan as he spooned chili on his food.
"You building a house on the other side?,"I asked.
Ivan lowered his head.
"Naw.I'm building my house in La Villa."
"That's where you grew up isn't it?"
"Yes.Up the hill from here. I wouldn't want my house here."
"Your sister in law,Marianna,built a condominium next to Rosa's."
"Villa is a better neighborhood .You know."
Colonia Francisco Villa is a nice little community.Like Canon Jhonson,it's one of the first neighborhoods in TJ. Villa has its church and grammar school. There's the the little park in the square. The panaderia,the carneceria,all the local merchants still run their businesses. it's a struggle now,but what are they going to do? if they have papers to cross the border,they're OK.
"Tell me Ivan.Does Tony Margarito still have his gym in La Villa?"
My wife got up from the table.She went into the bedroom with Rosa,Isabella, and the dogs,. They turned on the TV to watch "their" novela.
"No,he closed the gym down."
"What happened?"I asked.
"Not enough business. The big thing now is Lucha Libre."
"I see that the boxing gym in Colonia Independencia is closed."
"How about Erik Morales's gym?"asked Ivan."you used to go there."
"The last time I was there I think it was being used for aerobics.It's still above the family store in the Zona Norte."
"There are no more weekly boxing cards in TJ,"said Ivan shaking his head.
"The CREA is still going strong."
"Yes,but even the bars that once in awhile would have the fights are not doing that anymore."
"So it's Lucha Libre."
"Yes,"said Ivan."All the kids are wearing masks.The Auditorio is very popular on the weekends."
"When I was working at CETYs I was approached by a couple of wrestlers to try out."
"What happened?"
"I went to the Auditorio to give it a shot,but Mexican wrestling is too acrobatic.I couldn't do all those flips and flops,jumping off the ring ropes. I almost broke my leg."
"I'm thinking of getting my son ,Erik, into Lucha Libre,"said Ivan.
"That's better than what you were doing getting him into boxing.He's too little to get hit in the head."
I was glad to hear that.I know my granddaughter wouldn't put her foot down with the boxing.
"There's a lot of money in Lucha Libre,"said Ivan.
"But you've got him going to school in San Diego,"I said.
"It's better there.I think of the kids that go to school here. Not much to offer unless you're rich and can go to a private school."
"I see that Tijuana had more than 900 murders this year. That was more than Chicago."
"With Chapo in jail,the Jalisco cartel wants to take over."
"I hope one side or the other wins,"I said."then things will settle down."
"I don't worry about it,"said Ivan confidently."I am building my house.When it's finished I want to invite you and your wife. We will have a big party."



Canon Jhonson


Erik Morales

Roger- If I offended you, I apologize. In my defense, I have lived in the western part of Ventura County, a place with a huge Latino population, since 1964. During that time, I attended school and was in a Boy Scout troop with Mexican Americans or Chicanos. Even though I am a college graduate, I worked as a machine operator in production machine shops during most of my working life, which definitely made me a blue collar worker. Almost the entire time, I worked with many people of Latino descent.

I used the terms of Chicano and Mexican American interchangeably since about 1970. As a result since that time, I always regarded even Mexican Americans who were born in Mexico to be Chicanos.

During the 1970s and 1980s, I was a very avid fan of professional boxing. In addition to watching boxing shows on television (on both English and Spanish language channels) and reading a great variety of publications to keep up with the boxing scene, I saw quite a few closed-circuit telecasts of important bouts and attended quite a number of boxing shows at the Olympic Auditorium, the Inglewood Forum and other California venues. I even saw Jose Luis Ramirez fight at the Caliente Horse Racing Track and attended quite a few boxing shows in Las Vegas. Because I saw it happen quite a number of times in person, I have been well aware that fans attending Los Angeles area fight shows generally backed fighters from Mexico over Mexican American fighters in bouts for over forty years.

I really started attending boxing shows on a fairly regular basis after Ruben Olivares started fighting in the featherweight division. By that time, Olivares was past his peak and lost a bit of his popularity. During the late 1970s and early 1980s, Pipino Cuevas had the most devout fans in the Los Angeles area even though there were a number of exciting Mexican American fighters who were active at the time.

Probably the most intense atmosphere that I ever witnessed in person at a fight show was when Cuevas was fighting at the Olympic Auditorium. Although Cuevas was facing a vastly inferior opponent in Bernardo Prada, the big crowd was very amped up well before his bout took place. As a result, it was quickly decided that no more people would be allowed to enter the auditorium even if they had already bought tickets. Afterwards, outraged people on the outside began to bang hard on a large metal door located on the south side of the auditorium, creating a very loud noise that was very audible to the fans inside. Cuevas knocked out Prada in the second round.

Compared to what any boxer has gained in terms of knowledge about boxing skills, training or being in an actual bout, I do not know much. I also never had any interest to be a boxer because I don't have the right mental makeup. But I am in awe of people who do have the guts and desire to boxers.

As a history major while attending U.C. Santa Barbara during the middle 1970s, I became aware that the main library on campus had a good collection of newspapers on microfilm. As a result, I became interested in looking for news reports about boxing shows or bouts of the past in such papers.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote:Roger- If I offended you, I apologize. In my defense, I have lived in the western part of Ventura County, a place with a huge Latino population, since 1964. During that time, I attended school and was in a Boy Scout troop with Mexican Americans or Chicanos. Even though I am a college graduate, I worked as a machine operator in production machine shops during most of my working life, which definitely made me a blue collar worker. Almost the entire time, I worked with many people of Latino descent.

I used the terms of Chicano and Mexican American interchangeably since about 1970. As a result since that time, I always regarded even Mexican Americans who were born in Mexico to be Chicanos.

