BoxRec

Raging Bull S---t

The presidential election in the U.S. was a stunner.If you would have told me two years ago that Donald Trump would become president,i would of asked you who sold you the LSD. Then when Trump threw his hat into the ring,I thought it was a publicity stunt. Then, last year he began winning the presidential primaries.He jump started it all with his promise that if got elected he'd build a wall to prevent all the "bad" Mexicans from crossing the border. That was a pretty bold statement,but it got a lot of attention,pro and con. He is something totally different.There is nothing presidential in his manner.His fellow Republican candidates seemed uneventual and vague, and eventually ganged up on him because he had passed them by in the polls. Trump was getting hacked at both ends:the old guard Republicans detested him as much as the Democrats.Hillary Clinton feared Bernie Sanders more than any of the Republican aspirants.If she had asked Sanders to be her VP,she would have pulled it off with ease,but her huge ego couldn't permit anyone saying she won because Bernie had pushed her over the top. So her adolescent dream of becoming the first woman president became her nightmare. The "rust belt states" gave Trump enough votes in the electoral college to put him in the White House.

If you watch and read the major media(with the exception of FOX news),you'd think that there was some kind of mistake made on November 8th. The Hollywood celebs ,for the most part, are particularly upset. Traditionally,they've been on the left and sided with the Democrats with the possible exception of Ronald Reagan who was one theirs at one time. But Trump is one of these brazen guys who wants to hit back when someone throws a sock at him,And then he's not shy about starting a fight.So he's the president and there's a lot of people who haven't got over it. Trump makes the last Republican president,George W. Bush,seem like JFK through the eyes of the liberals.So as it stands today, most of the Democrats,liberals ,and Tinsel Town (with their media constituents)have taken the gloves off. Trump likes to fight dirty too so we have quite a show going on. If you're a Trump guy ,you're ecstatic.If you wanted him to lose, you're stressing big time.

Now after setting up what I want to say,I want to comment on a guy who I always considered one of my favorite actors,Robert DeNiro.If you pinned me down about what I believe to be the most believable movie ,I'd have answered Raging Bull. Watching that flick always put me in "greaseball heaven."It wasn't 100% legit,but Hollywood always practices with an artistic license,so inevitably perception becomes reality. Well, during the presidential campaign Bobby got on his soap box and made a video about how if he sees Donald Trump,he's going to "punch him in the face."

Now Bob,do you really think you're going to punch the president in the face? To watch you on that video I'm wondering if you're not digressing back into your Jake Lamotta role. You were very convincing. You even won an Oscar. Or maybe you put your mind back to that movie The Untouchables. Did you think you were Al Capone when you were talking about what you'd do to Trump? Big Al used a baseball bat on those two rats,Anselmi and Scalise, who were trying to undermine him. Maybe a baseball bat would drive your point across on Donald Trump.Did you think you were Jimmy Conway in Goodfellas when you were spouting off? He was a pretty tough dude.Murdered a lot of guys.

Bob,you know you're not going to punch Trump in the face. The Secret Service dudes would have you on the ground with their guns drawn and in a choke hold scared to death. Then you'd get sent to prison on a federal rap and put in a cell with a bunch of three time losers. After they "turned' your booty out,they'd make you their queen. You'd be squealing in jail like a little bitch. You wouldn't be able to act your way out of that one. Perception would become your reality.But Bob,you know all this. When you were boasting on television about what you'd do to Trump you were only acting.Why did you have to act?Were you bucking for another Oscar or trying to resurrect your fading career?

Now when I look at these actors in the movies, they don't move me anymore. It's all an act. Bob,you're an act.My perception of you is a fantasy. You get no more Oscars with my eyes. You're rage is just bull s--t.

https://youtu.be/55fJ0FgPSQk

Robert DeNiro. A big act that's all

http://imgur.com/8KTTHew


Robert DAZERO

kikibalt wrote:
Danny "Lil Red" Lopez (R) vs Ruben Olivares

Damn... Olivares looks weak compared to the younger Olivares.

Sharecropper's Son

Used to work with this good ol' boy when I was with the County of San Diego. I was in a division called "Pest Management" in the Department of Agriculture.I was put in charge of this outfit because no one else wanted to run it. The rest of the crew wanted to go out in the rigs and spray herbicide on weeds. Once in awhile this old timer would want to ride with me.He'd been working for the county for around 30 years. Everyone called him "TIz". His real name was Harold,but "Tiz" is what everyone called him except his wife.She called him Harold. He told me his grandmother stuck him with that name for some reason and he was good with that. His middle name was LaVerne. No one wanted to call him that and that was fine with him.

"Tiz" was as redneck as they come. He was born in Nebraska,but raised in iowa. When I knew him he would tell me he was still at his old high school playing weight. He looked to be a scrappy 150.When he sat in a chair there was no belly protruding from under his shirt. He had sandy hair that was thinning on the top that he still combed straight back like he always did. He wore glasses,was fair skinned and joked that his complexion was "lily white." I don't think he could grow much facial hair,but that was fine with him because he thought any hair on the face,except for a neatly trimmed mustache,was subversive.He smoked unfiltered camels like they were going out of style. He had no qualms about tossing the butts anywhere on the ground after he was done with his smokes. It was a time when the surgeon general and the public were coming down on smoking. Tiz would snarl saying "We smokers were here first."That was par for his kind of logic.He showed me an old scrapbook once. It was filled with his high school exploits as an athlete. One clipping showed him winning the state championship in the 440 run.But the one he was most proud of was when he was selected to the All State Football Team. There was a picture of Tiz catching a forward pass. He told me the late All American war hero Niles Kinnick was the quarterback that threw him the ball.

Tiz didn't like minorities,especially blacks.He said where he grew up they weren't any around so he couldn't get used to them."All they want to do is sing and dance."More of his introspection.When WW II broke out his Army national guard unit was called up to get ready to fight in North Africa. He was 19.Tiz told me he was always sour on schools so he opted for the Army.As wiry as was ,he wasn't fond of physical labor. He said he bounced around from job to job in the Midwest:tried some farm work,pumped gas at a filling station,was a house painter for awhile. Never lasted long at any job, so he said. He'd like to spend his day smoking and drinking and chasing what he liked to call"the split tails."

He landed with the Army partaking in operation Torch in North Africa.He was the Kassarin Pass where Rommel's veteran army routed our GI's."We were just to green,"he'd say about that one.But when he showed his me scrap book about his athletic accomplishments,his son brought over a small leather case.
"Why did you bring that over here?"Tiz chided his boy.
"I want to show him your medals,"answered the son.
The boy opened the box. I didn't count the decorations,but I did recognize a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart.
"Put that back in the closet Pat,"said Tiz very politely.

Like I said,Tiz wasn't fond of any skin color that wasn't "lily white' like he would refer to his body pigment. The armed forces in the big war were still segregated and he liked it that way.The Marines ,who prided themselves as being the best fighters, didn't even allow blacks in the Corps.Before being shipped out to Africa,Tiz got his training at Fort Benning in Georgia. That was jake with him because the deep south validated his racial attitudes. Blacks were kept in their place and that was what he thought was right. But with all his mockery of African/Americans there was one black man that I never heard Tiz say anything disrespectful. If you know anything about our history of that period,there's really no guesswork. Joe Louis was the man Tiz never had a bad word to say about.In fact I think he respected him. The only other blacks that Tiz was OK with were the Mills Brothers Nat King Cole,and the Nicholas Brothers,but they only fell into the category of singing and dancing.Joe Louis was in the Army putting on boxing exhibitions for the soldiers.But Joe demanded that the audience not be segregated or he would back out.

The Army didn't want to butt heads with the Brown Bomber. He was one of the first to join up.He was at that rally at Madison Square Garden where all those celebrities who were in uniform were reading their prepared speeches. Joe was told to say that we were on God's side. Joe crossed up his speech writer and said "We're gonna win because GOD IS ON OUR SIDE."Tiz told me that when Joe Louis put on his sparring match at boot camp,his opponent was Tiz's company sergeant.Tiz said his sergeant was one of those ornery types who liked to get in fights at the drop of a hat on and off the base.He was tough on his men,but they respected him.Well this sergeant steps in there with Louis(as Tiz was tellin' it) and they are just kind of walking aroud at first. Louis is picking off sarge's futile attempts of landing anything when Joe dropped his left. Just like that sarge pops a shot into the champ's face.There's a surprise laughter sifting through the crowd. Joe(again Tiz tellin' it) didn't get mad,but dispatched a left right combo onto the NCO's chin that sent him backward through the ropes. Now that got everyone's attention.This time the laughter could be heard all the way into town. Tiz winked at me .
"We all were kind of glad to see our sergeant get put on his back,"he said with a chuckle."I'm glad Louis didn't let him get away with nothin' ".

I worked with Tiz for about seven years.It was an era were the Black Panthers and the Nation of Islam were asserting themselves. His racist feelings just deepened towards blacks. He thought Ali should have gone to Leavenworth and didn't have a kick about Martin Luther King getting shot.But he still had nothing bad to say about Joe Louis. Louis didn't orate. He never shouted from the mountain tops about injustice,but the thing was, Joe Louis probably did more to mend fences between blacks and whites in this country than anyone else up to that time. He never acted anyway but himself.They didn't want him to be like Jack Johnson,but there was never any concern about that. Louis was always a gentleman and respected others. He couldn't understand why Galento called him a bum. Two Ton Tony was the only fighter Joe said he wanted to punish in the ring.

Louis gave away all his money either to family and friends or to the IRS. It was sad to see him wrestle to try to pay back his debts. Joe and his last wife adopted some kids. I coached his adopted son John in high school. He played football. A nice quiet kid,an average player. I never talked to him about his father. I don't think he got to know him for very long. Joe passed away while John was on the team. I remember it was not too long ago Joe Louis Jr. posted on the forum. He wanted to set the record straight on something. I PMed him wanting to know what ever happened to John Louis. Joe Jr. never answered.

