BoxRec

...So Close To The United States

Americans think Cinco de Mayo(May 5th)celebrates Mexican Independence Day. It's not.Mexican Independence Day . The 16th of September is Mexico's Independence Day.That's when Father Hidalgo shouted the "Grito de Dolores" in the city of Dolores for the Mexican people to rise up against the Spanish rule in Mexico.Cinco de Mayo commemorates the Mexican army's victory over the French garrison at Puebla in 1862. The French had invaded Mexico after President Benito Juarez postponed loan payments to France.A year later the French re invaded Mexico and installed Maximillian as ruler. The French abandoned their effort to establish their empire three years later , Benito Juarez returning to Mexico a national hero.Maximillian was thus executed and the French kicked out.Mexico had defeated a European power. It was a significant period in Mexican history. But Cinco de Mayo is not Mexico's Independence Day.

Americans,until recently,have looked at Mexico as a get away,a place to let their hair down, get drunk,party,do things you can't do in the United States,and act like the ugly American and get away with it.Mexico has tolerated a lot of the shenanigans.Americans bring a lot of the green stuff down there so if they act like idiots, a small bribe will usually keep a gringo from sleeping it off in "la carcel." However,i remember one thing if a gringo did that would automatically land him in the Tijuana jail if only for a few hours until the cops would put the bite on in your jail cell-pissing in the street. The Mexican cops drew the line on pissing in the street.But I often think the Mexican cops, and the country itself, had too much patience with bad behavior by their northern neighbors who liked to kick up their heels in sunny Mexico.

But the Mexican attitude is shifting towards" El Norte."The Mexican media is constantly bombarding their public that the government of the United States is racist now that Donald trump is President.My wife watches the Mexican channels during the day and that's all they talk about. Their ringleader is Jorge Ramos. Trump wants to make America "all white' and he's on a quest. I'll stop with this right here before too many of you go to another thread. But there's some relationships I want to draw with my first three paragraphs.

The misconceptions on both sides of the border are trying on the nerves.I'll make some comparasions with this fight coming up with "Canelo" and Chavez. First of all there will never be a big fight between two Mexican nationals in the republic of Mexico again.It's 60 bucks to watch it on cable TV in San Diego.It's free in Tijuana.I'll go down there to watch it,probably at my sister in law's husband's bar on Revolution Street. Revolution Street used to be a haven for the American high school kids to let off steam in all those wild and infamous clubs. Remember that movie "Fast Times at Ridgemont High?"The movie was ludicrous,but that's what high school kids did back in the day-go to Tijuana and revel in debauchery. Now you won't find white kids roaming the streets downtown.Today, the Chicanos on the U.S. side and the TJ locals fill up the clubs.

The mom and pop restaurants are rapidly closing their doors. I remember when it was against Mexican law for U.S. entrepreneurs to establish businesses in Mexico.Today, Revolution Street is practically all Carl's Juniors,Burger Kings,and KFC's.They sell more Corona beer in the States than in Mexico.Property owners in Tijuana want their renters to pay the rent in US dollars. Mexican mega stars have homes in the United States.Logan Heights that was the predominantly black neighborhood in San Diego,is now more populated with Mexicans.The two managers guiding "Canelo" and Chavez are Americans-Oscar de La Hoya and Al Haymon. Each fighter will be making a million US dollars per round. They'll make that bread in Las Vegas,a city that is about as non traditional to Mexican culture as any in North America. Cinco de Mayo is not Mexican Independence Day,but it's a lot easier to pronounce than Dies y Seis de Septiembre.Mexicans won't argue the point,The big fight will be held on Cinco de Mayo.It rolls off the gringo tongue better .

The old dictator and one of the most hated figures in Mexican history.Porfirio Diaz,once remarked"Poor Mexico. So far from God.So close to the United States." Say that to the wrong person across the border and you would wish you got caught pissing in the street.



Benito Juarez

Happy Cinco de Mayo.Somehow all the celebrating gets lost on the people who deserve to be celebrated the most

Like Father,Unlikely

Everytime time I see a one sided fight,I wonder if the victor was that good or was the loser that bad.I tend to believe that the loser's effort determines that the fight was a stinker. With a big fight like last night's Alvarez/Chavez bout,the reason there's all the build up is because both boys are assumed to have the goods,qualified with enough stuff to beat the other. Well,you saw it. Chavez didn't win a round. You could see from the start that Chavez didn't have his heart in it. With that depiction,"Canelo" Alvarez knew it wouldn't be more than a good workout. Alvarez would be safe.Exuding confidence,Alvarez figured he didn't have to risk anything,and he didn't. I thought he'd go in for the kill somewhere midway through the fight,but he never put his foot down on the gas. Chavez didn't throw a punch with "mean intentions" , Junior's body language communicating that all he wanted to do was "last." It was sad to watch. It was sad to see his dad sitting ringside,wearing the Chavez headband, witnessing his son surrender .

I was talking to former middleweight contender James "The Heat " Kinchen today and asked him his take on the fight.He remarked that too many people expect the son of a great fighter to automatically inherit those "warrior" genes,if there are any,of relentless determination that kick in when the issue is on the line. We saw that Marvis Frazier was no Joe.Marcel Cerdan Jr. was fed a lot of mediocre talent,like his dad,but when it came to stepping up to the next level,he failed. But was it an issue of a lack of intestinal fortitude with the aforementioned? The other day I wrote about the "Canelo"/Chavez fight as a wager of both combatants putting their "cajones" on the block.At the final bell,Chavez became a steer. His dad had to dismiss himself before it ended. To watch his son perform shakily must have torn his heart out.

Like I said I was going to do the other day, I drove across the border to watch the fight at my sister in law's husband's bar.He named the bar after himself,"Rubens."The bar is on 6th Street a few doors up from Revolution. I think it's the smallest bar in TJ. I told Ruben that he ought to make shirts that say something like "I Got Drunk At Rubens The Smallest Bar In Tijuana."He had shirts made that just say "Rubens Bar." I have one and I wore it last night.I was the only one in the bar wearing that shirt. I was also the only gringo at the bar with a drink in front of me.

"Centro' was packed with people working their way into some joint to watch the fight.The streets in the area were noisy and all lit up with neon.Hawkers took their respective places in front of every place that had a TV. The bigger the TV and the more plentiful ,determined how long the lines would stretch out on the sidewalks."Rubens" had one little flat screen behind the bar.There was no wait to get in. Ruben was there of course. The previous night was "Cinco de Mayo", and last night was the fight. Ruben knew he had to be there to keep an eye on things. A choice job in TJ is to work in a place on Revolution Street. That's where a lot of U.S. dollars are spent thus tempting the hired help to help themselves. Ruben and my sister in law used to go down with my wife to visit family in Michoacán. Every time they left the bar with the employees,they'd get the phone call that Rubens got held up. The robbers would even take all the booze.Vacation ruined,they'd fly back to TJ,fire all the help,and start all over again. This year my sister in law will go down to Michoacán with her sister and Ruben will stay at home count the receipts.

When it got apparent early on that the fight was not going to be anything close to a Mexican war like Marco Antonio Barrera and Erik Morales,Ruben raised the volume on the jukebox. During the last rounds more attention was paid to flirting with the bar maids than expecting a miracle from Chavez. I didn't even watch the 12th round. I was sitting at the end of the bar where the barmaid would go around the bar to help wait on tables. After sticking her big tits against my arm all night,the physical contact that was exuded in the ring paled to the kind of skin to skin connection I wanted to have with Senorita Chi Chis.But I wasn't going to make my overtures to her sitting in Rubens until closing time at 2 in the morning. There was a time when I wouldn't have given it a second thought. My "cajones" would have provided me with that determination.With a few seconds to go in the last round,i pried myself off the barstool,walked out into the street,and got myself a couple of those hot dogs with everything on them off one of those carts.



Ruben in his bar


A hot dog with everything on it,At my age,that's what I'll settle for

Born Too Early

Fighters open up bars to meet women. They have their eyes on the ladies that patronize the premises,walk in off the street to solicit a tumble in the hotel around the corner from a john experiencing a moment of weakness,or hit on the hired help that often have to audition the right way for the opportunity to sling booze. Some joints are on the sleazy side and some are more upper end establishments and then there're all the rest that fit between those definitions. You can name the names of all the fighters that had as much difficulty working their saloons as they did trying to outbox their opponents in the ring.The life of these gin joints are comparable to that of a streaking comet;good while it lasted,then a quick burnout. Most of the time you can attribute closing the doors to "mismanagement." The fighter/owner was too focused on having fun rather than keeping track of the books.Then you have to worry about fights,people snorting coke in the bathroom,stealing by the hired help,and getting busted by the ABC for selling alcohol to minors.Hookers working their mojo in a booth in the back room can add to the headaches.Throw in attorney fees,loss of a liquor license,law suits,and your wife's lawyer serving you divorce papers will usually wish you invested your ring earnings in opening up a bail bond business.One guy that sticks out in my mind that never seemed discouraged from enjoying life within the walls of a liquor establishment was Jack Johnson.

In his lifetime Jack Johnson did everything "wrong" because he was black. Today,his behavior would make him a celebrity. Johnson liked music and musicians almost as much as he craved women.He had a cabaret in Chicago.He owned a nightclub in Harlem that he sold to Owney Madden who renamed it the Cotton Club.Johnson also ran a club in South Central Los Angeles called Jack's Basket. Johnson's joint in Chicago catered to the Louie Armstrong style of Dixieland Jazz. It was a similar sound in Harlem with his Club Deluxe before he turned it over to Owney Madden who made the place a "white only" establishment with the Cab Calloways , Duke Ellingtons,and Ethel Waters spinning their tunes.Jacks Basket was different.

Johnson died in an automobile accident in 1946.By that time jazz had gone through a transformation. The big bands couldn't financially hold together any longer. The jazz cats wanted to express themselves in combos wanting to play their messages in daring solos.The Calloways and the Armstrongs found fault with the new music scene.Technically and emotionally,the new kids on the bandstand were turning ears.But not all members of the old guard were cynical. Old timers like Ellington,Coleman Hawkins,and Lester Young recognized the new talent.So did an amateurish bass fiddle player, Jack Johnson.