During the 1970s and 1980s, I was a very avid fan of professional boxing. In addition to watching boxing shows on television (on both English and Spanish language channels) and reading a great variety of publications to keep up with the boxing scene, I saw quite a few closed-circuit telecasts of important bouts and attended quite a number of boxing shows at the Olympic Auditorium, the Inglewood Forum and other California venues. I even saw Jose Luis Ramirez fight at the Caliente Horse Racing Track and attended quite a few boxing shows in Las Vegas. Because I saw it happen quite a number of times in person, I have been well aware that fans attending Los Angeles area fight shows generally backed fighters from Mexico over Mexican American fighters in bouts for over forty years.

I really started attending boxing shows on a fairly regular basis after Ruben Olivares started fighting in the featherweight division. By that time, Olivares was past his peak and lost a bit of his popularity. During the late 1970s and early 1980s, Pipino Cuevas had the most devout fans in the Los Angeles area even though there were a number of exciting Mexican American fighters who were active at the time.

Probably the most intense atmosphere that I ever witnessed in person at a fight show was when Cuevas was fighting at the Olympic Auditorium. Although Cuevas was facing a vastly inferior opponent in Bernardo Prada, the big crowd was very amped up well before his bout took place. As a result, it was quickly decided that no more people would be allowed to enter the auditorium even if they had already bought tickets. Afterwards, outraged people on the outside began to bang hard on a large metal door located on the south side of the auditorium, creating a very loud noise that was very audible to the fans inside. Cuevas knocked out Prada in the second round.

Compared to what any boxer has gained in terms of knowledge about boxing skills, training or being in an actual bout, I do not know much. I also never had any interest to be a boxer because I don't have the right mental makeup. But I am in awe of people who do have the guts and desire to boxers.

As a history major while attending U.C. Santa Barbara during the middle 1970s, I became aware that the main library on campus had a good collection of newspapers on microfilm. As a result, I became interested in looking for news reports about boxing shows or bouts of the past in such papers.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck,forget it. You didn't offend me. For me it's not a question of boxing as much as an understanding of what the Mexican community is like here in the Untied states and across the border. There is no greater difference between two international borders in the world as the United States and Mexico.The contrasts are often very stark:economically,culturally,linguistically,musically,religion,racially:then throw in temperament and Mexico's consciousness of the United States,not as an oppressor,but a country that has outperformed them economically,and more importantly ,practiced democracy in a nation that is comprised of diverse races of people. Mexico is supposed to be a country that is a democracy. aside from Napolionic Law(which is a huge difference that lends itself to graft),Mexico's constitution is almost a parallel to ours. The Mexican people know that their government(with few exceptions.Lazaro Cardenas,who's from my wife's hometown was a president who cared for the Mexican people), has betrayed them throughout their history.But here's the kicker with Mexico:if you were to take the people at the bottom and give them the opportunity to run things,they would behave like their predecessors.I've had these conversations with a countless number of Mexicans from family to friends to strangers. It's not a serious conversation,but something that is understood.I've talked about it with Gato Gonzalez and Gaspar Ortega. . "Asi es Mexico"(that's the way it is). Porfirio Diaz,Mexico's last dictator said,"Poor Mexico,so close to the United States,so far away from God."There are many Mexicans that hate that quote because Mexico is very Catholic,but the U.S.'s influence on Mexico is constantly on Mexico's mind. Mexico has always admired how the United States has functioned as a democracy and takes care of EVERYONE inside its borders. We have evolved away from the days of slavery and segregation.In many cicumstances, Illegal immigrants have more rights under the law here than they had in their former countries.Why do so many people in ALL parts of the world want to come here?But though I've been critical of Mexico with this reply,I want everyone to know this:when I see Mexico,I see myself.

My next post will be about what's going down in my wife's hometown. My wife and I won't be going down there for our annual winter visit.Chuck,let me know when you come down to San Diego. We'll go to TJ and eat some great tasting tacos.

Needs Further Definition

My wife's hometown,Jiquilpan,in the state of Michoacán has been selected by the Mexican State Tourism as one of 83 "Pueblo Magicos"...Magic Towns. I'll give you the official definition of what a Pueblo Magico is by the Mexican government:A magic village placed with symbolism,legends,history,important events,day to day life-in other words,magic in its social and cultural manifestations with great opportunities for tourism."

I've been going to Jiquilpan with my wife,sometimes bringing the grandkids,and on some occasions by myself. Ten years ago, as my wife and I were planning our retirement,we built a home in Jiquilpan. The looks of the town hasn't changed much in the 45 years that I've seen it. It is a village,so to speak,of around 15,000 habitants. Jiquilpan is very picturesque, and certainly falls within the guidelines of the definition.To sit in the plaza and watch the people strolling by the shops,see the quaint pastel colored adobe buildings illuminated by the bright sky,hear the old church bells ringing on the hour, is remedy for the hectic world of a more industrialized society that many of us live in and want to escape. The town has had some cherished figures in its history. Two presidents were born there. Augustin Bustamante,who I believe was the third president of Mexico after its victory over the Spanish,and Lazaro Cardenas,who threw out the foreign oil interests in the 1930's.He,along with Benito Juarez,were the two greatest presidents of the republic. Cardenas died in 1970. His images are still very common inside the businesses in town.Rafael Mendoza, considered to be one of the most accomplished virtuosos of the trumpet,called Jiquilpan his hometown. But it's the serene beauty of the town that captures the image of what a Mexican town should typify. Jiquilpan is pure Mexicana.Situated in a lush valley besides green hills,it is around a three hour drive on mostly country roads from the Guadalaja airport. You pass Lake Chapala,Mexico's largest lake ,just before arriving. The women buy their food at the open air markets in the morning. Tomatos,chilis,meat and fish,tortillas,limes and lemons,corn,jicamas,chayotes,mangos,guavas,chicharones,and of course,frijoles. All the food is fresh. They cook and eat it that day. On the weekends the "bosque",the evergreen park on the perimeter of town, is crowded with families eating carnitas and imbibing the homemade mescal, and Modelo beer." Musicos":the mariachis,the nortenos,and the Sinaloan musicians play up a storm. The festivities are a release from the hard workdays.