Just before Tiz threw in the towel working for the county,he told me a story one day as we were in the warehouse office having a cup of coffee.
"You know Roger I don't really hate all blacks.I guess I don't understand them .I never lived with them. The first black man I saw was in the Army. I really respected Joe Louis. Guys like myself always had good things to say about him."
Before continuing. Tiz took out a cigarette and lit up.
"I met this black guy once when I was in the Army in the mess hall in Georgia. He was a cook. He told me that Joe Louis was a sharecropper's son in Alabama.This was before his family moved north. Well this cook went on to say that when Joe Louis became champ he went back to Alabama to help out the owner of the farm where his parents worked as sharecroppers. He said that the owner was always kind and fair with his folks."
Tiz took a long drag on his cigarette.
"Got to admire a man like that,"he said.
"You sure do,"I said.
"I guess they're not all bad,"said Tiz as he continued smoking.


http://imgur.com/prCvRxv

Albatross

You hear some managers and trainers telling their fighters to lay off the dames. Most fighters are testosterone junkies who like to lay women like they like to lay out their opponents. But there is a breed of female who gets as much stimulation watching a fighter trade blows in the ring as getting the big palooka in the sack and then trading blows, in a kind of different sense, if you get my drift.Sometimes fighters have just as much of a task to fend off the advances of the fairer sex as they do trying defend themselves against the onslaughts of an up and coming contender. But there are probably more conquests on the part of the little ladies because the pug lets himself succumb to their charms. Often a wink from a pretty girl can be more effective than a properly delivered left hook. The list of fighters that got KO'd by someone who has a higher voice than theirs would be a tome that would give you a hernia if you tried to pick it up. One fighter who stepped into trouble with a fast filly was the great middleweight champion, Marcel Cerdan.

Cerdan was the raging bull of Europe before crushing a worn out Tony Zale to win the crown here in the States. But there was a foreshadowing of his demise, that perhaps he sensed in the back of his mind , that was going to derail him. His weakness unfocused his training,but also tragically led to his death. The woman who took of the gloves to conquer the handsome Frenchman was the international singer,the toast of the continant,Edith Piaf.As popular as Cerdan was with the boxing community,Piaf was even more recognized. Aside from frank Sinatra,she was the highest paid singer in the world.Her parents were circus ilk,but her mother pawned her off to live with a relative who ran a house of ill repute. As a girl she panhandled in the street (with a friend passing the cup) singing trying to earn a sou or two.She was married for a short time,had a child who died within the year. She hustled in the streets of the infamous Montmarte acquiring a street smartness that became ingrained in her mantra.She never reached 5 feet in height,but God gave her a set of pipes that bellowed through the streets resonating when one day an entrepreneur heard the voice,got out of his car,gave her his calling card,and promptly featured her in his club. She was the curiosity piece of the City of Light. She was christened Edith Gassion,but her mentor gave her the name"Piaf" which translates to 'sparrow." But it wasn't a sparrow's voice,but an earthy tone graced with a poignancy that conveyed her addiction to her inner torment. She was also addicted to drugs an alcohol.She also had a compulsion for falling in and out of love. But when there came the time for the split,it was Piaf who terminated the trysts when she finally got bored with it all.Men became enthralled with her enticements.But like a streaking comet that enters earth's orbit,the burnouts were inevitable.

Let's get this out on the table:Cerdan was a married man with kids when the sparrow started to peck away.Like the swaggering Frenchman,he liked to be seen with her in the bistros and clubs.He followed her to New York when she had a booking in the Club Versailles.With Piaf on his arm he was burning the candle at both ends.For a fighter to get involved with a sort like Edith Piaf was a train wreck. With Edith screaming like a bansee at ringside,Cerdan lost his first fight in Europe against Cyrille Delanoit. Marcel then tried to get a toe hold in the United States,the biggest venue for boxing.He had successes,but some of the wins were just wins.Finally,he looked his old self against the Man Of Steel. It was Tony's last fight.

Now it was a defense against the American raging bull,Jake Lamotta. There's a lot of controversy about Cerdan getting either thrown down or punched to the canvas in the first round,and Marcel didn't put up much of a fuss. He stayed on his stool before the final round. He said that he had dislocated his shoulder. Piaf wept openly at ringside.Piaf stayed in New York. Cerdan went back to France(and his wife and kids)to train for a rematch.Of course Edith couldn't live without her lover. She begged him to come back to the States ASAP. Jo Longman,Cerdan's trainer was losing his mind with his charge.He told Cerdan not to go.He had more work to do. Marcel broke training,relented,boarded the plane with Longman.The plane never left the continent.

Piaf was shattered. She never got over the death of Marcel Cerdan.The end was not determined on her terms.Fate called the shot. She rapidly swooned into the abyss. She died of cancer at the age of 47. But it became a love story that fascinated the overstimulated French for decades.

Several years I was in Paris with my family. We were staying at a hotel in the Montmarte,the embryo of the future fame of Edith Piaf.I was walking through the streets wondering if this was a corner where the Sparrow bore her soul to the gathering crowds tossing coins into the tin cup held by her partner in hustle. I saw a little bookstore. It was next to a MacDonalds.I walked inside the bookstore. Mostly, used books were arrayed numerous on wooden tables. I asked the girl if she had any books about Edith Piaf. She gave me a puzzled look.
"I don't think so.Who is she?"
I knew I was in the 21st century. I tried to draw a picture,but was still getting a blank stare.
"We have books on the Beatles,"she said trying to satisfy me.
"No thanks.You should learn about Edith Piaf,"I meekly pled.
"If you look on the this table,we have books on the Rolling Stones."
I was thinking of asking her if she had any books about Marcel Cerdan,but I knew she'd probably steer me to a table with books about Madonna.


http://imgur.com/U1ndTan

Nothing Ventured,Nothing Lost


Growing up, my father would always talk about all the Italian athletes.They were mostly Italian/American athletes,but my father would never use that term.They were always Italian even if they were born in America. If they had dago blood they were terrific performers,naturally.I'd hear my father say that even Carnera was a great champ.I was too young to know any better and couldn't put up an argument anyway with my father because he would always have to have the last word on everything. I remember my father and his brothers raving about guys like Phil Cavaretta who played for the Cubs.Roy Campanella ,who caught for the Dodgers, name always came up. Even though Campanella was black,his father was Italian so he was Italian in the eyes of the neighborhood.Another "black" athlete who fitted a similar profile was the Steeler running back,Franco Harris.Of course Campanella and Harris got their athleticism because of their Italian blood. And of course Vince Lombardi walked on water.Funny though, looking back on those discussions I never heard DiMaggio get a call.Maybe it was because he was a Yankee. Come to think of it,my father was never impressed with Babe Ruth either.("Everytime I saw him at Comiskey Park,he popped up").I guess that was enough validation for my father.

It was the fighters who were talked about mostly in the Southwest Side. I always heard about Pep beating Sandy Saddler.(I didn't know until years later that Pep was stopped three times by Saddler).The goombas made it sound that Marciano finished off a Joe Louis when he was still in his prime. Carmen Basilio,next to Marciano,was my dad's favorite.Carmen was a Marine like my dad in WWII. I was old enough to remember Carmen winning the title from Sugar Ray,but when Basilio lost the rematch,that fight was put on the pay no mind list. Graziano wasn't talked up like Jake LaMotta.The neighborhood guys thought LaMotta was the toughest fighter(next to Marciano)who ever lived. I sure knew that he beat the Italian nemesis Sugar Ray,Never heard that Jake lost five times to Sugar. When I discovered this in the record book,my father said that Jake got robbed five times.

But until that movie Raging Bull hit the theaters,Rocky Graziano was the high profile Italian middleweight champ.Graziano and LaMotta hung around as kids. They even spent time in the stir together. Graziano got first shot at the title before LaMotta, and fought three bloodbaths with Tony Zale. He dropped two out of three in title matches(and got "killed' in the last fight).Jake,still waiting on the sidelines after his dubious performance against Blackjack Billy Fox,had to see a foreigner,Marcel Cerdan,step inside the ring and win what Jake thought should be on his head,the middleweight crown. Eventually,the wise guys gave Jake a green light.The title fight was to be held in one of LaMotta's favorite venues,Olympia Arena in Detroit.La Motta won convincingly. He was up and down after that until Robby went up in weight and beat a drained Jake in the St. Valentines Day Massacre in Chi Town. it got even spottier after that defeat with Jake eating himself up into the light heavy numbers , finally throwing in the towel in 1954. If you watched the movie or read the autobiography Raging Bull,we know he opened up a saloon in Miami Beach,procurred a minor girl into peddling her hips,(went to jail for that one),tried to be a stand up comic,and a bouncer at a strip bar, Somehow this was apropos with his personality.

Deniro's performance,Scorsese's direction,and all those dagos from the neighborhood, who where in the cast, that put Raging Bull at the pinnacle of celluloid fistacuff flicks.As entertaining as Graziano's bio flick,Somebody Up There Likes Me ,Raging Bull is a masterpiece. The cinema's erudite was K0'd. Somebody Up There Likes Me gets more and more corny to look at as time passes. If you are an Italian who was nurtered in the greaseball neighborhood,the identities with Raging Bull are a no brainer. I don't think it was much of a stretch for Scorsese to direct that movies with all the homegrown material and bodies he had to work with.

My last two paragraphs are pretty much standard knowledge.Wikipedia can give you that info. I like to think of ,not the movie so much,but the man himself,Lake LaMotta. The movie is around 2 hours long. The book will take you longer to read and has (with the help of ghostwriters),Jake's words in thought. I'll level with you,I would do anything to be like Jake LaMotta. Forget winning the middleweigfht title.I'll make it clearer to what I want to say with this quote from LaMotta in his autobiography.