The jam sessions at Jack's Basket and other South Central joints like the Barrel House and The Club Alabam were electrifying. Musicians would carry their axes on the bandstand trying to "cut" their fellow horn players to the exit doors. There are a few "live " recordings of these jam sessions. The small venue of a black club in a black neighborhood with young musicians wanting to show the world,but mostly playing for themselves and their peers, that what they were expressing was going to change how every instrument would sound in the future. It has stood the test of time. Jack Johnson recognized that the change was revolutionary. He wasn't a man who confined himself inside the box. You can have your opinions about him,but you have to say he wasn't cut out of a mold. He shocked the world not only by being the first black heavyweight champion,but living a lifestyle that the establishment wasn't ready for.



The Bass Fiddle Player



https://youtu.be/oz31bIomDPA

Move

Live at The Hula Hut .Wardell Gray's opening solo on tenor sax is one of the most thrilling moments in the annals. Clark Terry trumpet. Dextor Gordon tenor.Hey.Bob Levy,if you're out there,is that your dad on drums? Jimmy Bunn, I think on keyboard.Sonny Criss on tenor,Bass player, I'll guess Curly Russell.

OK,it was eating me to know who was performing on "Move" so I looked it up. Bob,it was Chuck Thompson on drums not your dad and Billy Hadnott on bass.Jimmy Bunn was playing keyboards. If I had a time machine I'd would have loved to have been there that night





Clark Terry

Uncle Joe

I had this class at Southwest High School down by the border in San Ysidro working with these "at risk" kids who were in dire need of making up credits in order to graduate on time. The district called the class "The Learning Center".Each high school campus in the district had a "Learning Center." The kids would show up when they wanted, bringing in their homework once a week showing it to their teachers. If it was completed and graded as "passing",they got the academic credit and were also credited for being in school all week even when they really weren't. If a kid worked fast enough,he could get caught up with his credits and graduate with his senior class in the regular ceremony. The motivation for a kid to stay with it was that if he missed two homework meetings in a row,the teacher could terminate his enrollment from the program.So it was sink or swim. Graduate or hit the streets. With that consequence in mind we had over an 80% percent graduation success rate.But the district didn't like the idea of a kid getting kicked out with nowhere to go if he screwed around.So the district said we have to keep them until they turned 18.Then if they were still behind, it was hit the pavement.You see when a kid turned 18 the school didn't receive anymore state money for having him hang around.We were all supposed to be so caring and keeping his self esteem intact,but when he turned 18,it was get out of here.After the district implemented the new policy of not giving the kid the boot for dogging it ,the kids began not showing up at all and hardly working on their studies ,not making any credits,thus not graduating.But as long as the school was getting paid to keep these dead beats around,that's all that mattered.

I was one of four teachers that worked at the Center. I knew I wasn't working with rocket scientists,but as long as they put in the effort they got by with me. Almost all the kids were Mexican. I'd say more than half of them lived in Tijuana.No one checked as long as the school was getting its money from the state. All the kids wanted me as their teacher(which caused animosity with the other teachers). I didn't talk down to them.i got to know their families.The girl students who had kids looked at me as a big brother or a father figure.i got invited to weddings,baptisms,and even once in a while a funeral of some kid who got whacked in a drive by.

There were a couple of secretaries in the classroom,a lead coordinator,and a lab tech.One of the Mexican secretaries was a real piece of work. She wore thick glasses with a frame that pointed up at the rims.Her name was Aurora. She wasn't very pretty,kind of scaggy,but she thought she was a prize. Her hair was thinning and her teeth looked too small for her mouth.Her skin was a clammy ochre color and wrinkled. She had opinions that found fault with everything .She thought she was always right and considered herself as being very smart.She'd smile at you thinking you were going to swoon at her feet.Her dramatics bordered on being ludicrous.I don't think anyone took her serious.She liked going to the principal's office to tattle on everyone. I think she wore the guy out.

One day she came to my desk to tell me that she was going to take some time off. My shoulders relaxed when she announced we wouldn't have to listen to her mouth for a week. I asked her if everything was all right(like I really cared).She said she was going to a funeral for her uncle. She said he used to be a fighter. Being a boxing fan,i had to ask.
"Aurora,who was your uncle?"I asked curiously.
"Joe Conde. He was my uncle."
"The Joe Conde that fought Henry Armstrong?"
"Yes.He fought him and I remember my family talking about my uncle fighting Juan Zurita and Baby Casanova. They fought each other many times."
"Were you close to him?"
"Yes.he was muy macho. Popular with the women. I was only a little girl. He treated me and my sisters and my mother very nicely. He was kind.We would be very happy to know that he was going to visit the house."
"Did he ever talk about fighting?"
"Not with the women. With my father and my uncles,they would go into the "sala" and talk about boxing. Sometimes they'd go to the cantina.We girls were always very excited seeing him. He was funny and very kind.He would always bring presents for me and my sisters and my mother."
"Well,I hope your trip will be memorable,"I said.
"The whole family will be there."she said.
"I bet some of those old fighters will be there,"i said.
"Oh,I'm sure they will be.They'll be together with my uncles talking about the time he knocked out Baby Casanova."
"You'll hear some good stories."
"I'll be with the women.We'll remember all the presents and how nice Uncle Joe was to us. He was a kind man."



Juan Zurita

dagosd2000 wrote:Like Father,Unlikely

Everytime time I see a one sided fight,I wonder if the victor was that good or was the loser that bad.I tend to believe that the loser's effort determines that the fight was a stinker. With a big fight like last night's Alvarez/Chavez bout,the reason there's all the build up is because both boys are assumed to have the goods,qualified with enough stuff to beat the other. Well,you saw it. Chavez didn't win a round. You could see from the start that Chavez didn't have his heart in it. With that depiction,"Canelo" Alvarez knew it wouldn't be more than a good workout. Alvarez would be safe.Exuding confidence,Alvarez figured he didn't have to risk anything,and he didn't. I thought he'd go in for the kill somewhere midway through the fight,but he never put his foot down on the gas. Chavez didn't throw a punch with "mean intentions" , Junior's body language communicating that all he wanted to do was "last." It was sad to watch. It was sad to see his dad sitting ringside,wearing the Chavez headband, witnessing his son surrender .

I was talking to former middleweight contender James "The Heat " Kinchen today and asked him his take on the fight.He remarked that too many people expect the son of a great fighter to automatically inherit those "warrior" genes,if there are any,of relentless determination that kick in when the issue is on the line. We saw that Marvis Frazier was no Joe.Marcel Cerdan Jr. was fed a lot of mediocre talent,like his dad,but when it came to stepping up to the next level,he failed. But was it an issue of a lack of intestinal fortitude with the aforementioned? The other day I wrote about the "Canelo"/Chavez fight as a wager of both combatants putting their "cajones" on the block.At the final bell,Chavez became a steer. His dad had to dismiss himself before it ended. To watch his son perform shakily must have torn his heart out.

Like I said I was going to do the other day, I drove across the border to watch the fight at my sister in law's husband's bar.He named the bar after himself,"Rubens."The bar is on 6th Street a few doors up from Revolution. I think it's the smallest bar in TJ. I told Ruben that he ought to make shirts that say something like "I Got Drunk At Rubens The Smallest Bar In Tijuana."He had shirts made that just say "Rubens Bar." I have one and I wore it last night.I was the only one in the bar wearing that shirt. I was also the only gringo at the bar with a drink in front of me.

"Centro' was packed with people working their way into some joint to watch the fight.The streets in the area were noisy and all lit up with neon.Hawkers took their respective places in front of every place that had a TV. The bigger the TV and the more plentiful ,determined how long the lines would stretch out on the sidewalks."Rubens" had one little flat screen behind the bar.There was no wait to get in. Ruben was there of course. The previous night was "Cinco de Mayo", and last night was the fight. Ruben knew he had to be there to keep an eye on things. A choice job in TJ is to work in a place on Revolution Street. That's where a lot of U.S. dollars are spent thus tempting the hired help to help themselves. Ruben and my sister in law used to go down with my wife to visit family in Michoacán. Every time they left the bar with the employees,they'd get the phone call that Rubens got held up. The robbers would even take all the booze.Vacation ruined,they'd fly back to TJ,fire all the help,and start all over again. This year my sister in law will go down to Michoacán with her sister and Ruben will stay at home count the receipts.

When it got apparent early on that the fight was not going to be anything close to a Mexican war like Marco Antonio Barrera and Erik Morales,Ruben raised the volume on the jukebox. During the last rounds more attention was paid to flirting with the bar maids than expecting a miracle from Chavez. I didn't even watch the 12th round. I was sitting at the end of the bar where the barmaid would go around the bar to help wait on tables. After sticking her big tits against my arm all night,the physical contact that was exuded in the ring paled to the kind of skin to skin connection I wanted to have with Senorita Chi Chis.But I wasn't going to make my overtures to her sitting in Rubens until closing time at 2 in the morning. There was a time when I wouldn't have given it a second thought. My "cajones" would have provided me with that determination.With a few seconds to go in the last round,i pried myself off the barstool,walked out into the street,and got myself a couple of those hot dogs with everything on them off one of those carts.



Ruben in his bar


A hot dog with everything on it,At my age,that's what I'll settle for

Gotta ask this,

Do you think that todays world produces less "determined" fighters? Fighters that will give it all for a hail mary performance? Or do you thing that human nature is pretty much static through the history of this sport? Cultures seem to make a difference, fighters going in thinking that "if I don't produce, well I'm just sunk" still exist, but that mindset in America has seen it's day......not necessarily a bad thing.....few people in our country are actually in a panic as to where their next meal is coming from.....and honestly about 90 percent of us would be better off if we missed our next 3 meals. And if we had to race a mile to get it, we'd huff and puff and run out of steam before we got there. But it used to be some fighters were fighting for their supper. That probably instills a different sort, maybe a more focused sort, of "tiger eye".

By the way, that does look delicious!