I've always enjoyed going down to Jiquilpan. I think of it as my second home,sometimes,my first. Since our house was completed,my sense of belonging in such a tranquil ambiance has put my mind to rest , where I might live out the rest of the days I have left.But recently things have changed,not only in Jiquilpan,but the rest of Mexico. It's inescapable. You watch the news and read the papers. I'll try to focus some personal experiences to exemplify.

The person who is in charge of the Cultural Center is a man named Conrado Leyva. He is my friend. We have been very close for twenty years. I bring my paintings to the center as gifts. He has offered to to pay for them or at least sell them for me. I tell him I don't want any financial compensation. The paintings are my appreciation of the fondness I have for Jiquilpan. Twice a year Conrado exhibits my paintings at the center. I also have paintings hanging inside the town's library where Jose Orozco,one of Mexico's most famous muralists,He was commissioned by Lazaro Cardenas,beautify the walls. This is quite an honor for me. Traditionally,Mexico doesn't allow foreign artists to display their works besides one of their own. The Lazaro Cardenas Museum,on the outskirts of town,also has a big portrait that I painted of President Cardenas displayed in the hallway.

Several times a year I call Conrado(or he calls me)to catch up on things. Just before the holidays I got a call from Conrado.
"Bueno. Roger?,"the voice inquired cautiously on the other line.
"Conrado,"I excitedly answered."How's it going amigo?"
"Very well.How is your family? How is your granddaughter Amanda? I miss you all."
"Everything is fine. We are happy.And your family?"
"Fine.Thank you amigo."
There was a pause, and then I heard Conrado take a deep breath. Ten years ago Conrado suffered a stroke. It left him partially paralyzed. He uses a walker.His speech is a bit slurred,but his mind is still sharp. The government doesn't think of replacing him. His sincerity for Jiquilpan is unequalled.He makes the trek five days a week from where he lives with his family in Zamora.His nephew drives him.His thick crop of hair has turned gray,but his face always shows an exuberance. He's light skinned,educated,but doesn't bask in an aura of elitism. He has dedicated himself to bring what the cultural components of the center has to all the people of Jiquilpan. The center has a concert hall with a spacious auditorium,classrooms,and workshops. Classes for instruction in practically all types of liberal arts and vocational training are offered.
"Roger,Are you thinking of coming to Jiquilpan soon?"
This was an unusual query from him.
"Believe it or not,Maria doesn't want to go for our usual visit in the winter.When she says that she doesn't want to go,there must be a problem."
"She is right. There are too many problems now."
"My wife has been talking with her family,"I said.
"The narcos have come west from Morelia and made trouble."
"I've been told."
"Last week they found five chopped off heads in the plaza."
"That must have upset everyone."
"La Familia is fighting the Jalisco Cartel. It is very dangerous. The army is blockading the roads. People are disappearing."
"I won't bring my grandchildren to Jiquilpan anymore,"I sighed.
"As you know you can't turn to the police. You have to get you information from the narcos."
Conrado never talked like this before.
"How is the economic crisis?"I asked wanting to get away from the subject of terror.
"There is no gas.The government raised the price by 20%.Gas is over 4 dollars a gallon.The people have stormed the gas stations,but there is no gas."
"It's getting that way in Tijuana too."
"The government will always sacrifice the rural areas first.The peso has gone from 10 pesos to the dollar to 21.Our money is becoming worthless.It's making people do crazy things.Some days my nephew is unable to drive me to the center,"said Conrado.
There was another silence. I needed to go somewhere else.
"Conrado,remember the time I brought that painting of Rodolfo Gonzalez for you?"I asked wanting to get away from the tragedy.
"Of course. You said that I could have it. It is in my living room. That painting and the one of Amanda."
"You said that you saw Gato fight in the Plaza de Toros."
"Yes.That was fifty years ago. He fought several times here.He was very popular.He filled the bullring every time he fought. He was just beginning ,but he was an exciting fighter to watch."
"I see Rodolfo once in a while. He lives in Oceanside. He remembers fighting in Jiquilpan.He said he struggled in those days."
"It is very hard to get to the top in fighting.There is no forgiveness."
"Are there anymore fights in the bullring?"
"There is no more boxing.There are no more bullfights.It is an empty arena."
"When I see Gato I'll tell him that you are thinking of him."
"Does he ever visit his state of Jalisco anymore?"
"Never. He has a brother living in his house in Tijuana,but he hasn't been there in awhile."
"It is vey hard for Mexicans to come back and see what's going on now."
"Conrado. I've never seen the Mexican people so desperate. It's a little scary."
"Do the Americans still say that Mexico needs another revolution?"asked Conrado.
"I tell them they did. The narcos took over .Now the politicians just wait to see who they'll be answering to."
"Roger,"said Conrado chuckling."You always make me laugh.One of these days,if God wants it,we'll get together again."



Conrado posing with my granddaughter Amanda with my painting of Gato Gonzalez











The Plaza de Toros,Jiquilpan,Mexico as it is today

Martin Luther King.As tenacious a fighter who ever lived.

The Silver Mask

Trick question:Who is the most famous personality to enter the ring in Mexican history?
I see a hand.
"Julio Cesar Chavez."
Sorry.Good guess,but that's incorrect. I see another hand raised.
"Kid Azteca."
Another good guess,but wrong.You in the back.
"El Puas."
Nice try,but wrong again.One more hand.Yes,you down in front.
"Mantequilla Napoles.Does he count?"
Of course,but that's not the right answer.