"As early as I can remember.I didn't want to trust anybody.You trust a guy and soon he's using you to give you a screwing...But if you don't trust anybody,or make sure that basically you don't give a good goddamn about anybody,you're safe.If a guy sells you down the river,it's your goddamn fault,you got only yourself to blame."

No wonder nobody liked him except maybe his mother and kids.Now if you're wondering why I'd look at this guy as a role model,you might think I'm crazy.You wouldn't be far off because I'm on the other side of the spectrum of LaMotta's mindset. I do nothing but worry.Every tragedy I see in the world,I take personally. I swim in guilt. The Catholic church, with all those nuns and priests preaching, scared me.I lived in the confessional booth.i'd watch a Disney movie, where everyone lives happily ever after, and thought that was like the world was. If I sinned,bad things would happen to me. The world is ominous.It's bad and I'm a contributor. I want to believe in a heaven,but I worry there isn't anything after the final heartbeat. I want to leave this earth before my loved ones depart. That's my foremost wish,but that isn't a healthy mantra. The idea that humans are mortal greatly impacted me when I was a little kid.Now that the wrinkles are showing more,the inevitable looms over my day. I try to stay ahead of the power curve,but I'm running out of breath literally.As the world drives along a path of suffering,i ride with empathy in the back seat.They say every cloud has a silver lining.I just can't make the cloud go away. I've been to shrinks and taken the medicines.The drugs and the booze can't make oblivion go away. Funny though,people don't see that I worry. In fact I kind of humor the people I make contact with.I can put them at ease. Inject some humor..I have a gift to cheer people up. I can see what they want me to say so I get in line. Maybe it's this gift that has become my faith.I've got so much invested with people,I fear that it lends itself to that much loss.

Jake LaMotta doesn't give a goddamn. He once hit a guy over the head with a lead pipe to rob him of his money. When he hit the guy,he didn't fall to the ground right away.LaMotta's fury shifted from robbery to wanting to kill the guy because he didn't crash to the pavement after the first conk on the head. LaMotta then went nuts hammering his head like it was a ten penny nail. He went through life with that pipe in his hands. I go through life empty handed. Keirkegaard said that the bridge to heaven is suffering.I guess if you're on that bridge you can't have a lead pipe in your hands.

http://imgur.com/IX82NYs

Jake LaMotta

There Is Something On My Mind


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Plaza Santa Cecelia. Downtown TJ



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Esther's Galleria.Esther and her daughter Rosa. Been doing business with them for 20 years. TJ.


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Cheto.Owner of his gym .Plaza Santa Cecelia


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Guadalupe Church.Corner of 2nd and Constitution Sts.


http://imgur.com/aBwZtHV

The Mexican Market,El Fiojito, across the street from the church.

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Carniceria in the Mercado. My wife has been doing business there for over 40 years


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Boys playing indoor.Canon Jhonson



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El Bolero.Downtown .TJ
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CREA boxing gym.Best in Mexico


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Tacos El Gordo.Best tacos in the world.



http://imgur.com/jkauG45

Canon Jhonson. I used to live at the end of the street.


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Mexico's message to Trump.


I don't know how that happened,but after the last picture I posted there was a lot of space at the bottom so I'll try to fill it up with some comments. Don't get me wrong,I'd never go back to living in TJ.Maybe if I had no wife and kids,I'd live a bachelor life down there. I'm pretty sure I'd run myself into the ground. If you have a family you want everything going for them as far as getting ahead in life. All the opportunities:good schools,police protection,making sure the public amenities are maintained,old things are replaced with the latest conveniences and technology,and knowing that you have rights(even if you're not a citizen). Sometimes Americans take all this for granted. They are soft and whine a lot over little things. They get paranoid from what they see on television that carries over in their normal routine life. In the end you wind up with a socirty that is often kind of bland. Lifeless so to speak.

In TJ it's different because TJ is a lot poorer than San Diego. People who live and walk the streets have to be tougher around the edges.They are heads up to what's going on. Even the dogs are different. Dogs in TJ aren't the lap dog types.They are constantly alert to what might be sneaking up on them. Survival of the fittest. Same with the people.They aren't taken in by the con. They don't feel sorry for anyone.They don't feel guilty about what happens to the other guy. If someone else gets into jam,I got my own problems to deal with.

TJ kind of reminds me of the old neighborhood when I was a kid in Chicago. If you were perceived as being timid,you'd get stepped on and no one would care except maybe your mother. If you father saw you getting a beating,then he'd give you a worse ass kicking.All this energy lends itself to an environment that is alive. More alive than San Diego.Crazier,I grant you that,but more alive. That's why I keep going back. TJ is more colorful.There aren't all these rules saying you can't do that, or this is what everyone thinks so be this way.There's more noise and smells in Tijuana.There's a lot more ingredients in the salad. More colors on the canvas. Life in TJ is very bittersweet.San Diego is like eating plain yogurt.

Well,I hope I filled up some space.If not,I got it off my chest.

https://youtu.be/hetzngpq9LM

There Is Something On Your Mind.Big Jay McNeely

Drank a lot of cahuamas with the homies in Canon Jhonson listening to music like this.How about you LA guys?

Hey Rog and Chuck, do you guys remember Chucho Garcia? I just happened to see a name on a site I don't ever go to. It was the boxeo mundial site on the Board and apparently he just passed away. His son posted a brief message and I responded. I only saw Chucho fight once - against Armando Muniz - and I was amazed at his jaw. His record is a who's - who of world class comp. If he only had a punch he could really have been something.

scartissue wrote:Hey Rog and Chuck, do you guys remember Chucho Garcia? I just happened to see a name on a site I don't ever go to. It was the boxeo mundial site on the Board and apparently he just passed away. His son posted a brief message and I responded. I only saw Chucho fight once - against Armando Muniz - and I was amazed at his jaw. His record is a who's - who of world class comp. If he only had a punch he could really have been something.

Dan,I remember seeing Garcia fight Renato Garcia at the Coliseum here in San Diego. Chucho lost a decision I recall. The two fought twice at the Coliseum.I can't remember which fight I saw,but Chucho lost both fights on points. Renato Garcia was the up and comer. Chucho was like the stepping stone. He was put in that spot for most of his career. He was a good kid.He was one of those guys that if a prospect wanted to get into contention,he had to get through Chucho first. Sorry to hear of his passing. Fighters like Chucho Garcia make up the sport.

The Fighter's Wife

Redd Foxx had a line he'd say if he didn't like you.
"I hope your daughter marries a jazz musician."
He could have also said.
"I hope your daughter marries a prize fighter."
Marrying any of the above(including today,a rock star)carries with it a lot of risk. I think wedding a pug is even a bigger chance to take. At least a musician isn't getting punched in the head. The allure of fighters with the opposite sex is often overwhelming.Fighters don't have to go on the prowl. The women are making the overtures. They get turned on by the alpha male and want to know what it's like to regress back to the primal basics.

Now it's no harm no foul if everything is all up front. Most of the time a fighter just wants to get throwed and blowed. The woman just wants to know what's it's like to be in the sack with Tarzan. After a cigarette ,it's out the door. Maybe there's some reruns,but most of the time both parties move on to different conquests. But it's when both paramours want to take it to the next level:matrimony. Sometimes in the beginning,they are childhood sweethearts. Everything is innocent enough.They tell each other that there couldn't be anyone else. Because they are too young to understand the complexities of death till we part,the footing is shaky at the start. Babies come along,the happiness is intensified at first,but the responsibilities of washing diapers,buying food and clothes,and paying the rent take the gloss off the romance.The reality of marriage is that everyday life is living life, more or less, the same everyday.If a couple can get through the initiation, they've got a chance. Later,there might be a mid life crisis. The woman often looks back and thinks she took the plunge too early in life. Now she wants to have her youth back.But this scenario usually doesn't apply to a fighter and his wife.The wife is at home with the kids cooking and cleaning. Her fighter boy husband is in the gym,earning a modest living fighting in some dingy arena in Arizona and staying in a cheap motel .His wife back home has the kids( and often times her mother and sisters to give support) to keep her busy,but in her quiet moments she's thinking"What is my testosterone glutted man doing when he's not fighting?" She knows he's an animal in the sack,but there are sacks in Arizona too and plenty of broads to fill them up.

You can fill a book with the pitfalls of being a fighter,Number one on the list would be women.Sure there were and are exceptions,but they're like finding a needles in a haystack.I don't care if a fighter is a Hall of Famer or a stumblebum,there's always broads around.The temptaions and the urges are unstoppable.When Lana Turner went after Joe Louis,you think he was thinking of getting a rep like Jack Johnson? Hell no. Muhammad Ali,Sugar Ray Robinson,Rocky Marciano:how many dudes out there would want to be the champ like them and then have all those beautiful women at their feet(and in their shorts)?

My father told me one time that Rocky Marciano was speaking at some banquet in Chicago for some union when one of the members asked him if he takes his wife along to these functions. My father was at the table sitting next to Marciano when he answered back to the guy.
"No.She's back at home with the kids. She knows I'm here with friends."
After the bash was over,Marciano arranged for two hookers to come up to his room.I guess Ricky didn't want to add on to answer that friends meant "girlfriends." It's kind of funny in a sick way to think that women like Rocky's wife and Sugar Ray's and LaMotta's for example are voted "Sports Wives of the Year." The wives ain't saying nothing.They go along with it.If they speak out,they're bitches and ingrates. They have their suspicions and often know the score. Most of them hang in there till the end.

Sorrowfully,that ending is seeing her former fighter now fighting just to put two sentences together. I see plenty of that. The managers and promotors,the mob guys and all the whores have nothing left to pick off their bones.Only the wives are around to take care of them now. But some of these fighters are so far gone,they don't recognize anybody.Not even their wives. I can just see their wives looking at them,with a tears on their cheeks, wondering what it would have all been like if they hadn't stepped into the ring.

http://imgur.com/TLQUldo

Redd Foxx



https://youtu.be/w7ejD0czYUU

They say a picture says a thousand words. Well, a song paints a thousand pictures.This song puts it into words better than what I had to say.