BoxBuzz wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:Like Father,Unlikely

Everytime time I see a one sided fight,I wonder if the victor was that good or was the loser that bad.I tend to believe that the loser's effort determines that the fight was a stinker. With a big fight like last night's Alvarez/Chavez bout,the reason there's all the build up is because both boys are assumed to have the goods,qualified with enough stuff to beat the other. Well,you saw it. Chavez didn't win a round. You could see from the start that Chavez didn't have his heart in it. With that depiction,"Canelo" Alvarez knew it wouldn't be more than a good workout. Alvarez would be safe.Exuding confidence,Alvarez figured he didn't have to risk anything,and he didn't. I thought he'd go in for the kill somewhere midway through the fight,but he never put his foot down on the gas. Chavez didn't throw a punch with "mean intentions" , Junior's body language communicating that all he wanted to do was "last." It was sad to watch. It was sad to see his dad sitting ringside,wearing the Chavez headband, witnessing his son surrender .

I was talking to former middleweight contender James "The Heat " Kinchen today and asked him his take on the fight.He remarked that too many people expect the son of a great fighter to automatically inherit those "warrior" genes,if there are any,of relentless determination that kick in when the issue is on the line. We saw that Marvis Frazier was no Joe.Marcel Cerdan Jr. was fed a lot of mediocre talent,like his dad,but when it came to stepping up to the next level,he failed. But was it an issue of a lack of intestinal fortitude with the aforementioned? The other day I wrote about the "Canelo"/Chavez fight as a wager of both combatants putting their "cajones" on the block.At the final bell,Chavez became a steer. His dad had to dismiss himself before it ended. To watch his son perform shakily must have torn his heart out.

Like I said I was going to do the other day, I drove across the border to watch the fight at my sister in law's husband's bar.He named the bar after himself,"Rubens."The bar is on 6th Street a few doors up from Revolution. I think it's the smallest bar in TJ. I told Ruben that he ought to make shirts that say something like "I Got Drunk At Rubens The Smallest Bar In Tijuana."He had shirts made that just say "Rubens Bar." I have one and I wore it last night.I was the only one in the bar wearing that shirt. I was also the only gringo at the bar with a drink in front of me.

"Centro' was packed with people working their way into some joint to watch the fight.The streets in the area were noisy and all lit up with neon.Hawkers took their respective places in front of every place that had a TV. The bigger the TV and the more plentiful ,determined how long the lines would stretch out on the sidewalks."Rubens" had one little flat screen behind the bar.There was no wait to get in. Ruben was there of course. The previous night was "Cinco de Mayo", and last night was the fight. Ruben knew he had to be there to keep an eye on things. A choice job in TJ is to work in a place on Revolution Street. That's where a lot of U.S. dollars are spent thus tempting the hired help to help themselves. Ruben and my sister in law used to go down with my wife to visit family in Michoacán. Every time they left the bar with the employees,they'd get the phone call that Rubens got held up. The robbers would even take all the booze.Vacation ruined,they'd fly back to TJ,fire all the help,and start all over again. This year my sister in law will go down to Michoacán with her sister and Ruben will stay at home count the receipts.

When it got apparent early on that the fight was not going to be anything close to a Mexican war like Marco Antonio Barrera and Erik Morales,Ruben raised the volume on the jukebox. During the last rounds more attention was paid to flirting with the bar maids than expecting a miracle from Chavez. I didn't even watch the 12th round. I was sitting at the end of the bar where the barmaid would go around the bar to help wait on tables. After sticking her big tits against my arm all night,the physical contact that was exuded in the ring paled to the kind of skin to skin connection I wanted to have with Senorita Chi Chis.But I wasn't going to make my overtures to her sitting in Rubens until closing time at 2 in the morning. There was a time when I wouldn't have given it a second thought. My "cajones" would have provided me with that determination.With a few seconds to go in the last round,i pried myself off the barstool,walked out into the street,and got myself a couple of those hot dogs with everything on them off one of those carts.



Ruben in his bar


A hot dog with everything on it,At my age,that's what I'll settle for

Gotta ask this,

Do you think that todays world produces less "determined" fighters? Fighters that will give it all for a hail mary performance? Or do you thing that human nature is pretty much static through the history of this sport? Cultures seem to make a difference, fighters going in thinking that "if I don't produce, well I'm just sunk" still exist, but that mindset in America has seen it's day......not necessarily a bad thing.....few people in our country are actually in a panic as to where their next meal is coming from.....and honestly about 90 percent of us would be better off if we missed our next 3 meals. And if we had to race a mile to get it, we'd huff and puff and run out of steam before we got there. But it used to be some fighters were fighting for their supper. That probably instills a different sort, maybe a more focused sort, of "tiger eye".

By the way, that does look delicious!

Buzz.
It's easy to speak in generalities. I catch myself doing it,but let's just take a look at J.C. Chavez Jr. He's never been very "determined". A spoiled kid,pressured by his father to produce and become successful.But Junior never traversed the path of his dad. Dad was a hungry kid who wanted it in a bad way when he frequented the rinky dink gyms in Sinaloa. The trainers and managers who saw him workout knew that this kid had a fire in his belly. Julio Cesar Chavez's goal was to get to Tijuana and train at the CREA gym where the hottest fighters in Mexico were honing their skills.He knew that if could destroy the competition in Tijuana that he'd get connected to fight in the U.S. where the big fights and the big purses were at.In Mexico it's sink or swim,not only with fighting,but with life. Junior was an aberration.Maybe he thought his pedigree would be enough to get him to the top.Sons of millionaires don't make good fighters. He never really impressed the Mexican fans.They saw him as a lazy kid who became distracted messing with drugs and alcohol.His father,if he was smart,should have started the boy in the amateurs. He could have provided him with the best trainers and make his boy earn his dues. Junior was born into a millionaire family.He got everything that he asked for.Then when he failed he blamed his father.Maybe up here we can dismiss him.In Mexico he's a laughing stock.



Julio Chavez Sr., ready to go out and destroy

dagosd2000 wrote:

BoxBuzz wrote:

dagosd2000 wrote:Like Father,Unlikely

Everytime time I see a one sided fight,I wonder if the victor was that good or was the loser that bad.I tend to believe that the loser's effort determines that the fight was a stinker. With a big fight like last night's Alvarez/Chavez bout,the reason there's all the build up is because both boys are assumed to have the goods,qualified with enough stuff to beat the other. Well,you saw it. Chavez didn't win a round. You could see from the start that Chavez didn't have his heart in it. With that depiction,"Canelo" Alvarez knew it wouldn't be more than a good workout. Alvarez would be safe.Exuding confidence,Alvarez figured he didn't have to risk anything,and he didn't. I thought he'd go in for the kill somewhere midway through the fight,but he never put his foot down on the gas. Chavez didn't throw a punch with "mean intentions" , Junior's body language communicating that all he wanted to do was "last." It was sad to watch. It was sad to see his dad sitting ringside,wearing the Chavez headband, witnessing his son surrender .

I was talking to former middleweight contender James "The Heat " Kinchen today and asked him his take on the fight.He remarked that too many people expect the son of a great fighter to automatically inherit those "warrior" genes,if there are any,of relentless determination that kick in when the issue is on the line. We saw that Marvis Frazier was no Joe.Marcel Cerdan Jr. was fed a lot of mediocre talent,like his dad,but when it came to stepping up to the next level,he failed. But was it an issue of a lack of intestinal fortitude with the aforementioned? The other day I wrote about the "Canelo"/Chavez fight as a wager of both combatants putting their "cajones" on the block.At the final bell,Chavez became a steer. His dad had to dismiss himself before it ended. To watch his son perform shakily must have torn his heart out.

Like I said I was going to do the other day, I drove across the border to watch the fight at my sister in law's husband's bar.He named the bar after himself,"Rubens."The bar is on 6th Street a few doors up from Revolution. I think it's the smallest bar in TJ. I told Ruben that he ought to make shirts that say something like "I Got Drunk At Rubens The Smallest Bar In Tijuana."He had shirts made that just say "Rubens Bar." I have one and I wore it last night.I was the only one in the bar wearing that shirt. I was also the only gringo at the bar with a drink in front of me.

"Centro' was packed with people working their way into some joint to watch the fight.The streets in the area were noisy and all lit up with neon.Hawkers took their respective places in front of every place that had a TV. The bigger the TV and the more plentiful ,determined how long the lines would stretch out on the sidewalks."Rubens" had one little flat screen behind the bar.There was no wait to get in. Ruben was there of course. The previous night was "Cinco de Mayo", and last night was the fight. Ruben knew he had to be there to keep an eye on things. A choice job in TJ is to work in a place on Revolution Street. That's where a lot of U.S. dollars are spent thus tempting the hired help to help themselves. Ruben and my sister in law used to go down with my wife to visit family in Michoacán. Every time they left the bar with the employees,they'd get the phone call that Rubens got held up. The robbers would even take all the booze.Vacation ruined,they'd fly back to TJ,fire all the help,and start all over again. This year my sister in law will go down to Michoacán with her sister and Ruben will stay at home count the receipts.

When it got apparent early on that the fight was not going to be anything close to a Mexican war like Marco Antonio Barrera and Erik Morales,Ruben raised the volume on the jukebox. During the last rounds more attention was paid to flirting with the bar maids than expecting a miracle from Chavez. I didn't even watch the 12th round. I was sitting at the end of the bar where the barmaid would go around the bar to help wait on tables. After sticking her big tits against my arm all night,the physical contact that was exuded in the ring paled to the kind of skin to skin connection I wanted to have with Senorita Chi Chis.But I wasn't going to make my overtures to her sitting in Rubens until closing time at 2 in the morning. There was a time when I wouldn't have given it a second thought. My "cajones" would have provided me with that determination.With a few seconds to go in the last round,i pried myself off the barstool,walked out into the street,and got myself a couple of those hot dogs with everything on them off one of those carts.



Ruben in his bar


A hot dog with everything on it,At my age,that's what I'll settle for

Gotta ask this,

Do you think that todays world produces less "determined" fighters? Fighters that will give it all for a hail mary performance? Or do you thing that human nature is pretty much static through the history of this sport? Cultures seem to make a difference, fighters going in thinking that "if I don't produce, well I'm just sunk" still exist, but that mindset in America has seen it's day......not necessarily a bad thing.....few people in our country are actually in a panic as to where their next meal is coming from.....and honestly about 90 percent of us would be better off if we missed our next 3 meals. And if we had to race a mile to get it, we'd huff and puff and run out of steam before we got there. But it used to be some fighters were fighting for their supper. That probably instills a different sort, maybe a more focused sort, of "tiger eye".