Before I give you the answer,I bet there's a lot of aficianados who are reading this that have a good idea about whom I'm referring to.Let me begin by saying that more than 40 years ago when I was living in Tijuana with my wife and kids,I was struggling to make ends meet.I was working at a garden nursery in San Diego.At the end of the week I'd bring my paycheck of 72 dollars home and we'd try to eke out a living.The kids were little then.Looking back now,life for us was very simple and modest.Diversions had to be thought about in advance before I made a move. Extravagance was not in my vocabulary.

One thing we'd like to do is go to "centro" to the movies on Saturday mornings.The flicks were geared up for the kids.Back then the movie theaters were all downtown.The price to get in was a "peseta",a quarter in U.S. money .There was the Reforma,Cine Bujazan,the Hippodromo,and the Variedades.They're all gone now. Some of the teatros have been torn down to make way for office buildings.Some remain,empty and boarded up.Once in awhile I'll pass the Cine Bujazan on my way to Canon Jhonson. Its front is covered with graffiti.The doors have been closed for years.The" se vende"(for sale ) sign is faded and torn.

On Saturday mornings back then those movie houses were packed with noisy kids.I remember buying ham sandwiches in the lobby garnished with jalapenos. You could get lemonade,jaimaica,or horchata in a paper cup to quench your thirst. The films were ,like I said,were aimed at the kids,but come to think of it,Mexico is childlike.There is really no separation. The pictures of the great Cantinflas were a staple. Another famous Mexican comedian ,Resortes,had his films shown in the theaters.And of course the famous Mexican actress,Maria Elena Velasco,known to movie goers as "La India Maria" kept us in stiches keeping the decimal level needle buried.The rock n' roll stars would often grace the screen:Angelica Maria, Enrique Guzman,and Beto Vasquez,

But the guy I remember,and my wife and kids think of the most,looking back then, is the individual who answers my question. He made over 50 movies in Mexico,There were comic strips and comic books depicting his exploits.A TV series featured him. He was, and still is,written about in Mexican song. The individual is Rodolfo Guzman Huerta,the immortal "El Santo".The greatest of all the Mexican wrestlers.The father of the "Lucha Libre". He always wore his silver mask. He was the ultimate hero and role model. Mexico's counterpart to our Superman,"El santo" fought a never ending battle for truth, justice, and,maybe not the American way,but a way of life all decent men should adhere to.

But "El Santo" was not only for the kids. Our Superman was mainly for the youngsters. "El Santo" was gobbled up by Mexican society. He fought in the ring with the likes of other popular Mexican grapplers:The Blue Demon,Rey Misterio,and Mil Mascaras. All those fellas' wore the mask.Funny,sometimes I'd be walking around in TJ and I'd see some of the wrestlers wearing their masks. (They didn't want then bad guys to know ho they were).That's an homage to "El Santo."

I was in Mexico City in the early 80's visiting my sister in law.There used to be a very popular television program that came on once a week.The program was called "Contrapunto" with Joobo Zabludovsky moderating. The show was kind of like our 60 Minutes.Well, one night "El Santo" was to be the guest. He had been wrestling for over five decades.His multitude of fans knew that he was near retiring. We're all sitting around the television set when like a bolt of lightening,"El Santo" lifts up his mask and exposes his face. It was only for a few moments. No one had ever seen his face before. He always wore his silver mask even in public. It was his way of telling us that he wasn't going to wrestle again. Very sadly,a few weeks later "El Santo",The Legand of the Silver Mask,suddenly died.

I've been to a few of my friends homes in TJ.We have a few tequilas and reminisce about the Golden Epoch of Mexico. Sometimes an old scrapbook is brought out from the closet. There, pasted on the leaves, are the now yellowed newspaper articles with photos about the wrestlers.Those scrapbooks are exclusively put together for them. Like the old movie houses and the legendary film stars,they are today precious memories. "El Santo" was the guy that was special. He'd conquer the evil in the world. I wonder if my old pals down there sometimes go to sleep dreaming that if "El Santo" was alive today,he'd clean up on all the crime that's out there.

I know,you say it's just dreaming. All I can say is "El Santo" made us very happy. I know that's not a dream.



Mantequilla Napoles starring with "El Santo" in the movie "El Santo" Against the Crying Woman.
Napoles was the only Mexican fighter to star in a movie with "El Santo."

The Bottom Of The Food Chain

There's a burg in Northern California named Ocean Beach. I bumped into some dude once and while we were conversing he told me he was from Ocean Beach,California. I told him that I lived in Ocean Beach also,but not his town. I put up my stakes in Ocean Beach,a suburb in San Diego,a community on the shoreline west of the downtown area.The Ocean Beach that I lived in was always a sleepy little place. A small beach town made up of hard working blue collar folks, and sailors that wanted to live off base. Ocean Beach was part of a bigger isthmus of land of upper end homes,but though Ocean Beach may have been on the bottom end of the pecking order in the area,the residents of this sandy little suburb felt a uniqueness that the more rich,living up the hill, lacked in their identity.They had no identity. The kids of sun city referred to themselves as living in "OB".Everthing was OB. The OB taco shop.The OB surf shop. The OB diner. Even the Church of OB.OB even had its logo:the letters OB featuring a seagull.I knew the guy that came up with that idea. He made a fortune selling bumper stickers of that image to anyone who wanted to grace their local establishment with the "famous " OB sticker. He had a copy write on that logo.He never wanted for money for the rest of his life. He sold T shirts,ball caps,surf boards,even the little league had the logo on their uniforms.In fact that was the first time the public got to see the sticker,It was the "in" thing to display .Still is. Even if your not from OB,it's cool to have an OB sticker on your car.