Right on The Tip Of My Tongue--Brenda and the Tabulations

Blood And Dirt

Going to get out of town for a few days. I'd say getting out of Dodge,but San Diego is no Dodge City. There aren't any Dodge Cities of the Old West anymore. The closest thing in this country are the little towns strewn out in the desert areas of the southwest. That's where I'm headed pardner. You wonder why anyone would ever live in such desolate wildernesses to begin with. Most of the time it was because there was a mother lode of gold or silver in them thar hills.Sometimes , bad desparados wanted to find a hiding spot to stay one step ahead of the law. In fact there wasn't any or much law out in those cactus spaces in the first place.

But after all the ore was sucked out of those hills those towns dried up as well. Who wanted to live out there in the summer when the heat was over a hundred for 40 straight days.The railroads didn't run through those towns.There were no roads. The Apaches were still feisty.Might as well pack up and move on.

Today,if you look on a map,there are hundreds of ghost towns speckled around. Some are set up for tourists like Tombstone,Arizona,but there's a side to it that's kind of phony. After the town was practically abandoned the souvenir hunters took the leftovers. The gravestones in Boot Hill had to be replaced. They made them up to look authentic,but they're just made up. And if you like seeing a novelty style cowboy talking on his cell phone riding the freshly painted stage coach up and down the paved street,you can yell "yippee yay a ". I don't want to be that kind of an old cowhand.

Then there's the little bitty towns that are barely there. Maybe a few people live around. Perhaps,a post office and a general store.There might be a small café across the road.I get into that kind of setting. My nostalgia mode kicks in.But you know those people live out there to get away from city dudes like me. They've pulled their little Airstream aluminum trailers out to nowhere land to live more or less like hermits. Excitement for them on a Saturday night is drinking warm whiskey and listening to the AM radio.I won't get much conversation going with those folks.I can take my California license plate and mosey on.

Last,you have the remnants of the burgs that nobody lives in. The rotted wooden structures are barely that. Rusted out wagon wheels,the pickings of mesquite frameworks. The wind howling through all the holes in what's left of the walls. A dried up well.Sage brush and lizards call those places home.What's left doesn't even even have names anymore. A grave marker made of sticks can't give you a clue to who is buried 6 feet under. A parched residue of dried up bones that's all.. But with that picture,I can dream. I can make up in my mind the face to face gun fight on the pebbly street. I can hear the music of a honky tonk piano drifting out from the saloon. I can see the dust on a cowboy's chaps. The lather foaming up on his horse hitched up to a post. The fallen flowers standing outside the little house with the red lantern. I can hear the clicking of spurs as the sheriff makes his rounds.

Who in the hell am I kidding?I guess maybe it was like that. Hell,I've seen enough John Wayne movies. Instead of mounting Ol' Silver,I'll slide inside my air conditioned car and maybe ride across the Rio Grande. I'll pretend to find the spot just on the other side of Judge Roy Bean's Texas Lily Bar and Courtroom where Bob Fitzsimmons and Peter Maher duked it out in ring set up in the dirt with all the rocks and broken twigs and everyone had to stand around. To think they had to put the fight there in all places because prize fighting was considered too brutal, thus making it unlawful in Texas!. Men toting six shooters and Geronimo runnin' wild and you can't have a prize fight because it's barbaric.I bet they didn't even clear the rattlesnakes out of the ring before Fitz and Maher went after each other.At least they left the blood in the dirt.Now it's time for me to fill up the Hyundai with gas and giddy up.

http://imgur.com/V3LTsBk

"Ruby" Robert

Eggbeaters

You've said it. I've often said it.
"That fighter doesn't have a punch."
"He can't punch his way out of a paper bag."
"He couldn't break an egg."
Watching boxing on TV or being at the arena can be deceiving if one thinks there really isn't much to the sport as far as acquiring the skills needed to become proficient. Many a street fighter has swaggered into a boxing gym thinking he can knock the block off the shoulder of the toughest guy in the house.Before Jake LaMotta was thrown into reform school he said he had at least a thousand street fights. He boasted that he liked to fight.That's a pretty good prerequisite if you want to start to indulge making a living with the gloves on.A priest talked to Jake after he got out of solitary(for fighting)and persuaded him that he could channel his aggressiveness in the school's boxing gym.After he was assigned to the gym, he bumped into his old pal(and partner in crime) from the Bronx, Rocky Graziano.The two teenage thugs had similar traits when they wanted something or if someone rubbed them the wrong way -they let their hands go.

Well,Rocky was on his way out of the slammer.He offered a bit of advice to his buddy Jake.
"If you want to make it easy on yourself in here,start working out in the gym.If you become good enough you'll get into tournaments,and won't have to put up with being harassed by the screws. It worked out that way for me."
Well,Jake was loaded with confidence and a surplus of testosterone and he was convinced. He wanted to start at the top,of course,and set his sights on the baddest dude in lockup. Prancing around in the ring was this heavyweight who just as full of himself as LaMotta.Without any prior boxing training, Jake put out a challenge.Rocky quickly interjected.
"Jake don't mess with that guy.He's not only mean,but he knows how to handle himself. I even stayed away from him."
That's all Jake needed to hear.He leveled another threat at the big guy and the big guy waved him up to the ring so he could bash his brains in.And that's almost what literally happened.LaMotta couildn't even hold his gloves up after a round let alone land a purposeful punch.LaMotta vowed he'd train and learn the skills necessary to beat that Mr. Confidence. Eventually,with the determination of a raging bull,Jake not only beat him,but knocked him out.It took a year to do it.The point I'm trying to make is that it takes a very long time to find yourself as a fighter. You can win the decathlon in the Olympics.That won't translate to being a successful fighter.You can be big and strong.That doesn't mean you can throw punches with mean intentions.After LaMotta got out of the stir,he trained diligently in the gym.His path to the middleweight title took super human effort.

I've worked out with fighters.Working out means sparring.Most of the time when I was in there with a pro or a good amateur they would pull their punches. Sometimes they'd want you to press them to give them some work. I wasn't very good, so they held back with me most of the time.But just to let me know who was the boss,they'd get the kinks out of their arms and open up.I remember a few times they had to break up the carnage. I used to go home with headaches.I knew real quick that football and weightlifting wouldn't give me a migraine.

When I was hanging around the old Coliseum,I'd want to test myself with some of the good boys. Ken Norton tested my face and gave me a souvenir broken nose. There was a lightheavy at the time who showed a lot of promise.He was a real cutey.I never landed a clean punch on him. We got to know each other a bit.One day his wife talked to me about some marital difficulties. Like an idiot I took time to hear her vent.Well.she went back and told her fighter husband. He came looking for me.When he finally tracked me down, he said he wanted to kick my ass.If you look at his record it wasn't filled up with a lot of knockout wins,but I felt his power in those sparring sessions. I apologized and backed off. He never spoke to me again.

Burke Emery,I would say.was the most prominent trainer in San Diego at the time.Art Hafey,who had a deep dish beauty of a left hook,credited Burke for teaching him how to dispatch the punch.One afternoon Burke wanted to model his left hook to his prospects.He called me up to the ring so he could demonstrate.
"Just keep your elbow at your side.I won't hit you hard."
Well,he lied. His power was up there with Norton's.Believe me, if my elbow hadn't caught most of it, they would have put me on the liver transplant list. But you can look up Burke's boxing record.He was well below 50 percent stoppages.

You can make a list of the fighters who probably had their careers hurt because they didn't render their opponents unconscious every outing.They couldn't afford to get too far behind on points going into the late rounds because they didn't have that "punchers chance." Opponents weren't exactly shaking in their boxing shoes before the opening gong. Nobody got psyched out fighting "Slapsey" Maxie Rosenbloom. He's one right off the top of my head. Joey Maxim was another. They were both champs,but the public wasn't drawn to them because they went the distance most of the time.They could confuse and frustrate a big banger,but it didn't make them pull in the big purses. Willie Pep , Pretty Boy,and Roy Jones(when he was at his peak) were exceptions,but it was watching magic in the ring with them.

But whether it's a legend with a scant amount of KO's on his books or the club fighter with a similar number of short finishes,going in there with a pro like that,more or less your size,and thinking you can take it without any consequences,all I can say is,I hope you have a comprehensive health insurance plan.