By the way, that does look delicious!

Buzz.
It's easy to speak in generalities. I catch myself doing it,but let's just take a look at J.C. Chavez Jr. He's never been very "determined". A spoiled kid,pressured by his father to produce and become successful.But Junior never traversed the path of his dad. Dad was a hungry kid who wanted it in a bad way when he frequented the rinky dink gyms in Sinaloa. The trainers and managers who saw him workout knew that this kid had a fire in his belly. Julio Cesar Chavez's goal was to get to Tijuana and train at the CREA gym where the hottest fighters in Mexico were honing their skills.He knew that if could destroy the competition in Tijuana that he'd get connected to fight in the U.S. where the big fights and the big purses were at.In Mexico it's sink or swim,not only with fighting,but with life. Junior was an aberration.Maybe he thought his pedigree would be enough to get him to the top.Sons of millionaires don't make good fighters. He never really impressed the Mexican fans.They saw him as a lazy kid who became distracted messing with drugs and alcohol.His father,if he was smart,should have started the boy in the amateurs. He could have provided him with the best trainers and make his boy earn his dues. Junior was born into a millionaire family.He got everything that he asked for.Then when he failed he blamed his father.Maybe up here we can dismiss him.In Mexico he's a laughing stock.



Julio Chavez Sr., ready to go out and destroy

BTW ,When I visited the CREA GYM last month and spoke with the old trainer Romulo Quirarte,he told me that the quality of the prospects at the gym aren't what they used to be. He worked with J.C. Chavez when he came up north from Sinaloa.Quirarte knew he couldn't miss. Today,Quirarte says he's in the gym to keep the kids off the streets from getting in trouble. Chicago had the highest murder rate in the U.S.(over 700).In Tijuana ,a city one third the size of Tijuana,last year there were over 900. I guess you have to say Romulo is still a pretty good trainer.

Mafia Story

When the Feds prosecuted Al Capone for tax evasion,he didn't know that he didn't have snowball's chance in hell to beat the rap. After the Saint Valentine Day Massacre,the government had had enough of Capone's crime wave. Capone was so shaky that he gave himself up on a gun violation and spent a year in the joint in Eastern State Penitentiary in Pennsylvania. He thought he could cool off,but he made a mistake. When the top guy goes to jail,there's always underlings that are maneuvering to take over. That's what happened to Capone. All you have to do is see who would benefit the most with an usurpation of power-that's usually the next guy in line.Johnson betrayed Kennedy. Fitzsimmons stabbed Hoffa in the back.Frank Nitti,who was under boss to Capone, connived to get Al sent away.

The Feds were smart. They knew the easiest way to get something to stick on Capone was on a tax beef.But Capone was in hot water before and always had enough juice to offer a bribe or a bullet to silence any testimony that could get him locked up. The Feds went to work on Nitti to accomplish their wish to remove Capone from the scene.Maybe Nitti didn't have that much of an appetite to devour his boss,but the government knew what Nitti's Achilles heel was -he didn't hold up in the slammer. They say he was claustrophobic and a paranoid.His greatest fear in life was to get locked up in jail.The Feds sent him away for 18 months for not paying his fair share knowing that they could make him roll over against his boss after his release .

After my grandfather ,Diamond Joe Esposito,was gunned down on the sidewalk near his house,my grandmother went to Capone and asked why it happened. Capone said it was a "mistake."Well there are no mistakes when someone as powerful as my grandfather is murdered.This is why it happened. Big Bill Thompson was the mayor of Chicago at the time. He had a lock on all the Wards in Chicago except the 19th,that's where Diamond Joe was alderman.Thompson let Capone run loose in Chicago. Capone could do whatever he wanted.Capone knew he was protected by the mayor.But Thompson wanted the 19th Ward in his realm so he went to Capone to see if he could influence my grandfather.My grandfather was close to his political mentor,Senator Charles Dineen,who told my grandfather not to withdraw from the election. My grandfather received some threats,but was not a man to cave in.Ignoring the warnings,Diamond Joe was killed as his family saw him walking back from a Hod Carriers Union meeting(he was the president).Of course there wasn't much interest from the Chicago cops about who were the assassins.Two of the Borsellino brothers were the trigger men.After the War,my father back from the Marines, "took care" of one of them.The other brother was already dead.

Capone,with respect to my grandmother,said he would take care of my father. My father would live in the house Capone bought for his wife,son,and mother. Capone stayed at the Lafayette Hotel.My father lived in the Capone house for several years. During that time the government was building a tax case against him.

One day ,as the trial was nearing,Capone's lawyers,Ahern and Fink,dropped by Capone's mother's place to discuss what was transpiring. Capone was not present. Sitting in the parlor was my father. He was within earshot of what everyone was talking about.Capone's lawyers said they could accomplish the usual=bribe a juror,break a leg or two,even put a bullet into someone if it came down to that.Then Nitti became enraged. He told the lawyers he wasn't ever going to jail again.The government told him to sell his boss out. They wanted Al Capone out of the picture for good. Besides,Capone had the venereal disease that would eventually incapacitate him .Then Nitti saw my father sitting in the parlor. He stormed over towards him , grabbed him by the neck,and slammed him against the wall.
"If you ever repeat what was said in there,I'll kill you you little punk!" roared Nitti.
So Capone's lawyers put up a flimsy defense,forfeiting appeals,and focusing on how much money Capone was spending instead of presenting the amount of his income. So the judge gave him 11 years. Nitti wasn't prosecuted and became the Don.

But what if my father had tipped off Al Capone that he was going to be set up by Nitti and the lawyers? My father said he never repeated what was said inside Capone's mother's house to anyone until after Nitti committed suicide. I wonder if my dad got revenger on Capone?My father ,and Diamond Joe,thought they had a "paisan" with Capone.Italians say that revenge served cold on a plate makes the sweetest meal.

Funny,I never heard my father say an unkind word about Al Capone except one time when he said to me that his father was killed because Al Capone had put out a contract out on him.My father had always put the blame on Big Bill Thompson.I never asked why my father had changed his tune that one time.After he said that though,he went on glorifying Capone again still putting the guilt on Big Bill Thompson.I guess if you had to revere one or the other,Al Capone had more star power.




Frank Nitti




Al Capone with his lawyers Ahern and Finch during his tax evasion trial




Diamond Joe

Baby Talk

I can't imagine a heavyweight champion having the nickname,"Baby." I can't imagine any heavyweight wanting to be called "Baby." You have to search into the lower weight divisions before you come across fighters with the name , "Baby." I remember the Mexican lightweight "Baby" Vasquez. I saw him fight in Tijuana.There was the Mexican featherweight "Baby" Casanova and his Mexican counterpart "Baby" Arizmendi. The Cuban featherweight "Baby" Luis transplanted himself from Castro's Cuba to fight in the arenas of the Untied States and Mexico.

We think of the Latino culture having a "machismo" cornerstone as part of their mantra.Then why call a man,and especially a fighter,"Baby"? My old football coach asked me once what did the expression "macho" mean. Being Italian in my DNA(or whatever the feeling was ),I always felt that a man could do anything he wanted without repercussions.There are limits of course. Homosexuality is almost unforgiveable.I say "almost unforgiveable" because a Mexican mother is blindly devoted to her son regardless of his sexual preference.But a Latino man does whatever his instincts trigger him to do. It's impulsive and inspirational.Women may get upset,but usually look the other way in the end.That's because the women see men as really being little boys and if they think they are strong they know that that little intersection south of a senorita's naval can manipulate the most macho of the macho into submission.

Latino fighters with the moniker "Baby" are cuties in the ring,slick boxers,who can frustrate a big puncher.An Olivares or a Julio Cesar Chavez Sr. would never be called "Baby."They were killers.Killers are the epitome of the macho fighter.He doesn't necessarily care about defense. He wants to get in there to land his big punches. If there's blood,that just embellishes the image.In fact getting tagged is a plus with that picture.

But the "Baby's" know they don't have the artillery to end it with a big shot.However,the "aficianados"are just as moved when they see a "Baby" slip and counter,tie a man up,make him miss,and then after the final bell look like he didn't break sweat , his face unmarked.Kind of like the matador's artful maneuvering inside the bullring.
https://youtu.be/Myo2vOIGvLQ

Take a few minutes to watch this clip from DeSica's "Bicycle Thief" It explains it better than I can. "We can do whatever we want because we're both men." A blessing and a curse.



"Baby" Arizmendi

Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Sometimes when fighters hang it up they get on with something else in life that's totally apart from boxing.When Burke Emery withdrew from fighting, and later from managing and training fighters,he bought out one of the local watering holes and renamed the joint.Champs. Since he was a former lightheavyweight champ of Canada,he thought it was apropos.But as much as I bent my elbow in Champs,I never heard Burke talk about boxing much, unless you began the questioning. Then it was usually a short answer.Sometimes I'd listen to some know it all try to school Burke on who was the best or worst fighter or what was the greatest or worst stinker in in a main event. Burke wouldn't offer any opposition. If you thought you were smarter than him when it came down to fighting,he'd just smile and let it pass. The know it alls are guys who never were fighters in the first place. They're like these idiots who call in to these talk radio shows and express what they think are Sermons On the Mount. They get all worked up and out of breath and no one pays any attention anyway.Sometimes you get a nut who's just looking for an argument.He thinks his insults will turn the tide in his favor.No one tried that maneuver with Burke. Burke would let you speak your peace,but get huffy with the old ex pug ,and he'd put you on your back.After his time with the sport,he really didn't give much thought to it anymore, Sometimes I'd fill him in on something that pertained to boxing and he give me that surprised look like."Really?" And that would be the end of the discussion.