But OB morphed into something else besides a town where all the kids played in the water and never wore shirts nor shoes in the summer.If you didn't have a tan you were a geek. Not many of the OB kids played the usual high school sports:football and baseball.Surfing was enough. Surfing was all that mattered. Surfing was a cult. If you ever saw the movie The Endless Summer,OB was ingrained in that lifestyle. If the waves were right,our minds were right. Of course, you had to have the sun.I participated in the high school games. Football and baseball occupied much of my time. I enjoyed the water,but I was a little scared of the ocean. You don't mess with the ocean. I struggled in the water more than the local surfers who played in it.They reminded me of happy sea otters.

During the counter culture of the 60's, OB went the way of the rebellious. The dramatic changes that spread amongst the younger set especially ran rampant in California. The movement found a particular target in the beach towns. OB was as in the bulls- eye. The surfers still splashed in the water,but if they could have given "surfing under the influence" citations,the city and the lawyers could have made a bundle. I saw a lot of "hot" surfers destroy their talents with drugs.Before,surfers were considered as malcontents because they drank beer.It started with "pot",then it worked its way to "coke",and for many who by that time were not even getting their feet wet,were sticking needles in their veins.Many bodies were found dumped in alleys after an overdose in one of their "shooting galleries."

I was on the cusp of self destruction,but I still had the motivation to keep my body maintained. I worked out in the gym and played some more baseball and football after high school. I hooked up with a pretty fair amateur heavyweight and we would frequent the local gyms and workout. I would do my impression of a punching bag for my friend. I decided to work out with him in the weight room instead of the boxing arena.He was a very strong with the weights.Besides,barbells don't hit you in the face. I'd always get headaches after a brisk sparring session.I took the hint. My claim to fame with the gloves was a young Kenny Norton beating me up one afternoon in Burke Emery's gym.

So I stuck with the weights. I was pretty good at it. My buddy,the amateur heavyweight,also was a good "iron man" . I think at one time he held the record for the dead lift. The gym we worked out at was on Newport Street,the main drag in Ocean Beach. A guy by the name of Vic Garardi owned a health food store on the street side.Vic was born and raised in the Bronx. He was more of a physical culturist than a power lifter.Vic kept a note book where he'd record his workout. Vic was self conscious of his arms. He was lanky and wanted to have big beefy arms,but his genetics wouldn't allow it.In back was the gym,a converted garage,that was transformed into a little sanctuary for the dedicated weight lifter. Though a crude structure,Vic filled the gym with a couple of Olympic sets,standard weight sets,heavy dumbbells,a homemade lat machine,benches,and mirrors.A couple of hundred watt light bulbs hung down from the ceiling to give us light.Photographs of body builders graced the walls:Bill Pearl,Sergio Oliva,Dave Draper,Larry Scott,and of course,Arnold. One of the lifters had painted a picture of Steve Reeves in his Hercules outfit.Vic named the place "Vic's OB GYM." That gym kept me from going off the deep end during those turbulent times.

As OB was turning into something bizarre,I guess you could say I was getting caught up with the hysteria also.I don't think anyone in OB knew what was going on,yet we all thought we had a handle on things.One morning as I was working out in the gym,I heard a motorcycle pull up in the lot.The sound was gnarly.I popped my head out the door.There, seated on a nice big, pan head Harley with a cherry apple peanut tank ,standard handlebars, was this biker dude. He stomped down the kick stand and took off his leather gloves.He was wearing wrap around shades.His arms and T shirt were dusty as were his oil marked levis. His thinning graying hair was pulled back into a pony tail.His Fu Manchu was surrounded with a week's growth of facial hair.I could see his body was defined and lean.His black leather jacket was open in the front.As he dismounted I saw the monogram on the back of his jacket:Hell's Angels Dago.He was all business.

He walked inside the gym and introduced himself.
"My name's Bob."
His voice was gravely.He looked tough,but he was not condescending nor intimidating.He was too sure of himself for any pretenses.
"My name is Roger"I answered."Glad to meet you."
I didn't feel the need to extend my hand. You know how men size themselves up with each other.I felt a handshake would diminish my presence. Bob didn't offer his either.
"You using this bench?"he asked looking at one of the exercise benches in the corner.
"Go right ahead."
Bob warmed up on the bench doing leg raises,then moving to crunches,finishing up with bicycles.This took him about 15 minutes to do. Al this time he said nothing. I was warming up with some light bench presses with the Olympic bar.
"Mind if I work in with you"asked Bob politlely.
"Sure."
Bob warmed up with just the Olympic bar with no weights.
"You just join the gym ?"I asked.
"Yeah. I came in yesterday to buy some protein powder and then Vic told me about the gym out back.I've been in Ocean Beach for a week."
We progressed with our poundages adding plates onto the bar. When I added two 45 pound plates on each end ,Bob remarked that he'd stay with that weight.He did five reps with no problem.
"Don't mind if I add more weight?"I asked.
"Go right ahead."
Eventually I progressed up to four 45 plates on each side adding a 2 and 1/2 to bring the weight on the bar to an even 500 pounds. All the while as I was adding more weight on the bar ,Bob was impassive. He gave me good "spots" on my heavy lifts. I could tell he was experienced.
"You're a strong dude,"Bob finally admitted.
I felt impressed.
"I've been doing this for awhile,"I said confidently.
Bob had moved over to the rack of dumbbells. He was doing sets of curls with 40 pound weights. I could see the veins popping out in his arms.
"You're pretty strong yourself,"I said knowing that what he was doing wasn't as impressive as what I just had accomplished with my bench presses.
"I don't mess with the weights that much,"Bob said.
"You look in pretty good shape,"I said.
"I did some boxing in Idaho. That's where I'm from,"he said looking in the mirror still grinding away with the dumbbells.I felt a little taken aback. When he didn't embellish his comment,I probed on.
"Who did you fight?Anyone good?"
"I fought George Logan."
"The George Logan that fought Ezzard Charles?"
I knew that aleady.I felt my stature waning.
"It was after that. He was undefeated at that time he fought Charles. I caught him on the way down."
"Logan fought some pretty good fighters. Didn't he fight Ali?"
I knew that.
"They rushed him along too fast. He was pretty good though,but he had problems with cuts."
"What's he doing now?"
"He's a cop."
With that admission our conversation dwindled.