http://imgur.com/h5FF9Wk

"Slapsey" Maxie Rosenbloom

Hole In The Fence

After old Vargas died,I'd once in awhile drop in to visit his widow.Vargas never made much money fighting,but he did manage to buy a house in Centro near Parque Guerrero.It's a small shack of a place,but it was something he had, and now his widow lives there with her daughter and granddaughter.It was late afternoon when I knocked on the door. I could smell through the screen the frijoles cooking on the stove.The radio was on playing ranchera music. Vargas's widow came to the door. When she peered through the screen and saw me, she smiled and wiped her hands on her apron.
"Rogelio!Milagro! Pasate por favor."
The old woman opened the door. The cat scampered outside.
"Sientete Rogelio. Here on the sofa. Can I get you something to drink or eat?"
"No Lupe,gracias."
I sat down on the sofa.Lupe turned down the volume of the radio. Her gray hair was braided in a long pigtail .She looked very matronly.She had gained weight since her husband passed away.She wore no makeup.Her voice was very delicate and her smile sweet.Her cheeks were full and rosy.She was always, in some way, smiling.
"Rogelio,you sure I can't get you anything?A cup of coffee?"
"A cup of coffee would be nice,gracias."
Vargas's widow went to the pantry and pulled out a jar of instant coffee.
"I remember you like your coffee black,"she said.
As Lupe was heating a pot of water on the stove,I noticed the sepia picture on the wall in the sala. The stoic faces of Lupe,Vargas and her children were typical of the Mexican pose. Vargas was sitting down,Lupe stood behind him,the children at their sides. The picture was put in a heavy ornate wood frame.The sala was very clean and neatly arranged.The flowered wallpaper had faded.It was a very simple pattern.
"How are things with you?"I asked Lupe as she brought me the coffee.The cup was on a saucer.Lupe put the cup down on the table in front of me She then placed a folded napkin next to the cup and saucer.
"I'm doing well Rogelio. My daughter is working at a restaurant by the Presa. It takes her almost two hours to get home by riding the bus."
"And your sons?"
"Pedro is up in Indio,California.His wife is working on his papers to be a citizen.He sends his mother a hundred dollars a month.Chelisito,the last I heard from Pedro,is in Atlanta.That's how you say it,Atlanta?"
"Is he doing well?"
"He was deported and crossed again. The Migra is looking for him. He gives me constant worries."
"I remember when me and Vargas had to get him out of Calle Ocho after Vargas fought in the bullring."
"All the money my husband made that night went to get Chelisito out of jail,"she said smiling sadly.
"Anything else going on?"I asked Lupe.
"No.I take care of my granddaughter. I walk her home from school. I clean and wash.Sometimes I clean and wash in some office buildings downtown. Everyone knows me. I run errands.I eat well.It helped that my husband was a fighter in that way.He was well liked."
"Everywhere we went I don't think we ever had to buy a drink,"I exclaimed boasting.
"But he never came home with any money after a fight.He spent it all in the cantinas."
I was little taken aback. I felt that I contributed to Vargas blowing all his money away, but I certainly wasn't the only guy he went out with when he went on a night on the town.I remember him setting up many a bar for round after round of drinks.Vargas always made sure that he grabbed one of the Mariachi bands standing on the corner of 1st and Revolution to follow us around . They didn't work cheap And of course the whores weren't going to f--k us for free.
"Sometimes he'd bring some of the fighters along with him,"said Lupe."That's when I knew I wouldn't see him for days."
"Didn't Jose Napoles and him get in a fight with the police one night?"
"That was in Mexico City. Mantequilla owned a cantina. Some police came in one night and started to drink heavily. Afterwards they refused to pay. My husband and Mantequilla beat them up and stripped off their clothes until they came up with the money. They couldn't leave without their clothes." Lupe looked up at the ceiling and let out a great laugh.
"I would have liked to have been there that night,"I said.
Lupe gathered herself.
"You know Rogelio,I never saw Vargas fight. It would have worried me.Vargas? Nothing bothered him."
There was a brief silence.
"Rogelio,I have a comadre that lives in the Coahuila.She says there is a hole in the fence. At night sometimes she crosses to the other side."
"What does she do?"
"Oh,she says the Migra is always waiting. They grab her and take her back to Tijuana. She wants me to go with her some night."
"Are you going to go?"I asked her.
"No Rogelio,"Lupe said with a sigh."Besides, who would walk my granddaughter home from school?"

http://imgur.com/Egqu9eR

Jose Napoles

The Night They Shot Diamond Joe

My father always lamented,"If my father had only lived, everything would have been different."
His sister Jeanette always came across with the same logic. I heard the same rhetoric from my grandmother(Diamond Joe's wife)."We had a happy family.Then he was murdered and nothing was ever the same."
I never heard my Uncle Chuck with the sour grapes though. He wanted no part of that gangster life. He would once and awhile talk about the night his father was gunned down,but he never aspired to be a "made man". He was better off thinking ahead and not make any excuses if he happened to stub his toe along the path of life.

My Uncle Chuck was named after Illinois Senator Charles Dineen who served in congress during Diamond Joe's pinnacle of power in Chicago. In fact, it was Senator Dineen that coaxed my grandfather not to step down as alderman of the 19th ward in Chicago,commonly know as the"Patch." The night before they killed my grandfather,he got an anonymous call telling him if he didn't withdraw from the race,he'd get whacked. My grandfather was the only Republican alderman in Chicago at the time. Senator Dineen,also a Republican,wanted my grandfather to kind of hold the fort against the Democratic constituents and the Democratic mayor who was in Al Capone's pocket,Big Bill Thompson. It was Thompson who pressured Capone to resolve this "problem" of my grandfather.

What was hard to understand was it was Diamond Joe who called for a young Al Capone to come to Chicago from Brooklyn(through Frankie Yale) and be sort of a gangster understudy.Capone ate in my grandfather's restaurant,The Bella Napoli,on a regular basis.Dion O'Banion even tried to bribe the cook(for ten grand) to put prussic acid in Al's pasta. The cook went to my grandfather and Capone went on enjoying his linguini without any experiencing any indigestion. However the jerk who approached the cook was found in an alley with his guts blown out.

But like with all those mob guys,there are falling outs. My grandfather backed the Genna brothers in their aspirations to run a part of the bootlegging racket. That rubbed Capone the wrong way. It seemed everybody was shooting everybody. The Irish mob was shooting Italians and vis versa.Italians were rubbing out Italians,and the cops didn't care who they shot.I remember my mother telling me that her big sister,Katherine,was going out with Mike Genna. That put a scare in their mother. Mike was eventually run down and shot to death in the street. As a cop bent over the dying Genna,he asked the Sicilian who shot him. Genna waved his trembling hand to the cop. As the cop got closer,Mike kicked him in the face.

So as time went on,it was my grandfather who became a mark.If you want to move up in the mob world,you shoot the guy above you.Makes sense. Christ,if I got a phone call saying get out of the race or you're dead,I'd be checking the want ads for different employment.But Diamond Joe just shrugged the threat off,"No, Senator Dineen wants me to stay on. Besides,it's only a bluff."
Well,on the night of March 21st as Diamond Joe was walking back from a hod carriers union meeting(he was the president) with his two body guards,the Varchetti brothers, at his side, he stopped to buy some fruit at a stand a half block from his front porch of his house(sounds like Vito Corleone when he got it that way in the Godfather).My father and his sister were waiting for him on the steps.They made a move off the porch.
"No,no. stay there,"said Dimey."I'm just getting some fruit."
Just then the car swings along side the trio. The Varchetti brothers drop to the pavement. My grandfather is standing there alone. The two assassins leap from the car and start blasting away with sawed off shotguns, They pulled 58 garlic soaked pellets from my grandfather's body.That was it. My father and sister ran up to their father lying in the street.They were screaming like banshees. One of the Varchetti brothers held them back.

There was a funeral. it was bigger than O'Banion's.It was the biggest in the history of Chicago.Planes dropped roses from the sky.It made all the papers. Of course no one was apprehended. Capone told my grandmother,"It was a mistake."My father then went to live in the Capone household for several years until Al's wife,Mae,said my father was a bad influence on their Sonny(Al Jr.). Between Capone and my grandmother draining the millions that my grandfather had amassed,the Esposito family drifted off to obscurity.As the years went on and on,it was the lamenting of those Prohibition Days in Chicago when Diamond Joe Esposito was in control. The dago from Acerra,Italy,who who started with nothing and became the Godfather of Chicago before there was a Capone or a Nitti or a Paul "the Waiter" Ricca or a Sam Giancana and a Tony Accardo. Diamond Joe brought them in and showed them the ropes.Without my grandfather,they would never of had any juice.

My grandfather not only was the made man with the mob(eventually known as the Outfit),but he was on personal terms with figures like Al Jolson,Jack Dempsey,Joe Kennedy(Kennedy kept my grandfather's speakeasys supplied with Haig and Haig),Red Grange, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks,Charlie Chaplin,Jane Addams(the founder of Hull House),He even had President Coolidge's number on hand if he needed to get in touch.

But if you're gonna' go, that's the way:in a hail of lead real fast,no suffering,no pain. And besides,it makes for a better story.



The funeral

The casket






Diamond Joe putting out a spread for the orphan kids

A Tale From The Patch






After Diamond Joe was gunned down in Chicago,his family rapidly fell apart. His wife, Carmela ,never had any responsibilities outside of being a wife and mother.which in the Italian community were paramount.However ,she wasn't up to the task with either of those responsibilities. In a way she can't be faulted too much. Diamond Joe was 44 years old when he spotted her in the Patch walking down the street with her sister. She was 16 then. Dimey summoned one of his boys to approach her and relay Diamond Joe's intentions. The ritual consisted of my grandfather to ask her mother for the honor of taking her daughter off her hands.Carmela, one of 23 children,his future mother in law had no qualms. Besides,it was the Don of the Southwest Side who would not only remove one plate from their table,but become their cash cow. Funny story. Before the permission was granted as my grandfather,wearing his best suit and holding flowers and candy,was getting acquainted with Mrs. Marchese in the parlor,he noticed that after an inordinate amount of time,young Carmela had not emerged from her room. My grandfather finally pressed the issue with Signora Marchese.
"I'll ask my daughter to come out when you bring in your son,"answered the nervous woman.
"I am the person that wants to marry your daughter!" he exclaimed.
So much for awkwardness.
They were married .It was something so extravagant that the cost of the wine alone was over 20 thousand dollars. But the union was a shaky one from the start. Diamond Joe was one the most notorious philanderers who ever lived. Being as powerful and influential as he was,he'd often ,after granting favors and giving permission for some young immigrant to take a wife,make the prospective groom let him bed his future bride before the illiterate dago could bust her cherry. My mother was the only person that I ever knew speak disrespectively of Diamond Joe.