When I go out to where James "the Heat" Kinchen is preachin' at,the Helping Hand of God Church,I might lead with a boxing question.Most of the time "The Heat" ,unless he was personally involved, will shake his head and say he doesn't know.
"I don't follow the sport that much anymore,"he'd say.
It's not like he's bitter.He's just into passing the word along and bringing up his family the right way.I asked him if he saw the Canelo fight and he said he didn't. There was no smugness with his reply.I think he's grateful that he has his health. He told me Terry Norris called him up awhile back. James said he thought Terry might have been drinkin',but it was the beginning of the throes of the dementia. I asked him where Terry is now and he didn't know.
"Maybe LA. But I'm not sure."
I told him that I see a lot of ex fighters that are slipping into oblivion. James said that he thinks fighters go to war too hard in the gym. The shots taken in the gym don't discriminate from the blows that land when you're getting paid for it.

In 2012 James and Burke were inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame. James attended. Burke didn't go.His family tried to entice him to make the trip to LA. They would have made Don Fraser happy by purchasing a few tables in the dining room. Sometimes he'd say "yes",but then the next moment he would change his mind.James said he was honored getting inducted into the Hall. He may not give much thought to the sport anymore,but once in awhile I'll see him at the fights sitting in the back.He knows it's the fighters who are in there getting hit,not the promoters,managers,trainers,and all the know it alls.



James "the Heat" Kinchen
.

James at one of the local cards sitting in the back and taking it all in

Old Bones Didn't Die He Just went To Frenchmen Street

Just got back from New Orleans last week. I hadn't been back there since pre Katrina. I was thinking while I was there how I could tie something about boxing with The Big Easy. Initially,all I came up with was Corbett beating Sullivan. But what the hell do I know about that?When they come up with the time machine,I'll journey back.But then it hit me.One of my favorite fighters was born in New Orleans. I grew up getting stoked on the sport watching him work his mojo on TV,"Old Bones",the lightweight champ,Joe Brown. I saw him beat Wallace "Bud" Smith to win the title.I remember watching those fights on those big black and white television sets with all those tubes in the back. Jack Drees did a lot of the announcing on TV in those days.He broadcasted a lot of Brown's fights. "Bones" didn't let the grass grow under his ring shoes.He put his crown on the line 11 times adding a slew of bouts between those championship encounters that you don't see today,the non title fight. He beat a lot of good fighters,often in their neck of the woods.Kenny Lane,Cisco Andrade,Ralph Dupas,and Dave Charnley were no slouches.I remember his fight with Charnley in England .It was a back and forth thriller. Battling Torres was a KO artist and "Old Bones" put him to sleep in siesta land early. Paolo Rossi was fighting him even until "Bones" notched it up and stopped the Italian on cuts.

Then after all those fights in all those arenas in the South and Southwest, they matched him up with Carlos Ortiz in Las Vegas. I think it might have been only the 2nd championship fight in Vegas. (Don Jordan fought a title for the 1st time in Las Vegas).Ortiz was an up and comer,a good boy,but I thought Joe Brown could beat him. He seemed to find a way to win in the end using all his guile and will.I figured it would be the same outcome with Ortiz. But what I saw that night was one of the most disappointing performances I'd ever seen in my life. "Old Bones" looked like his nickname. He was sluggish.He showed no offense.He looked like he hadn't trained. He was never in trouble.I remember one time he tripped and fell on his ass. He was laughing. That did it for me. Joe Brown was telling the world that the fix was in on this one. Las Vegas was the perfect place for a dive,far enough out west, fighting a Puerto Rican who could fill the seats in Madison Square Garden if he was the champ.Joe Brown never fought in the Garden. He never even defended his title in his hometown.Maybe that's why he fought so often. He needed the money.A lot more big fights and revenue coming in with Carlos Ortiz. Right after that fight I picked up an issue of Ring Magazine. Here's the headline:"Were the Cards Stacked In Las Vegas?" So I felt I wasn't imagining things.

I knew Joe Brown was done as a contender after that fight. There wouldn't be a rematch.After the Las Vegas fiasco I didn't delve into Joe Brown's ensuing fistic career.Then in the late 60's I was watching the Mexican boxing highlights on TV in a bar in Tijuana. I couldn't believe my eyes. In the Arena Coliseo in Mexico City,Chango Carmona was pummelling Joe Brown into siesta land.I was thinking,what the hell is "Bones" doing in that lion's den? The next time I heard of Joe Brown was reading of his death in the obituary column. It was in the back of the sports page,a few lines. Later I read that he 71 years of age when he passed. He tried his hand at training fighters,but there ain't much fightin' material in New Orleans. The Big Easy is about the music,the food,and getting drunk.Prize fighting requires too much sacrifice. Oh,there are plenty of street fights in New Orleans,and knife fights,and gun fights.That's what hit me after 15 years since my last visit. You can get in Big Trouble in the Big Easy if you wander off to wrong parts of town.

So I'm lying in bed in my hotel room thinking of "Old Bones" and I'm getting that bittersweet taste in my mouth.But New Orleans is a city of celebration. When someone dies you have a party. So I rolled out of the sack and made up my mind I'd give Joe Brown my personal celebration ala New Orleans. I'd listen to some good music,eat some good food,and get good and drunk. So I put on a clean T Shirt,baggy shorts,and flip flops so I'd look "native" and hail a taxi to Frenchmen Street. Frenchmen Steets is where the locals go. Franchmen street is where I'd find "Old Bones".I wouldn't need no time machine because it's happening now on those two blocks of pleasure like it was back when Joe Brown was the lightweight champ.Yeah,i'd chow down a couple of those gator dogs at Dat Dogs next to the Spotted Cat Music Club,then I'd belly up to the bar at the Cat and start gulping down stiff shots of Herradura tequila.The joint was full when I made my entrance,but "Old Bones" had a seat waiting for me at the end of the bar."Bones" slapped me on the back and we got to business with the liquid refreshments. He told me that Meschiya Lake and Her Little Big Horns were tuning up for the next set and that I was going to be in for a treat. He was grinning ear to ear.I was happy.i could feel myself loosening up.the bartender wasn't shy about filling up my glass to the top. The night was getting darker and the lights inside the Spotted Cat were getting brighter.When there were no more seats inside I could see the people gathering outside the door. Then Meschiya Lake grabbed the mike. The musicians acted like they had been doing this since Joe Brown took the title from Bud Smith. It was a perfect storm and the weather was beautiful.The band kicked off with a number called Reefer Man.This Mischiya Lake chick set the band stand on fire with her gritty melodic vocals. "Old Bones' gave me a shot in the side.People got up and started dancing.It was loose as a goose.The music kept on going.The tequila never ran out.It was heavenly pandemonium.I woke up the next morning in my hotel room thinking that I had visited the Twilight Zone.

I'm back in San Diego now. I know I got to go back somewhere that never went away. New Orleans is one of those spiritual places. Superstion,voodoo,religion,the music,all wraps itself into a karma that is like no other place in the world.The only thing I want to caution about is if you have aspirations of becoming a prize fighter,go to Philadelphia.




"Old Bones"



https://youtu.be/vY7YRTo6QRI

Meschiya Lake and Her Little Big Horns on Frenchmen Street, New Orleans

A Big Easy Definition

I've got a different kind of unique dictionary:A New Orleans Dictionary. I looked up "America" and this popped up.


https://youtu.be/7hgNH6yF9SY

The Prozac Killer


https://youtu.be/m_SMk42zcfI

the Prozac company knows that if you go to New Orleans and listen to music like this ,people would be flushing their s--t down the toilet

And Then I Saw A Man Who Had No Boxing Shoes

When I was teaching for the Court Schools I used to have a classroom upstairs at a community center on Logan Avenue in Barrio Logan. The classroom was on the second floor of the center and was open faced without a door. There were some desks and I had a table to work behind. The room was spacious with a wood floor.Windows on the side of the room let plenty of sunlight in. On the first floor was a boxing gym .Since there were no closed walls on the second floor,the tier overhung the first floor looking down on the gym.The gym had a nice ring,assorted speed bags and heavy bags,a locker room off to the side with a shower. The center was recessed from the street with an adequate asphalt parking lot in front of the building. The kids assigned to that school were on probation.They had served a short stretch in Juvenile Hall and were put in my class because the Probation department considered them low risk and the fact that they lived close by.Since the kids were determined low risk there was no probation officer assigned to my classroom.Class began at eight in the morning and ended at noon. Kids would drift in anytime between eight and eight thirty.Barrio Logan was back then a predominantly Mexican neighborhood.It still is. It's also a neighborhood that's still poor with a lot of boarded up storefronts.The houses are old, small,painted in various hues, and mostly made of wood. The front yards and porches are filled up with flowers .All the windows are protected by iron bars.

At the school there was no set curriculum,no text books,I could teach whatever I felt like each day. Since I majored in English and history ,I stuck to subjects related in those fields. I hated math and science( I was never good with those subjects in school) so the kids never were exposed to anything that had formulas or numbers in the lessons. Attendance was sketchy. The kids kind of went through the motions. They knew ,however,if they messed up they'd be back in Juvenile Hall. Sometimes a probation officer would drop in and ask how things were going. There was nothing to report that was too serious ,so no kids on my roster got locked up again.

The boxing gym below the tier ,where my classroom was set up, opened its doors around 10 am.Rodolfo Gonzalez ran the gym. He didn't own the place. I never knew who did.All I knew was that it wasn't owned by the city.Rodolfo basically trained the fighters that worked out there. I'd say on a daily average there would be between ten to twenty fighters training at the facility. I didn't recognize any of the popular local fighters.it was a young group. Rodolfo kept them moving and they responded with enthusiasm.

I was grateful for that gym. I could usually keep those kids' attention spans occupied for a few hours and then their minds started to drift. When the fighters began arriving,it was a welcome diversion. The kids,mostly boys,would get out of their seats and hang over the railing to watch the fighters. I would join the kids. After a half hour or so it was OK with Rodolfo and the fighters if the kids wanted to come downstairs to watch.