Bob continued coming to the gym on an irregular basis. I wouldn't say we were friends. Hell's Angels kept their distance with outsiders.OB,eventually,had a problem with the Angels. They stormed their presence into the bars that we locals would frequent. Many of my friends wanted to get close to the Hell's Angels. They lived vicariously through them. The locals were buying Harleys and putting on leather vests.But all the Hell's Angels wanted from them was their money ,drugs,and girlfriends. The Angels, to impose their dominance, had no issues about pistol whipping these acolytes,and then after taking what they wanted, threw them to the dogs. Bob wasn't as demonstrative in his actions,but that was because he knew his position. He was a leader and tough,but just as cruel.The closer my friends wanted to gravitate,the worse it got for them. That's why I never got too chummy with the Hell's Angels.

Bob this guy's wife.The dude thought he was safe with Bob,but Bob perceived him as being weak.The sad part was that the guy's wife was going strong for Bob.The jilted guy finally spoke up.Bob was already packing his wife on his Harley. The guy tried to put up a front. Bob got a" wanna be" Angel to put a slug into the back of his head.After all the fallout,Bob was still on the streets.Bob ,they said,moved up to the Frisco area with the dead guy's wife.Before he left,I saw him one more time in the gym. My topic of conversation focused on boxing. What happened to that guy and his wife may have crossed my mind,but I decided to leave it alone.




Ezzard Charles

Crescendo

Muhammad Ali alluded that the old time fighters of his race,the Joe Louises,Ezzard Charleses, and Joe Walcotts,were out of touch with what blacks needed to do reach gain equality. Louis,Charles and Jersey Joe had it a lot tougher growing up than the Louisville Lip. They never went to no Olympics, let alone winning a Gold Medal. I know Archie Moore thought Cassius was an insulting SOB lacking the sportsmanship ,with the exception of a Two Ton Tony or those turn of the century fellas' that gouged and thumbed and loaded up their gloves ,that was an unspoken rule for the Negro fighters. No one wanted to have another Jack Johnson hovering over a fallen foe. But Cassius,later to make the issue more ominous renaming himself Muhammad Ali,was bringing back old memories for those still around that remembered Lil' Arthur.

The younger Black males,the ones that saw themselves getting their draft notices to fight a war in a country no one had ever heard of before and then coming home to sit in the back of the bus,found an inspiration with a guy who got things off his chest. The Black Muslims and Malcolm X were hitting back instead of turning the other cheek. In that moment the pent up violence was at the breaking point that ,finally caught up in the hysteria, was the broke open. Black violence was something never tried before,unless you want to count Nat Turner's uprising,The evidence was all over the place:segregation was still with us. Forget the Emancipation Proclamation. If Martin Luther King and Joe Louis didn't want to put up their dukes they could go sit in the back of the bus.

But how long has it been since the Civil Rights Movement? We've had a Black Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,a Secretary of State,two Attorney Generals,a Surgeon General,Supreme Court Justices,mayors of New York,Los Angeles and Chicago,Congressmen,and a President elected for two terms.That ain't gonna happen in Western Europe.Black athletes are venerated.Black actors are everywhere in the movies and television winning a good share of awards. Black athletes and entertainers have wives of different color and it isn't given a second thought. Barak Obama and Dr. King were awarded Nobel Peace prizes.

So how long has it been? It seems a long time ago. Tell some of those stories of the Civil Rights Movement to the Millenials and they scratch their heads. But there's still a lot of discontent.But now I want to get back to those old timers that the militants thought of as being squares. I saw a picture of Ezzaed Charles,Joe Louis,and Jesey Joe Walcott dressed to the nines at the Royal Roost Club in New York.They were there to listen to the music,the revolutionary sounds that were born and nurtured in Harlem working its way through the rest of the Apple eventually heard all the way the West Coast. The Black musicians who had gotten stale playing the scored sheet music of the Big Band Era wanted to explore and innovate with small combos. Everyone wanted to take a solo,but you better be able to hang in there with the evolution.The notes were played fast the and improvisations were risky,but if executed, were ground breaking and astonishing.Nothing like it had ever been attempted or heard before. The Black fighters of that Bop Era gravitated to those sounds.It was revolutionary.But most listeners couldn't put it together with Glenn Miller or Benny Goodman.You couldn't hum the tune. But those musicians like Charlie Parker,Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonius Monk, played for themselves. They weren't trying to reach out to anybody. If you got in their groove that was enough for them.The old guard music makers that played in the pre war milieu resented what those young cats were putting out there. A lot of the beefs were because the traditional musicians weren't as musically advanced. They stayed with the standards,but the Boppers could play a chorus of ,let's say Stardust,and then transition into 20 choruses,each one played differently with fresh ideas. Some of the old timers went with the change with the young cats. Old ideas didn't put up walls with a horn players like Lester Young or Coleman Hawkins.

Sugar Ray Robinson opened a club in Harlem that featured the music. Miles Davis and him were close. Ezzard Charles and Archie Moore would often sit in with jazz musicians who frequented 52nd Street.They both plucked the strings on the double bass. As much as these fighters were at the forefront in their professions, the new bread of jazz artist appreciated that the best of these boxers their savored their beat.