My grandfather was often out all the time with his "boys" or whoring around. It drove my grandmother crazy. She was so young. She didn't know much about being a mother. When she'd cry to her family,they told her to shut up and bear it.Diamond Joe was paying the bills and sending her brothers to run errands.My grandmother had servants and maids to do most of the domestic chores. Sometimes Dimey would come home after a night with his crew and find his wife jumping rope with the colored maid,Susie. But my grandmother had that dago temper and she wouldn't suppress it when she felt she needed to enact some form of retribution. She'd cut her husbands suits with a scissors or hurl dishes in his direction.My grandfather wouldn't get served anything to eat in his house for a few days. He knew how to back off. He never hit her,but just came to conclusions that he just needed to be more discreet with his immoralities.

After his death there was no more semblance of any type of structure even though the foundations were built by my grandfathers blueprints. Capone and the mob took everything Diamond Joe had built up.His pride and joy,the Bella Napoli Restaurant,was raided by the feds. It shortly had to close its doors. My father went off to live with the Capone's. His sister Jeanette later married an alcoholic.His younger brother Chuckie went into the service.He never had the charisma of his father nor his brother. I think he suffered from depression. My grandmother remarried a thug named Ladero. They had a boy they named, Anthony. My father despised this Ladero character. My father,with the help of the Outfit,got him deported back to Italy.

My grandmother lived with Jeanette and her two boys in Diamond Joe's house until my grandmother sold the property to the University of Illinois at Chicago. That corner of Polk and Oakley is now part of the campus.However venture one step outside the campus and you fall into an abyss of one of the most rundown and dangerous ghettos in the U.S. The last time I visited the area,I didn't see any footprints. But I have to admit I was so bummed out,I didn't try searching with any vigor.

It's sad to say that my father never cared for his mother very much. She may have had to put up with Diamond Joe's shenanigans,but after his death she transformed into a brusque uncaring human being. She was always belittling my father. He wouldn't take that S--t from anyone,but her.It wasn't that he was afraid of her. I think he felt if his father had lived he would have been put on the right path in life. His mother cared about no one but herself. She swore like a Marine. They threw her out of the Catholic Woman's Club because she cheated at cards, She was always "falling" out of cabs and then trying to sue the cab company.(The word got around not pick up her fare anymore).The final straw that drove the final wedge between my father and his mother was when my father took a trip back to Chicago. It would be his first and last one. I don't know what his purpose was,but I knew he was going to visit his father's mausoleum.An homage to the most important person in his life.I remember going to the mausoleum with my father when I was a kid. I couldn't believe they could bury someone in a building.Inside there were benches and an altar and a painting of my grandfather. My father would light candles on the altar and pray. When my father arrived at Mt. Carmel Cemetery, to his horror,his father's mausoleum was gone.Turned out my grandmother made a quick score by selling the plot and then having her husband's remains put on the perimeter of the graveyard with a small stone to mark the resting place. That was the final straw. They never talked to each other again .My grandmother died 30 years later. Before she passed away she knew she didn't have much longer to live. She was well into her 90's. She would call on the phone. My father would hang up on her. Once in awhile I'd answer.My grandmother said she wanted to reconcile with her son.My father stubbornly refused to have anything to do with her. When she died,he got the news from his half brother,Anthony.I remember the expressionless look on my father's face. He didn't go back for the funeral. He didn't go back ,and he had stopped praying a long time ago.



Diamond Joe on his wedding day

Roger, I found some interesting items pertaining to Diamond Joe Esposito and his immediate family on Ancestry.com. They include:

1. In the U.S. Passport Applications, 1795-1925 database, there is a 1924 application in digital form on which one Joseph Esposito listed himself; wife, Carmela; son, Joseph; and daughter, Jeanette. A small photograph of the entire family was affixed to the application. According to information on the application, Esposito was born on March 27, 1872; arrived in New York City about August 1894 while emigrating from Italy to the U.S.; and was naturalized on May 12, 1912.

2. In the U.S. Census Records database, there is a record in digital form of the entire family at the time they were living in Chicago, Illinois during 1920. in the 1920 U.S. Census Records.

3. In the New York, Passenger Lists, 1820-1957 database, there is a record in digital form of the entire family showing that they sailed aboard the S.S. Conte Rosso from Naples, Italy on August 22, 1924 and arrived in New York City on September 1, 1924.

4. In the U.S. Naturalization Record Indexes, 1791-1992 database, there is a card in digital form of one Guisseppe Esposito, a resident of Chicago, Illinois. According to the information on the card, Esposito was born on August 8, 1872 in Italy, arrived in the United States by way of New York City on September 6, 1894 and was naturalized May 21, 1912.

In the U.S Census Records database, there is a record in digital form of the Esposito family at the time they were living on Oakley Boulevard in Chicago during 1940. The members of the household included "Carmello," a 42-year-old widow and the head of the household; Jeanette, 20 years of age; Charles, 15 years of age, Anthony, 5 years of age; Joseph, a 24-year-old married man; and Mary, a 24-year-old married woman and the daughter-in-law of "Carmello." As the sole member of the household who had a stated income, Joseph worked as a "foreman" and earned a total of $2,080. during 1939. Jeanette was listed as a "new worker." The family owned their home, which was valued at $6,000.

Note- According to at least one source, the median annual income for an American man was $956. during 1940. It appears that Joseph was earning a good income for a young American man at the time.

- Chuck Johnston

Thanks Chuck When the family returned from Naples,my father boasted to reporters that he had eaten horse meat. Unlike Mexico ,where eating horse meat is taboo,in Italy(at least back then)it was a very common practice.My father in 1940 was working for Meadowmoor Dairy which was founded by Al Capone .It was the first dairy to regulate and test milk for proper pasteurization. Their testing set a precedent.

http://imgur.com/Wox1aqS

When Capone decided to open up a dairy,he did it to make a quick buck."Think of all these slobs having babies.They gotta' drink milk!"

Al Capone,your friendly neighborhood milkman

Baby Face

Aileen Eaton was a pretty crafty promotor at the Olympic Auditorium. The cards from the Olympic Auditorium were shown on local television on Thursday nights during the 1970's. Very seldom was there a telecast of a main event. The semi mains were broadcast ,and between bouts Mrs. Eaton would talk up the main event or future main events that featured some of the best talent in the world of boxing. It was a very memorable time in the Southland.

Often ,Mrs. Eaton would bring in a fighter who was going to be featured in an upcoming main event to pump up the interest.Let me tell you,there was plenty of stimulation going on in LA between what she had on the docket and what George Parnassus had brewing on his end. I remember watching one of those Thursday night broadcasts when Mrs. Eaton brought in Danny Lopez for an interview. Any fight featuring "Little" Red with an opponent really didn't need much chatter.As I was watching their talk,my father stepped into the living room. My father wasn't into the fight game like he was in Chicago. Maybe it was because between Mrs. Eaton and George Parnassus had a plethora of lighter Latino fighters to fill their venues.I know my father longed for the Marcianos,Basilios,LaMottas,and similar ilk. The Black fighters he wasn't too interested in.Anyway ,my father halted in front of the television set peering at the screen.
"Who's that kid?" he asked me gruffly.
"That's Danny Lopez,"I said.
"Is he supposed to be a fighter?"
"He's the champ.He can really crack."I said trying to emphasize "Little Red's" prowess.
"Well,he looks like a wimp to me,"my father said knowing that any further accolades would fall on deaf ears.
My father walked away.i don't think he ever saw Danny fight.

Well,Ok,he looked at Danny for the first time,never seeing him exhibit his skills and courage in the ring,and concluded "Little Red" had little to offer as the embodiment of masculinity.I would often contrast Danny with his older and bigger brother Ernie.Danny was soft spoken.The night during that interview,Danny was sporting a styled hairdo. He weighed around 120 and change.His voice was barely audible.He was fair skinned,sandy speckled hair.He had a baby face.I mean if you didn't know his backround,I don't think he'd cause you break out in a nervous sweat.But unless I sat down with my dad at ringside to see Danny duke it out with Olivares,"School Boy",Art Hafey,Mike Ayala,and Salvador Sanchez,for a sampling,my father's first impression would stand.

Well,I saw most of Danny's big fights(and not so big)and we all know what his composition was made of:nails,grit,blood and guts.For a kid who looked like the type you'd want your daughter to go out with,he was one of the most courageous fighters to ever lace them up.I see Danny once in awhile,mostly at the Southland's boxing banquets and fundraisers. He's a standup guy. I'm saying that to the people that have never met him.His wife,Bonnie,is a caring, beautiful creature,a paragon of a soulmate.

At one of the World Boxing Hall of Fame get togethers,I had some conversation with the champ. I expressed my condolences of the passing of his brother.
"He took a lot of shots,"said Danny.
Danny didn't seem depressed.He hadn't seen Ernie for many years.When "Indian Red" was found in a homeless shelter in the Midwest,he was united again with his brother. Sadly,by that time Ernie had slipped profoundly. It was the common bittersweet demise of a fighter.
During that WBHOF Banquet ,I brought in some of my artwork sharing half the proceeds for the Hall. I didn't break any records,but I really didn't sulk about it.I said beforehand that I wouldn't hawk a painting to a fighter. I've given many paintings to fighters and their families freely and without a scintllla of remorse.It makes me feel good.

The WBHOF event was wrapping up. I began gathering my unsold art and loading it on a cart to take out to my car.I saw Danny being led out of the banquet room holding Bonnie's arm.
"You still have that painting I did of you?"I asked them.
"Oh,yes,"said Bonnie."It's hanging over the fireplace."
As they walked, Bonnie noticed my portrait of Ernie.
"Look,"she said softly to her husband.
They stood before the painting in silence.
"Please,Danny.Take it.You should have it,"I said quickly.
I grabbed the painting and gave it Danny without looking at him and walked away.If they said anything,I didn't hear it nor did I want to.

http://imgur.com/lQRRibA

Danny and Bonnie Lopez
http://imgur.com/L17v3Wg
The Champ and me,Notice the size of his fists.





http://imgur.com/3rdlsEN

Big bro,the late "Indian Red"

Ice Cream Man

Lionel used to be a fighter. He was in my grade in school.He wasn't what you'd call a Rhodes Scholar.In fact I remember all his classes were in the basement of the high school where they put all the remedial courses. They didn't want the "slower" kids mixing with the more advanced students.And then they figured those kids in the basement also didn't have the social graces like the smart kids.I don't think the remedial kids would have cared if they would have been relocated to the main floor,but I had a feeling it was the mainstreamers and their parents that wanted to keep Lionel and his group under street level.