I'll never forget one fighter who I became very fond of,an African kid from Nigeria. His name was Chris,I think he weighed in around the lightweight limit. Everybody called him Chris.His last name was a long one. The first two letters of his last name began with a M and a G then followed by about a dozen more letters in any order. No one tried to pronounce Chris's surname. Chris had a short stumpy frame with a pair of short arms hanging by his sides. His face was broad with high cheek bones,a big toothy smile,full lips and mouth.You could tell immediately that he was African with no white blood in him. At first glance two things always jumped out when I saw Chris. he was always smiling and he wore this white T Shirt that had printed on the front"I'M A SOLDIER IN THE ARMY OF THE LORD." Unless he was fighting in the ring he was always wearing that shirt. I don't think I ever met a more positive person. I never heard him bum rap anyone. He didn't complain about anything. He was happy all the time I was around him. I made fast friends with Chris right away.I remember during a break one day I got to ask him a few questions.
"Chris,where are you from in Africa?"
"I'm Nigerian.But someday I want to be an American citizen."
"Does Nigeria still remember Dick Tiger?"
"Dick Tiger is a legend in Nigeria. He is a patriot,a revered man."
"How long have you been in America?"
"Nine years. I lived in New York first. Then the State department relocated me to San Diego."
"The State department?"
"Yes. I'm a political refugee. The Muslims near the village that I lived in the northern part of the country gave my family many problems. They raided my village and killed my father,my brother,and my uncle."
"I'm sorry,"I said.
Chris never broke his smile.
"I have never been happier than I am in your country. I am free to be a Christian."
"I glad to hear that."
"I live only a few blocks down the street, I live with two other Nigerians. They are also political refugees and Christians. We are all soldiers of the Lord."
"That's good,"I said.
"We all work at night.I work at a restaurant downtown. I am a cook. One day I want to go to school to learn how to be a chef."
Chris went back to punch the heavy bag and skip rope.After he was finished and began to cool down,I asked him if he had any fights lined up.
"Next week I'll turn pro.I fought as an amateur in Nigeria. I'm in a preliminary fight at the Coliseum."
"I'll be there to watch you,"I said."Will Rodolfo be with you?"
"No.my manager is Dick Wood. Do you know him?"
"Yes.Doesn't he work with fighters in National City?"
"He does,but since I live close to here this is where I train.But Dick will bring a few other fighters from his stable to fight on the card."
Funny. I'd seen Chris in the gym for a few weeks,but I hadn't seen Dick Wood on the premises ever.Dick seemed like a good guy,but I knew his stomping grounds were south of here at the 32nd Street Gym and once in awhile you could find him at Junior Robles's Gym.

Chris continued his routine the following week, beginning to taper off a couple of days before his debut.The day before the fight Chris came to the gym to do some light exercises and some stretching.I saw his "I'M A SOLDIER IN THE ARMY OF THE LORD " T shirt and walked over to wish him good luck.
"Well,you ready to go?"I asked.
"Yes I am.But I have a small problem. Yesterday someone stole my boxing shoes from the locker room.They must have needed a pair of shoes. I can understand,but I have solution,"Chris said smiling.
"What are you going to do?"
"I have a pair of roller skating shoes. I'll just remove the wheels and nobody will know the difference."
"Does Dick know you have this problem?"
"I told him ,but that I would just remove the wheels from the roller skating shoes. He didn't seem worried."
"Well I wish you all the luck.I'll see you tomorrow night then."

The next night I went to the old Coliseum. I can't remember who else was on the card.I don't think there were any popular names because the arena was about half full.But I was there to see Chris.He was in the opener. His opponent was a Mexican kid. The Mexican kid looked frail and soft,but that didn't always mean much. Chris was put together more solidly. I was anxious to see Chris get into action and get his first pro win. In the gym he didn't show much power. He was thick through the chest and with those short arms couldn't get a lot of leverage and power behind his punches.But Chris was an action fighter and in great shape. Frank Rustich,a local referee ,called the two fighters to the center of the ring. I noticed that Chris didn't have a robe,a towel was draped over his shoulders. It was also the first time I had seen Dick Wood with him. After touching gloves they fightets pranced back to their corners. The bell sounded.Chris turned and came out fast.

Chris made himself even lower bending at the waist ,moving his head and shoulders.Chris quickly cornered the Mexican kid and let his hands loose. The Mexican kid tried to ward him off with a jab that glanced off Chris's shoulder. Then Chris went down to canvas.I thought right away he tripped,but Rustich ruled it a knockdown because the punch landed on Chris's shoulder and subsequently Chris went down.But as Chris fell I noticed the soles of his shoes. Although Chris had removed the wheels from the roller skating shoes,he evidently couldn't remove the steel runners on the bottom of the soles .He couldn't keep his feet with those shoes.Chris sprang up again.Rustich shook out his gloves and motioned both fighters in.Again there was the Mexican kid against the ropes. Chris was winging with both hands. The Mexican kid flicked his jab again and Chris again was on the deck. Now the crowd started booing. Chris didn't take a count,but Rustich ruled another knockdown.The three knockdown rule was in effect. Another trip to the canvas and Rustich would stop it.In the next few seconds Rustich called it off. Chris went to the canvas for the third time. The fight didn't last a minute. The crowd was pretty sore.Dick Wood draped the towel over Chris's shoulders.He was smiling as he walked back to the locker room.i got out of my seat and followed. Inside the locker room I saw Dick Wood pulling off Chris's gloves.
"You had bad luck tonight Chris."said Wood as he was cutting the tape off Chris's gloves.
"I thought those shoes would work but they didn't,"said Chris shaking his head.
I gave Wood a stare. He shouldn't have let Chris go in there with those shoes,but I don't think it mattered with him.Chris showered quickly and put on his "I'M A SOLDIER IN THE ARMY OF THE LORD" T shirt.He wanted to return to the arena to watch his stablemates. I went with him.I can't remember if his stablemates won or lost.All I could see was that Chris was rooting them on with every ounce of his will. He was almost crying wanting those guys to win.

I finished my stint at the community center shortly after Chris's fight. I was assigned to another court school. But I would stop by the gym on Logan Avenue to talk to Chris. In a year he had a couple of more fights.He told me he had fought a couple of draws in Phoenix. Shortly after,I didn't see him again.Rodolfo and the other fighters said they didn't know what happened. Chris had dropped off the face of the earth.

Today,I still think about Chris.His smile.His T shirt.I hope he got to cooking school.If nothing else, I'm sure he stayed in the army of the Lord.By now he should be a general.

http://imgur.com/ghD4PyX

Dick Tiger



https://youtu.be/sfD-Jini4ok

Chris in battle. You know I went to Catholic church in Chicago.St. Patty's on the North Side. I don't remember Father Murphy having this kind of service. I like this one better.

I am the oldest of five children (four boys and a girl, the latter being the youngest). All of us children were born in the same hospital in Great Falls, Montana within a seven-year period during 1950s. With a population of about 40 or 50 thousand, Great Falls was the biggest city in Montana, a state that is only a little smaller than California in land area. Yet Montana had a population of only about 600,000 or 700,000 during the 1950s and 1960s. At the time that I was born during the early 1950s, my parents were living near Belt, a town with population of about 500 that is located about 20 miles east of Great Falls, on one of the cattle ranches owned by my father's family in Montana.

Both of my parents were native Californians and had graduated from Stanford University, where they had first met as freshmen. After spending a year at Montana State University in Bozeman in order to take some agricultural courses ca. 1950, Dad became a ranch manager when he was about 23 years of age. Although reluctant at first about becoming a ranch manager after his graduation from Stanford and being accepted into Stanford Business School, Dad found that he liked working on cattle ranches.

On the ranch of about 8,000 acres and in an area located the vicinity of a creek, my family occupied the entire second floor in a good-sized, two-story house with a basement. The ground floor had the ranch cook's living quarters (for herself and any of her family members), the cook's kitchen, and a large room which served as the cook's living room (which had a television) and an area where the ranch hands ate their meals. A bunk house for the ranch hands was located only a few steps from the house. Two elderly men, the ranch mechanic and a man who was essentially retired, had their own rooms in a building located near a barn and a corral. There also was a chicken house and a building that contained a shop for repairing and maintaining ranch equipment.

Dad's family also owned a cattle ranch of about 20,000 acres located near Augusta, a town with a population of about 300 that is located about fifty miles west of Great Falls. About 28 years older than my father, Tot, the manager of the ranch near Augusta, had been working on a ranch since he was a youngster and had been working on the family ranches for about three decades by the early 1950s. Both Tot and his wife (who was about 20 years younger than her husband) had served in the U.S. Marines during World War I and World War II respectively. They had two sons who are a few years older than me.

- Chuck Johnston

Indigestion

Yesterday I had breakfast with a kid I used to coach in high school. He played football.I knew his dad.He played football also.The dad was a few years older than me. We used to pal around a lot.We played on the same local softball teams. He had a garage in back of his place that had a pool table. We spent a lot of time shooting pool and drinking beer in that garage. When his son got old enough to participate in youth sports,we coached him on the Little League team. When his son went to high school ,he went out for the football team.It was the same high school that me and his dad went to.I was an assistant coach coaching the offensive line. His son was a tight end. Sometimes I'd work with him because the tight ends had a lot of blocking assignments.I remember he didn't play much. He always seemed hurt.

This was quite awhile back. The dad passed away about ten years ago. He was pretty sick with diabetes and a bad heart. They had to amputate his leg at the knee cap. Every other day his wife had to take him for dialysis treatment.I still kept in touch with the family.The boy has a family of his own now,a wife and two daughters. His oldest daughter goes to the same school as my grandson. I call him a boy because that's how I remember him,but he's in his late 40's now.My past has a hard time catching up with what's going on today.

So my friend's son called me up the other day and wanted to have lunch. He'd gotten laid off from his job and I guess he wanted someone to talk to. I was OK with that.We met at a local mom and pop breakfast spot.I wasn't too hungry so I stuck with an English muffin and coffee. The kid went all out with bacon and eggs,a waffle,hash browns,orange juice,and coffee.

He started going in on how they outsourced his job to Mexico and that he had all these bills to pay. His wife was getting on his case and his kids were losing respect for him. I asked him if he was putting in applications. He said he was and that he had an interview next week. He kept up the whining so I told him that if you tell people your problems,half don't care and the other half are glad you have them.He broke out in a smile,and then we started to talk about old times.