Always struck me that Ali thought the Black fighters of the depression era were just shufflin' along. Ali liked singers like Sam Cooke and Jerry Butler.So did Louis and Jersey Joe. Those top 40 singers were great,but today if you ran their music through the genre of rap ,you might get a response like,"Oh yeah. My grandfather has those records." So Ali,if you're out there,I guess you know that your tastes in music today would be thought of as ancient history.You saw that at the end. But you came full circle. You loved Joe louis and Ezzard Charles. Sugar Ray was your idol.If Archie Moore would have known that it was only an act,you guys would have hugged.Maybe they would have asked you to sit down with them and put on disc of Bird. You always championed Black culture. This was a music Blacks originated. It was genius ,and it was you. The way you moved in the ring,Charlie Parker would have watched and played chorus after chorus.



Charlie Parker saving a seat for the Heavyweight Champion of The World,Royal Roost,NYC.






There will never be another Charlie Parker

Sheer class, Rog.

BTW, Rick called and said Mando's Dad, Ray Ramos passed away yesterday. I think he said he was 91.

scartissue wrote:BTW, Rick called and said Mando's Dad, Ray Ramos passed away yesterday. I think he said he was 91.

Thanks Dan.Ray Ramos and his son Mando sure made a dynamic duo.

Mismatch

Boxing is probably the least regulated professional sport. The various boxing associations and commissions are influenced by promoters and managers. With other sports it's not uncommon,let's say in soccer in a qualifying match,to have a game between the national teams of Germany and San Marino.The little country will lose big,but there are no feelings of anxiety inside the stadium that a player's health is in jeopardy. In the NBA the Golden State Warriors can play the woeful Philadelphia 76 ers and what we witness is a display of virtuosity of ball handling and shooting from the likes of Kevin Durant and Steph Curry. The display is so spectacular that most of the fans remain in their seats despite the blowout. Baseball is more evenly paired up. You can bet the World Series Champs,the Chicago Cubs,will lose a game or two along the way against my last place San Diego Padres during the upcoming season. College football players are forbidden by league rules to play pro teams even though some 50 years ago the College All Stars would sometimes upset the NFL champs in the annual game at Soldiers Field in Chicago.There wasn't that much dough to make in pro football way back in the day. The college all stars were an even match. But the aftermath of those games would result with the usual bumps and bruises. Boxing,however,is often performed in scenarios that are not only scary,but make you wonder if the spin doctors are only in it to make a buck.

In the late 60's when boxing was a very hot item in the Southland,I saw that there was going to be big fight at the downtown bullring in Tijuana. Former featherweight champ Sugar Ramos had moved up in weight to fight the windmill swinging Chango Carmona. Though Ramos was unsuccessful trying lift the crown from Carlos Ortiz's noggin,he was still a big draw especially in Mexico because of his knockout power. Saldivar broke him down earlier to wear the featherweight belt around his middle in one hell of a battle royal. I remember seeing on the numerous boxing posters that were nailed up around the city that along with the Ramos/Carmona affair, Famoso Gomez and (what really got my attention)the old wily veteran Baby Vasquez were going to climb through the ropes that night.Baby Vasquez was one of those Mexican fighters that personified,in a way,what is at the heart of the Mexican people.A people who work hard everyday to scratch out a living knowing that circumstances and fate will never bring them to the pinnacle of life's finer graces.

There used to be a program that was shown on Mexican TV on Sunday afternoons that showcased the classic fights of Mexican boxing history. The footage was mostly black and white and the venues were often in every pueblo and ciudad in the republic. I recall L.C. Morgan slicing Mantequilla Napoles's eye in the dusty border town of Reynosa,Joe Medel hammering it out with Eloy Sanchez at the iconic Arena Coliseo in Mexico City,and Battling Torres in a slugfest with Billy Peacock in the arena in Nuevo Leon.These tapes are protected by Mexican law and are property of the government. I wish they would be reshown in the media. The freneticism of the aficianados is something that has diminished with Mexican fans.Somehow being more civil at a boxing match loses the flavor of it all.I miss the bloody women's panties being thrown around ringside with the dead rattlesnakes,and the firecrackers going off, and the bottles being slung into the ring.Sometimes the fights in the crowd matched what was going on inside the ring. The cops never dared to break them up. In September I saw the great little champion Roman Gonzalez take on Mexican Carlos Cuadras at the LA Forum. It was a great fight,but I didn't feel my life was at stake sitting amongst the crowd.(BTW it wasn't even a sellout).

Getting back to that night in 1968 inside the bullring . The blood and gore of the corrida paralleled what the fighters were doing to each other .It wasn't blood in the afternoon because the card began at 9 o'clock(actually more like 9 thirty because Mexican time is always later). Baby Vasquez's opposition was a local fighter by the name of Arnoldo Marquez. Now I knew I had seen Marquez fight somewhere before. It's been awhile back,but I remember seeing Marquez fight on a few occasions.I think I saw him at the San Diego Coliseum.

The fight was what I expected . Vasquez was one of the most slippery guys you'd ever want see. He wasn't the guy you'd want to put your up and coming fighter in with. Vasquez was the paragon of the old pug who'd "make you look bad." If you thought Ali's "rope a dope" was the model for diminishing an incoming swing ,Vasquez had been putting on this exhibition in over 150 fights. Jose Napoles never came close to hurting the Baby in consecutive fights, Vasquez was a fighter who understood his lack of punching power that would never put him in the aura of an El Puas or a Zarate and eventually win a tille so his execution relied on an uncanny deftness.

The Mexican fight fan loves the "killer". They drink the blood that's spilt on the canvas,but they knew what Baby Vasquez was. He was them. Like Cantinflas,the perpetual underdog in the movies,Baby Vasquez was the guy who laughs at it all. He never ducked anybody. He lost a lot of fights,but he won much more.He wasn't about to trade with a Jose Napoles,but he knew he could frustrate him.As Jose was trying to hit a fly in mid air,the crowd would see their reflection with the wispy little Baby. If LaMotta was supposed to say in that movie"Ray you didn't knock me down,"Vasquez would wink ,smile, and quip,"Hey amigo,you feel a little dissatisfied?"The Baby was no "killer",but he could hurt the other guy's feelings after the final bell.