Lionel was one of the few Mexican kids at the school. Actually,he was a Chicano,but thinking back I don't think that word had been invented yet,so Lionel was a Mexican even though he didn't speak Spanish. His father cut hair and had his own little shop with one chair on the edge of the exclusive neighborhood. The old nan's name was Ray and he used to be a fighter.He was born in Mexico and he told me that he did most of his fightin' south of the border. He said he was a bantamweight and looking at the size of him in his shop barbering,he still looked like he could make his fighting weight.

Like I mentioned before,Lionel was no academic whiz. When we was all seniors and talking about going to college,Lionel was thinking of finding a job after school was done with.But Lionel also didn't have what it takes to punch a time clock five days a week or break his back swinging a pick and shovel. He thought about going down to the docks and getting on one of the tuna boats,but the Portugese had a corner on that market and Lionel, being Mexican, figured if he did latch on, the Portagees would make his life miserable. So Lionel approaches his father about being a fighter. His father says that he should stay away from something were all the odds are against you like fighting and become barber.Well,I know deep down inside Lionel thought that cutting hair was demeaning,especially for a Mexican in an all white neighborhood.Lionel wanted to give fighting a whirl. His father laid down the ground rules:no drugs,no getting drunk,no spending too much time with the dames.Lionel gave his promise.

Lionel must have looked like his father when his dad was fighting in the arenas and bullrings in Mexico. He was dark skinned(I remember watching him train at the Coliseum.The other Mexican fighters gave him the nickname"Negro").He could eat like a horse and make 118 in his street clothes. His hair was jet black and thick,his face kind of gaunt,he had skinny legs that went up to a skinny torso. But he didn't look weak.He was wiry and always on the balls of his feet when he fought.He didn't sock with a lot of power like some of those hitters in that division like Olivares and Medel,but he could sure box pretty, His dad taught him that. In fact his dad trained him. Being a "cutey" and a southpaw to boot,I know a lot guys at first moving up in the division avoided Lionel.He fought in San Diego.He had some fights at the Olympic Auditorium,and of course, he could be seen in all the Tijuana venues.

His career started off on a pretty good footing. As a prelim guy ,I don't think he lost,but once he began fighting ten rounders,he started to slip. He'd lose one,then he'd win two. Then he'd lose two and win one.Then he was losing three four in a row and he didn't get anymore main events.He was a "stepping stone."After awhile his skin started opening up and now they were stopping his fights on cuts.His father couldn't take it anymore and walked away,but Lionel continued with it. I didn't go to watch him anymore.

I don't remember when Li0nel finally had had enough. I heard the commission took away his license.The next time I saw him was many years later.It was by accident. I was with my little grandchildren teaching them how to ride their brand new bicycles I got them for Christmas.We heard the ice cream truck coming down the street playing its usual little jingle. Well,it was a hot day and I was tired of seeing my grandkids fall off their bikes(I think I put too much stress on them)so i called time out and waved over the truck. The truck pulled to the side and stopped.The truck was old with a spare tire on the back left side. The truck was dented up and there rust spots.A faded sign advertised what the menu was. The ice cream man got out and opened the back door. Like a snow cone on a hot day,I about melted. I couldn't believe my eyes. Even though it had been over 20 years,the ice cream man was unmistakenly,Lionel. His thick mop of hair had turned gray and his shoulders stooped,but it was him. He shuffled his feet and I could see his hand shake as he was organizing his goods in the freezer. To pacify the kids that crowded the back of the truck and to make room for myself,I said I would "treat" everybody.I went up to Lionel. He hadn't noticed me.
"Lionel!"I yelled.
He slowly looked around.
"Lionel! Hey old buddy it's me,Roger.What the hell !?"
He sort of half smiled as the kids were shoving their way through to him.
"How's it going?"he said meekly.
His eyes didn't focus on me.
"Lionel,let these kids have anything they want.It's on me."
He didn't say anything.Now I knew this conversation wasn't going to end like I wanted.
"I drive the ice cream truck now,"he said with a soft voice.
"That's great," I said knowing that my heart was not in it anymore.
"The company is in National City. I live with my mother still."
"How's things going?"
"I like driving the truck.i like that the kids like the ice cream."
By now the kids had their grips on ice cream bars,popsicles,and snowcones,
"The school is having a thirty year reunion,"he said. "They sent me a letter,but I have to drive the truck that day."
"Can't you get out of it?"
"I'd rather drive the truck. The kids look forward to seeing me."
"That's cool. I got an invite too. I'm not going either."
Lionel was looking at the kids scarfing on their ice cream.
"Well,what do I owe you Lionel?"
"Five dollars and nine cents."
"Here's a twenty, Lionel,"I said pulling out the bill from my pocket.
"I don't think I have change,"he said looking down at his feet.
"Don't worry.Just give the kids more ice cream."
"Do you want any change back,"asked Lionel.
"Naw,just give them twenty dollars worth.
The kids got all excited and were jumping up and down.I could see Lionel carefully sorting out the rest of the twenty dollars worth of ice cream to the kids. I could see that he was absorbed ,so I snuck away. As I watched Lionel and the kids,I could see why he didn't want to go to that reunion.

http://imgur.com/Pmfc6a9

Joe Medel

Dude, what a great story. Pug-alley claims another one. Strange how I always envision myself in your stories. I pictured the street I lived on when we lived on the west side and the good-humor man showing up and it was Lionel. Great pic of Joe Medel also. His brush-cut really popped when I would see those black and whites of him in the fight pose. I was watching a youtube of him the other day - towards the end of his great career - against Efren Torres. Man, did they go at it. That was the kind of fight that made us fight fans.

scartissue wrote:Dude, what a great story. Pug-alley claims another one. Strange how I always envision myself in your stories. I pictured the street I lived on when we lived on the west side and the good-humor man showing up and it was Lionel. Great pic of Joe Medel also. His brush-cut really popped when I would see those black and whites of him in the fight pose. I was watching a youtube of him the other day - towards the end of his great career - against Efren Torres. Man, did they go at it. That was the kind of fight that made us fight fans.

Thanks Dan.Gaspar Ortega was another guy who sported that haircut. BTW,I was watching YouTube last night. There's an interview with Jose Napoles that was made by a Mexican reporter. It's in Spanish. They're inside his house in Ciudad Juarez where I visited him. Napoles's wife is there.She looks beaten down.Man,has he slipped since I saw him several years ago. His wife was very worried.She was fighting back tears. I guess Jose is suffering from diabetes,prostrate cancer,the aftermaths of stroke , a car accident,and is in the throes of dementia. She has to dress him,shave him,give him baths. She takes him to specialists,but they say there is nothing much than can do for him. Napoles can barely talk.He rambles on incoherently.He was lying down. I saw a hospital bed in the living room. No one will let him starve.There are people that always make sure that he can pay his bills and have food to eat. But what can you say?The end is never nice. At least he can say that he was the champ,and a great one.

http://imgur.com/x68ep9r

My favorite fighter with my painting I gave to him in front of his house in Ciudad juarez.2014

Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Since my grandson Adam got on the wrestling team at his school he doesn't frequent the boxing gym anymore. But once in awhile I drop by the ol' place to keep tabs on things. Tiger's there putting the membership through their paces. He's got a small stable of fighters also.Of course, his son Prince is working out everyday.Tiger Smalls is one of the most amiable guys you'd want to meet.He still keeps himself trim and has that easy going manner. He treats everyone like a friend.I've never heard him get upset. Even when one of his proteges got a little too cocky in a sparring session with Tiger and hit him on the break splitting his Tiger lip,Tiger just shook his head and toweled off.. The proprietor of the gym put Tiger's name on the front of the building.Tiger knows how to make the membership feel at ease. 99% of the people that workout are there for the exercise,but they also want to pick up some skills. Tiger, a former featherweight who has enough under his belt to teach what the sport is all about,can size up someone and accordingly exhibit to that person's capabilities.