We talked about his dad,playing on the little League team(David Wells was on that team.I'll save that one for another time),growing up in Ocean Beach,and how times have changed.Then he said something that to me that set me aback.
" I remember that time you knocked Ken Norton on his ass,"he exclaimed.
"Who told you that?"I quickly asked.
"My dad.He said you knocked Ken Norton on his ass."
"No I didn't. I sparred with Ken Norton once when he was starting out,but it was Norton who gave me a beating.They had to step in to stop it."
The kid frowned a little and then gave a smirk. I went on to a different subject.We chatted on for awhile and then I went for the check.I shook hands with him and wished him luck with his job interview.

As I drove back home I began to think how that story of me knocking Ken Norton on his ass got started and how much of it had spread.Here's the deal with stories like that. People would rather stick to the myth. I bet that kid will still go on saying in the neighborhood that I knocked Ken Norton on his ass.I had to open up a pack of Tums because I was getting an upset stomach.
http://imgur.com/HXgC0xQ

Ken Norton

Champagne Bubbles

I guess you need a fight announcer,a guy to introduce the combatants. Boxing is one of the few sports where someone stands with a microphone and announces to the audience who is going to participate.Boxing has an aura that lends itself to a bravado of a build up.Watching the fights on TV as a kid ,the announcer who sticks out was Johnny Addie.If the fight was held in the Garden or St. Nicks,if it was a big fight in New York ,it was Johnny Addie's big voice who brought the fighters out from their corners for round of applause or a chorus of boos.Addie had that unmistakable back east sound that was synonymous with big buildings,big boroughs,Ebbetts Field and Yankee Stadium,the East River and the Statue of Liberty,Uptown and Central Park and Times Square. His voice spoke Lindy's and Katz's and Jack Dempsey's joint on Broadway,the Village and all the clubs on 52nd Street,Penn Station and Grand Central.When Johnny Addie's voice filled the arena it was like a Film Noir movie.Johnny Addie was on all the sidewalks of New York. You knew Mantle , Whitey ,and Yogi were sitting at ringside alongside Ellington ,Sinatra,and the mob guys and their molls.Basilio and Sugar Ray were pre fight celebrities brought up to the ring so the public could bask in their atmospheres. They always got a big hand.So did Jake and his childhood partner in crime the middleweight Rocky.If the Brown Bomber was there everyone was on their feet, and that went for Marciano as well.

In LA,in sunny California where the orange groves bore their fruit and the studios churned out the cellular entertainment, we were on the opposite side from The Apple. It was 180 degrees in temperment as well. In the 50's Los Angeles had no professional teams until the Rams were invited to join the NFL. The Brooklyn Bums and O'Malley got a raw deal from their city fathers and played their games beginning 1958 in the LA Coliseum.But prior to the Rams and Dodgers,boxing was the main event in Los Angeles.The east coast boxing icons may have made a journey or two to give the Golden State a taste,but the Southland's staple were the little guys,the Golden Boy,Mexican and Chicano fighters,a young Armstrong,a Chalky and a former field worker named Manuel.There were Baby's and Kids,and later came the flood of Puas,Chucho,a couple of Ramoses,two brothers Lopez,a Chacon,a Crawford and a Quarry and a fella' with the Mexican name for butter.Carlos and Lupe followed,after that Julio Cesar. Hollywood Legion Stadium,the LA Sports Arena,and Olympic Auditorium were the venues. if Aileen Eaton and George Parnassus knew they could sell more tickets they put the fight in the Forum or one of the ballparks.

The Southland's announcer,our counterpart to Johnny Addie,was a slight figure with a high pitched voice,Jimmy Lennon.He echoed Sunset Boulevard,Ocean View Park( where Jimmy used to sing the National Anthem),the Ambassador Hotel,the studios,sunshine and Disneyland.Boyle Heights and Whittier Boulevard were on that resume.The smog and the haze and the glare from the cars' windshields backed up on the freeways played into it. That was all in the voice of Jimmy Lennon.

Being attached to Tinsel Town afforded Jimmy to get a timely paycheck from the producers in Film Land,of course playing himself.If Johnny Addie was big in the biggest city with big everythings,Jimmy knew his role in a growing burg that wasn't as hectic. In fact you can see more transplants from back east in California than the other way around.They came out here to get away from it all. We didn't want Johnny Addie. There wasn't any movement for replacing Jimmy Lennon. He was a reflection of the community. He began as a singer in Santa Monica. His nieces were the adorable little harmonizers that Lawrence Welk featured on his show.LA was sipping champagne letting the bubbles tickle your nose,not belting down shots of whiskey. Where New York was loud,LA soaked up the sun's rays and kicked back.Unless it was Bobby Chacon taking on Little Red at the Olympic Auditorium.

http://imgur.com/QnNAxGh

Our guy,Jimmy Lennon



https://youtu.be/opm1zuEHZUU

The Lennon Sisters singing May You Always. Glad we had them

http://imgur.com/WU14ooF

Jimmy Lennon Jr. being inducted into the West Coast Boxing Hall of Fame here talking to Randy De La O. Jimmy Sr. was also voted in.Great evening

A Tale Of 3 Gyms

So yesterday I went in the morning to drop in to see my granddaughter,Amanda,working at the coffee shop. The coffee shop is on Mission Gorge Road down the hill from the state college. On the way, I pass Tiger Small's Boxing Gym. It's not really his gym.The guy who has the karate place across the street is the owner,but he put Tiger in charge of running the boxing end of his enterprise.Lately though as I drive by,I've noticed that the doors to the boxing gym have been closed. Yesterday I saw the "For Lease " sign on the wall. After having a cup of coffee with my granddaughter,i drove back to the gym and took a picture.I then walked across the street to the karate studio to see if there was anyone there who could shed light on what was going on.The karate studio was closed too.

I had the rest of the day in front of me.On impulse I decided to cross the border and revisit a couple of old boxing institutions that I hadn't seen in some time,the "Indio" Ortega Gym in Parque Juarez and the Erik "Terrible" Morales's Gym in the Zona Norte.

I decided I'd first opt for the gym they named after Gaspar Ortega.The gym was located in Benito Juarez Park that was run by the city. The recreation facility is located right beside the 'Via Rapida" road that runs along the fence that separates the US and Mexico.You can toss a rock over the fence from the Mexican side to the US side without having to loosen up your arm.It had been awhile since I'd been to that park. The last time I was there it was in pretty bad condition.They'd let the grass on the baseball field die, The basketball gymnasium was marked up with graffiti and the windows were broken. The Gaspar Ortega Gym was in similar condition. There was broken glass and trash on the ground everywhere. At night the heroin addicts would drift in and use the place as a "shooting gallery."You could see the used needles strewn around on the ground. But yesterday ,to my surprise, it was different. The buildings had been refurbished,repainted, and the broken windows replaced. The grass on the ball field was green and growing again.The grounds were clean and I wasn't hesitant about using the restrooms. But with all the improvements the park looked abandoned. I entered the gate out front and could see an old heavyset woman sitting on a bench holding a soccer ball. I asked her if there was a boxing gym in the park. She pointed at a big building that was next to the outside basketball court. I pushed open the glass doors and saw that inside was a basketball court with a cement floor with basket ball posts on each end that were weighted down with big sandbags. On one side of the court was about a dozen rows of bleachers with individual plastic seats.You could still see some dry wall dust on the floor where the workers were working. It looked like a man and his small son were the only ones on the court. They were lazily shooting the ball around. I asked the man if there was a boxing gym on the premises.
"Go through the double doors,"he said pointing to a corner of the gym.
I walked through the doors and immediately saw a boxing ring with assorted punching bags to the side. They hung there motionless.The ring was empty.On the side of the ring was painted the word "bienvenidos" which means "welcome" in English. There were a few exercise benches with some small weights and some light dumbbells to the side away from the ring.Two men wearing T shirts and khaki pants were lifting weights.They looked like they were in their 40's.
"Excuse me,"I said."Is this the "Indio" Ortega Gym?"
"Why yes it is",answered one of the men in English.He put down the barbell and came up to me.He seemed anxious to answer my questions.
"This place has changed,"I said.
"Oh,it is new,"said the man.
"I remember when this park was pretty run down."
"It will be again,"said the man."It is beginning now."
His friend stopped exercising and stood beside the man speaking to me.
"I know the man who this gym is named after,"I said.
"You mean 'Indio' Ortega?"
"Yes.he lives in New York City now."
"He came here when the gym reopened,"said the man.
I remember the last time I saw Gaspar Ortega a few years ago at the World Boxing Hall of Fame banquet. He had lunch with my wife and I while his wife had to go for her dialysis treatment. He was a little worried.He was glad to be with us. My wife,especially,has that motherly comforting affect.He said that though he lived in Tijuana back when he was fighting that he was disgusted with Tijuana. The crime,the poverty,the corruptness was just too much for him to bear.
"You mean the city invited him to the ceremony?"I asked.
"Yes. He was here,"answered the man.
I had my doubts about what he said about Gaspar Ortega being here,but it wasn't that important to me to call him out on it.
"Tell me",said the man."Was he a good fighter?"
"He was one of the best.He fought for the championship."
"Did he live here?"
"In Colonia Morales. He was very popular."
"When did he fight?"asked the man.
"During the 50's and early 60's."
"Well ,it's fortunate for you that you came today. Tomorrow they are going to close this place down."
"Why?"
"No fighters come in here. The city won't pay for a trainer. They won't even let you pay the radio.Soon everything will be the way it was before."
I shook the man's hand and his friend's.When I went back to my car,I saw a guy wearing filthy clothes pushing a bucket on a cart. He had a rag in his hand.His face was grimy and he flashed a toothless smile. He wanted to know if he could clean off my car. I told him he could. He immediately started wiping. I walked to the corner trying to find a store that was open so I could buy a Coke. There was no store that was open. Most of the store fronts were boarded up.Grafitti was on all the bulidings. Trash and garbage was tossed everywhere onto the street, Mangy dogs were sniffing through the debris looking for something to eat.I noticed all the lights on the lamp posts were broken. I watched the guy wiping my car. The rag he was using was so dirty that he just streaked more grime on the chassis.I waked up to him while he was still wiping and gave him a couple of bucks.