Baby Vasquez slipped and ducked and absorbed what Arnoldo Vasquez had to offer for several rounds. Baby tied him up ,used the ropes to lean on to make his offerings ineffectual. After a few rounds of giving the fans what they wanted to see,Baby put the game Marquez away(a rare KO). I looked up that fight in the Boxrec records. It ahowed that Marquez had only 2 fights before that bout . Like I said before,I'm sure Marquez had had more than 2 fights,but let's say he had 10 fights. Why would the promoters put him in there with a Baby Vasquez who had had more than 160 combats? Vasquez didn't have the talent of a Ray Robinson or a Muhammad Ali.That pair fought some pretty experienced fellas' early in their careers. Example:Ray against Zivic. Ali(Clay) against Moore. But Arnoldo Marquez wasn't within light years of the those two legends. But if you traverse the records you'll see mismatches that shouldn't have been allowed.but fighters,especially hungry ones,think they're ready for anybody.Promoters,managers,and the commissions reinforce that mantra. It's an attitude that will put a fighter on queer street.

I was sitting watching the action at the old San Diego Coliseum one night a long time ago. The veteran matchmaker,Mickey Davies,happened to have the seat next to me. As the bouts ensued,he told me that never had a card that he put together come off as planned. A fighter who failed a drug test or his car broke down on the way in from Arizona. A fighter from Mexico with an expired visa. A pug who got himself locked up in jail. There was only something.Maybe Arnoldo Marquez was a last minute replacement to go at it with Baby Vasquez that night in TJ.The way the aficianados were going crazy,they went away with their bellies' full. My stomach was half empty. A mismatch doesn't sate my appetite.



Baby Vasquez "Hey amigo,don't worry be happy."

Rog, it's funny you bringing up about those Mexican records. I totally know what you mean. Very hard to track them all in those little towns they fought out of. moreover, they all fight with nicknames which makes it even harder to follow them. I'll give you 2 examples. I was looking up El Gato Gonzalez' record and found the usual no fights for one of his earlier Mexican opponents named Diablito Campos. This, despite hearing he was a veteran. Well, once reading results from a '57 Ring Mag, I saw the name Augustin 'Diablito' Campos. I informed the Eds. at boxrec and suddenly 30 names appeared on Campos' record

Another one was Halimi Gutierrez. Boxrec shows him turning pro at the age of 23. Now we all know Mexicans are veterans by that stage of the game. That the age of 16 is usually a more common age for these fighters turning pro. Yet, my old '74 RRB shows his record as 37-5-1 prior to his bout with Julio Guerrero in '66. A more reasonable record for these stalwarts south of the border. And again, real name Lorenzo, but as we know they are all heralded under the nickname.

Record-keeping is not their strong suit down Mexico way. It makes you wonder how many fights Baby Vasquez actually had.

scartissue wrote:Rog, it's funny you bringing up about those Mexican records. I totally know what you mean. Very hard to track them all in those little towns they fought out of. moreover, they all fight with nicknames which makes it even harder to follow them. I'll give you 2 examples. I was looking up El Gato Gonzalez' record and found the usual no fights for one of his earlier Mexican opponents named Diablito Campos. This, despite hearing he was a veteran. Well, once reading results from a '57 Ring Mag, I saw the name Augustin 'Diablito' Campos. I informed the Eds. at boxrec and suddenly 30 names appeared on Campos' record

Another one was Halimi Gutierrez. Boxrec shows him turning pro at the age of 23. Now we all know Mexicans are veterans by that stage of the game. That the age of 16 is usually a more common age for these fighters turning pro. Yet, my old '74 RRB shows his record as 37-5-1 prior to his bout with Julio Guerrero in '66. A more reasonable record for these stalwarts south of the border. And again, real name Lorenzo, but as we know they are all heralded under the nickname.

Record-keeping is not their strong suit down Mexico way. It makes you wonder how many fights Baby Vasquez actually had.

Right on Dan. Rodolfo told me once(and I saw it in an old edition of the Ring Record book))that he was attributed as having his last fight in my wife's hometown Jiquilpan,Michoacan.This was a few months after his second loss to Suzuki. It was a KO over some dude named Javier Garcia.A middleweight fighter named Rodolfo Gonzalez, who was using "our" Rodolfo's nickname "Gato" ,had his named linked with the WBC champ.

Jose Napoles had a "loss" put on his record,but in reality it was one of his cousins who was defeated in a fight in Cuba. I think of all the data on fighters and it amazes me how much the wins and losses get compiled correctly.

After Gaspar Ortega lost his bid for Emile Griffith's crown he returned to Mexico and ran up a string of victories against some of Greg Haugen's" Tijuana cab drivers."Ortega told me about a fight against one of those"taxistas."It was in the guy's hometown.A kid who was to be one Gaspar's seconds showed up working across the ring in the enemy's corner!Now this is funny,kind of. During the fight Gaspar was swigging out of the water bottle that was provided for him.He told me he started getting sick to his stomach. He looked across at the kid working with the other fighter. The kid had this big grin on his face.Gaspar told me he decided to end it right then and there. Boxing is very unforgiving south of the border. Take care,Rog

My wife ,Maria,sharing stories of Mexico with Gaspar Ortega.






"Indio" Ortega .He was quite a celebrity in Tijuana back in his day.I remember seeing him drive his big convertible around Colonia Morelos.Always had a good looking dame sitting next to him.A neighborhood kid who made good.