San Diego isn't what you'd call a hot bed for fighting. Back in the day it took a back seat to LA and even Tijuana had bigger cards,but today San Diego hardly shows a blip on the radar. Tiger still wants to get things going for his son Prince. He hasn't lost as a pro featherweight,but breaking in with the big time promotors is a sacrifice. The other day I dropped by to catch up on the latest. Tiger was in the midst of putting a mixed group of males and females through their exercises. Tiger doesn't back off,but he doesn't have cruel intensions when he pushes. After a session everyone is sweaty and happy. I waited until tiger blew the whistle and then walked over to him.
"What's the latest?"I asked him.
"Hey,champ. Where have you been?I need to ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"What's the name of that gym in Tijuana that all the Mexican fighters train at?"
"You mean the CREA?"
"Yeah,that's it.I need to get Prince down there.You think we can go ?He needs to get better sparring in. I know he can get the work in LA,but Tijuana is closer."
"Sure,but it's a hassle crossing the border everyday.I've got a Sentri pass. You guys don't.Sometimes it takes 4 or 5 hours to get back across."
Tiger kind of let it drop after that.
"I see the same faces around here,"I said changing the subject."They must like it here. with you."
Tiger let out a laugh.
"Yeah,it's kind of family."
Boxing gyms are like that:kind of family. There's no room for any dissension. The locker room lawyer is a poison.
"I don't see that guy Benny .Does he still come around?"I asked.
"Naw,he kept shooting his mouth off. You couldn't ignore the guy.He just kept it up.You know.Muhammad Ali was a bum. Floyd Mayweather is a bum.Everyone tried to stay away from him,but he wouldn't shut up.Thought he knew everything.Finally,I told him to leave and not come back. He got pretty sore."
"A guy who's been around fighting doesn't talk that way about fighters,"I said." The guy was a fraud."
"Well he's off limits in here,"said Tiger.
"Well,I just dropped by to see what's going on.Anything else?"
"Remember Petey,who used to fight at the Coliseum?I was on a few cards with him."
"Sure."
"He's starting to lose his memory."
"That's too bad."
"I guess it starts with the short term stuff. You mention something and he forgets what you just said."
"I hope for the best with him. I remember his fight with Chango Carmona.They must have thrown a hundred dollars into the ring after that fight."
Tiger paused for a second.
"I wonder if I'll get that way?" he said under his breath.
"No.Of course not."
Tiger grinned a little.
"Hey Tiger I got to get going.I'll keep in touch.I'll go over to say hello to Prince first."
"Good to see ya' champ. Find out what you can about TJ."
Prince was skipping rope wearing a rubber suit.I said a quick hello. He winked back at me. As I walked to my car,I hoped that Tiger wouldn't start slipping , and I was sure glad that they threw that Benny out of the gym.

http://imgur.com/cDGp83I
Chango Carmona




http://imgur.com/ZjZ9Ykm

A happy father and son

Always Good For 15 Hundred

When Sid Flaherty brought Denny Moyer down to San Diego ,one reason was for Moyer to keep an eye on Ronnie Wilson.Ronnie was with Flaherty's camp and at that time his career was in a flux. Flaherty rushed Wilson along too fast. I worked with Wilsons wife's father who would often be in his son in law's corner.He would complain that Flaherty would have Ronnie in there too soon before his cuts would have time to heal properly. Or Sid would have Ronnie fight against a guy he had already beaten easily.Wilson in a very short span had a lot of fights:something like a hundred fights by the time he was a quarter century old.So it really didn't matter if a veteran and former champ like Moyer came into the fold.One of my goomba buddies was a guy named Pat Vetere who had roomed with Wilson. I got to confess that between Pat and me,and Denny Moyer,and a plethora of others, we didn't keep any eyes open when it came to the welfare of Ronnie Wilson's training regimen,or Denny Moyer's.

As Wilson's hell for leather fighting schedule burned him out prematurely,Denny Moyer'r similar kind of fighting assignments didn't take its toll as suddenly. Moyer ,by the time he arrived in San Diego,had been around the block more than once .Born in Portland, Oregon into a fighting family,the once baby faced kid,was moving along successfully in a welterweight division that was loaded.Fighting the likes of Johnny Saxton,Gaspar Ortega,Tony Dupas,and Vince Martinez(all in his home state of Oregon), Sudden Sid rushed Denny into a championship bout with Don Jordan in Portland. Denny wasn't ready yet for that kind of step up.He lost a decision that was pretty clear cut.But Flaherty was still making moves and Moyer was still an important player. Going up and down between welter and junior middleweight Denny was fighting main events against the ceam of the crop:Charley Scott,Ray Robinson,Jorge Fernandez,Emile Griffith,Joey Archer,Joey Giambra,and Ted Wright. Sometimes he'd lose and sometimes he'd win.

Hanging around the fighters ,who had the fans filling the seats at the Coliseum in San Diego,I'd hear a lot of what was going on and what had transpired. One night while Moyer and his entourage(me included) were bending elbows at a downtown watering hole,he reamarked that he could see the light flickering out after his loss to Luis Rodriguez.
"I kept falling into that bolo punch.I took a beating that night,"he said as we were all getting beat up drinking round after round of the liquid variety."I knew after that loss,that the spark was gone."

However,later Moyer did have a belt around his midsection:the super welterweight championship belt that he won beating Stan Harrington. He kept it a couple of months before Ralph Dupas put around his waist. But I'm sitting around drinking it up with a fisticuff legend Like Denny Moyer in a run down joint in downtown San Diego.Whoever said that youth shouldn't be wasted on the young, must have been looking at me. Denny fought a lot,like he'd always done,but now it was to pick up a paycheck. The Silver Slipper Club in Las Vegas had weekly cards and Denny still had the goods and the rep to fight in the main events.
"I'm always good for 15 hundred bucks when I fight at the Silver Slipper,"I once heard him say.
As much as his fondness for the drink was making him sweat buckets in the gym,I've got to say he was in the gym on a pretty regular basis.
"If I miss two weeks in the gym,I'll lose my edge,"said the old veteran.
Yes,he was an "old" veteran. He wasn't the innocent looking kid with the baby face anymore,but he had that different kind of handsomeness. His face was rougher around the edges.you could see the scar tissue,the skin was coarser. He was tough looking.You didn't want to cross him,but then you never would want to take that risk even when was just starting out with that baby face.

In 1972 Denny flew across the pond to fight the great Carlos Monzon in Rome for the middleweight championship.Denny had a good little win streak going at the time. The notches on his gun were against some more or less competition.He also had another belt in his trophy case:the NABF Middleweight Title. I don't think Moyer could have beaten Monzon that night unless he could have caught him with a lucky punch.I can't even imagine that the bookies took odds on the fight. But if you watch it on YouTube,the fight was dead even going into the 5th.Then Carlos rocked Denny with a shot and the ref stops it like Moyer had taken a pounding. They should have let it go. I'm not saying Denny would have beaten Monzon,but Denny wasn't intimidated by the Argentinian.And for 4 and a half rounds Carlos was getting a lesson in Class 101 of Boxing.

But the Monzon fight wasn't Moyer's last hurrah. Denny had the last laugh against an undefeated middleweight named Rock DeFazio in Chicago. I'm sure Denny was supposed to act the tomato can,but it was Moyer who stewed Rocky that night. Denny gave him that Boxing 101 Lesson.The ring doctor gave DeFazio a failing grade after the 9th round.

Denny Moyer had fought them all, as they say.He fought in all the burgs in all the arenas all over the world. They say after he hung them up he opened up his own joint.Now he didn't have to concern himself about going to the gym. When I read that he had passed away I was down in the dumps. He was in a nursing home in his home state . His wife said that her husband didn't recognize anyone.I thought about those nights in San Diego when I abetted Denny with breaking training.But how could I feel that much guilt? As far as he was concerned I was just another butt on a bar stool.If it wouldn't have been me,it would have been another member of the choir wanting to get close to that baby faced kid, Denny Moyer.


http://imgur.com/juKvo6I

Denny Moyer

Gotta' Dance

I remember many years ago I saw Sugar Ray Robinson dancing alongside Gene Kelly on Alistaire Cooke's Omnibus Show. After Sugar Ray Robinson had had enough of boxing,he tried a second career as a dancer.He said he was always interested in dancing and liked to hoof it. If you watched him skip rope,it was almost as satisfying as watching him in the ring.It was pyrotechnics. Some fighters are perpetual motion with their feet. Example:Willie Pep.Some guys are very graceful:Ali in his prime and Ray Leonard.Others are what I like to call,bouncy(the Cubans had a bunch):Benny Paret,Jose Legra,Luis Rodriguez,and a young Jose Napoles.The last group, that could shift their feet into position to throw or defend,the two examoles that stick out in my mind:an older jose Napoles and Sugar Ray Robinson. In fact Robinson thought Napoles exemplified his style of boxing.

With that slicked "conked" hair,good looks, cocky smile, a svelte bod,and an enormous ego ,Ray was ready to knock Fred and Ginger,along with Gene Kelly off the dance floor. But his stab at the art form became more or less a novelty,a curiosity piece. He never grew past some nifty tap dancing,and that couldn't bring in enough scratch to maintain his life style,so he had to take off his pants again in a coupe of years. I'll never forget watching Robby in the ring with Ralph"Tiger" Jones in his second fight after his comeback. Instead of his legs getting him out of trouble,Jones had Sugar Ray against the ropes most of the fight. I remember the announcer saying that he never saw Robinson take so many punches like he was on the receiving end that night. Ray was walking around.The choreography was something for the Lawrence Welk Show.

Well,that was the story for Robinson after that.He was fighting the bigger middleweights and he had a tough time getting out of the way of their shots.I bet there were times when he wished he was back on the stage prancing around with all the chorus girls.But he wasn't that great a dancer.His son laughed years later and said,"He was no Fred Astaire." Which brings me to my next point:just because you can skip rope like a whirlwind and move around the ring like a Ray Robinson or a Willie Pep,doesn't mean that footwork will translate into being another Nijinsky.

We have test cases in sports where a great one thinks he can deliver the goods in another sport. Michael was a minor leaguer. "Too Tall" was a prelim fighter. Marion Jones was a backup on a women's basketball squad. All the years of training and effort,the dedication,can't put one over on a whim by stepping onto another court and think success and stardom will emerge.

They say Jim Thorpe came the closest to mastering more than one sport. He was a great Olympic athlete and football player. A so so baseballer.Gene Conley pitched for the Braves and played hoops for the Celtics,a journeyman in both.Bo Jackson makes the best case for superstar in two sports,but he's exercising in a rare atmosphere.Super Star duality is almost like finding the Holy Grail.

But you can make a strong case that dancing is very athletic even though you won't see it on ESPN. If a guy's a good dancer ,he should stick to dancin'.Sugar Ray was a prize fighter who thought he could win a championship on the dance floor. At most he was a decent warm up act. Fred Astaire was the embodiment of the dancer. I bet he never gave a thought of duking it out with a guy like Willie Pep. Fred Astaire knew that the Wil O The Wisp would have danced rings around him.

http://imgur.com/Q6LYRJf

Fred and Ginger

https://youtu.be/Rd70iqK_bsU

Sugar Ray Robinson and Gene Kelly