I got in my car and drove to Erik Morales's Gym. I got a little lost,but I asked someone walking on the street and quickly got my bearings. Morales's gym is located on a corner on Coahuila Street in the Zona Norte about two blocks east from Parque Benito Juarez. The gym is above a little store that Morales has rented out.The gym has no sign and you can't see it from the street.At the side of the store is a small door. Up a flight of stairs is the gym.I peered through the glass on the door and saw some guys that looked like they were cleaning up. I walked inside. The gym is small,a ring to the left with boxing gear in shelves next to the windows facing the street. On the opposite side are the bags with a big mirror on the opposite side that covers the wall.The guys that were cleaning up put down their mops and buckets. They looked younger like they were in their teens and early 20's.
"Hola amigos,"I said smiling."I came by to visit. I haven't been here since 'Terrible' was the champion."
One of the boys stepped forward.
"The fighters don't come in until 4 o'clock,"he said friendly enough.
"How about Morales? Does he come in?"
"Very seldom. It's hard to know,"said the young man.
"Are you guys fighters?"I asked.
"Yes.We help out.We are here everyday."
"I was just at the gym in Parque Juarez."
"Why did you go there?"asked the young man.
"I know the fighter they named the gym after."
"Who's that?"
"Indio" Ortega."
"Did he fight in Tijuana?"
"Yes,many years ago."
"No one goes to that gym,"said the young man.
"Someone told me that today is the last day. After today it will close."
"Everything the government runs fails.They take the money for themselves."
"Well, this place looks like it's doing pretty good."
"A lot of fighters come here. This gym and the CREA. There are a lot of gyms in Tijuana ,but they are struggling."
"Well,I'll be back.Good luck to you guys,"I said.
The young men all shook my hand.I walked down the stairs and out to my car.

As I was diving east on Coahuila Street about two blocks before entering the red light district I passed the old cemetery. I saw dozens of police cars.I was in a about a two block section where people sell stuff out on the street.The streets were jambed with people. You can find just about anything you want.Most of it is stolen goods. The cops know it. They're shaking people down,standing guys up against walls and the sides of the cop cars. Police holding AR 15's stopping anyone in a car they think might be fencing something. I'm sure the cops have a hand in all this. "Mordida" will allow some one to operate with impunity. One hand washes the other. One big cop holding an AR 15,his bulletproof vest bulging from inside his uniform,big badge, and wearing wrap around shades put his hand on the hood of my car as I was trying to navigate around the potholes.He put his face near the window.
"Hola amigo,"I said.
He waved me on giving me a look like "What the hell is this dumb gringo doing here?"

I was thinking the same thing myself.I couldn't wait to get back to San Diego and call Tiger to find out why they shut down the gym.

http://imgur.com/ALAgTCf

No more Tiger Smalls Gym


http://imgur.com/WuWVust

The last day of the "Indio" Ortega Gym



http://imgur.com/rBoAbbc

"Terrible" Morales Gym.Still going strong

http://imgur.com/FAjg4MW

Gaspar Ortega's wife and my wife at the World Boxing Hall of Fame Banquet



http://imgur.com/kUWGi78

The Ortega's flew out from New York with former lightweight champ Carlos Ortiz and his wife. Here's a handsome Carlos enjoying the festivities.




http://imgur.com/aTcXMUv

We took "Indio" to lunch while his wife was being attended to at the doctor's office

Tiger In The Valley

After returning to San Diego from Tijuana, having visited "Terrible" Morales's Gym and "Indio" Ortega's Gym,phoned Tiger Smalls to find out what had happened to the gym on Mission Gorge Road that he had been running for his boss.Tiger told me that they needed more space and that his boss had relocated to Spring Valley,a small rural community just east of the city of San Diego.He said that his son Prince was lined up to fight in Las Vegas on the 20th of this month. I asked him for the address of the new gym and told him I'd be out there to see him and his son,

The new gym is a lot more spacious than the other one.I also found out that the main reason for the move was that the landlord wanted to double the rent on the other gym.Like the old gym,the new place is one of those combination mixed martial arts and boxing. Tiger has all his fighters in there.I saw Tiger working out some of his students in what looked like a novice boxing class. The students were mostly kids. Prince was assisting his dad.After some warm embraces with the Father and son, I watched Tiger and Prince putting the class through their paces. Their methodology suited the students' potentials. My grandson was in one of Tiger's boxing classes a few years ago. Nobody was going nuts.It was strictly recreational.Good instruction on a sincere personal basis.I never saw Tiger nor his son scare anyone off.What would be the point?If one of the students wanted to step it up and take it more seriously,then Tiger would enroll him in a more advanced boxing class. He'd explain the commitment factor that was apropos with the next level of training.

Tiger Smalls is very friendly and easy going.He never puts unnecessary pressure on anyone that he thinks would only drive someone away and damage a fiendship.Again,what's the point? Tiger is very popular and loved by his students and fighters.Every time I've seen Prince fight there is always a large following of Tiger and Prince fans wearing either "Tiger Smalls Boxing"shirts or ones that read "Prince Smalls Boxing." After the class finished up,Tiger had time to fill me in on things.
"I see this kid that Prince is fighting is also undefeated,"I remarked.
"He's connected with Mayweather,"said Tiger.
"Didn't he fight in that same bar Prince fought in in Tijuana?"
"Yeah,you remember this Xavier Martinez?"
"I don't know if I've seen him,"I said.
"He keeps his hands close to his body and held up high."
"I don't remember him,but this is what Prince needs."
"Someone will have his first loss when it's over."
Prince went over to the mat and began doing crunches.
"What did they set the weight at?"I asked.
"126 pounds."
"How's Prince's weight now?"
"He'll have no problem.He needs to drop 4 or 5 pounds,but he'll be able make weight with his street clothes on."
"Where's the fight at?"
"Sam's Town."
"That kid has fought there before."
"That's OK with us. It will be on TV.That's good for us too,"said Tiger.
"I think I'll fly up there and watch it,"I said.
"That would be great!"
Tiger sat up on the ring apron and pulled out his I Phone and was searching for something.
"You know James Kinchen?"I asked him.
" 'The Heat'? Sure."
"I see him at his church out on Imperial Avenue."
"You men he's a preacher?"
"Got that right.He's sending a message."
"I haven't seen him in years.,"said Tiger.
"He told me that he talked to Terry Norris on the phone. He said Terry wasn't making any sense."
"I talked to Terry last week.He came in here with a friend. I got scared.I couldn't understand him either. Now I'm thinking if I'm going that way.I'm trying to learn as much as I can about it."
"You sound fine,"I said.
"But you don't know if you're getting it. I didn't get hit that much,but I don't know. I'm beginning to worry."
Tiger put his I Phone back in his pocket.
"Don't worry.You're fine,I said "
Tiger then told Prince to warm up the next class of students.
"Look,I got to get going,"I said."When are you in here?"
"Every morning at nine and the I then come back at 6 o'clock."
"I'll be back next week,"I said.
"Good seeing you champ,"he said."Come back.Bring your grandson Adam with you.I miss him."
"For sure I will."

Driving back home on the freeway,I was wishing that Prince would win and that Tiger was OK and that Terry Norris would get better. I made up my mind to go to The Helping Hand Of God Church this Sunday to see James Kinchen and listen to his message.



Tiger Smalls in his new gym





Prince showing patience with a young student


http://imgur.com/YcUOKFW

The fight in Las Vegas


http://imgur.com/RTRGtNh

Terry Norris.

Forever El Nino

I remember when this thread got started.It was 10 years ago. Originally it was named "The 'Indian Red Lopez' thread or something like that.Brian Higgins(expug)kicked it off with a story about how they had found Indian Red in a homeless shelter in Texas and now the family was going bring him back home to LA.Ernie was already in the stages of dementia by then.He would pass away in 2009.I was browsing around the different threads before the Indian Red Lopez topic got started. It was the usual:who's the best,who's the worst,who could have beaten who,make a list. It got to be a lot of arguing that degenerated into name calling and insults after awhile.No one ever won anyone over to his side. Getting in a pissing contest on the internet isn't for me. Then came along the post by Brian Higgins.Frank Balthazar was an old hand in the boxing circles of Los Angeles. He worked with his three sons who became professional fighters. He knew the Olympic Auditorium and similar venues like the Hollywood Legion Stadium like his back yard. Soon after, Rick Farris joined in.I remember Rick fighting on a few undercards in San Diego.Randy De La O was aboard at that time and he was an old LA gym rat. My exposure to boxing was mostly in San Diego and across the border.I worked in the ring with some amateurs and some pros,but never wanted to commit to taking boxing seriously.I'd attended a dozen or so fights in Los Angeles.That was a very memorable period for boxing,not only in the Southland,but for the sport's historical value. The 60's,70's,and 80's will never be equaled with such exuberance again .

After the stories of "Indian Red" Lopez started to diminish,the editors on Boxrec were nice enough to pin the thread renaming it Classic West Coast Boxing. For awhile the regulars kicked up their heels. For me it was an awakening.I never thought that there were so many of the boxing ilk of that period living in Los Angeles. There were boxing institutions and events bringing those guys together on a regular basis. When I saw the pictures that were posted,I broke down.Maybe it was because I got married and strayed away from the sport,I thought all that was left were memories. In San Diego,my burg,boxing had disconnected. I stumbled on to Burke Emery who owned a bar across the street,but even Burke would shrug his shoulders when I'd ask him about the gang,small as it was,that kept things alive in san Diego.

They say a picture says a thousand words.When I saw the recent shots of guys like Art Aragon,Bobby Chacon,"Little" Red Lopez,Rodolfo Gonzalez,Armando Muniz,and Carlos Palomino I was floored. I was turned on to attending the ceremonies and banquets in the LA area. The first one I attended was a Father and Son Banquet at Stevens Steak House in the suburb of Commerce just south of LA proper. Immediately I could sense that these gatherings were special,especially for the people who actively participated in putting Southland boxing on the map.There was a special camaraderie with those boys.I sat back and watched mostly. Don't get me wrong.Those guys aren't stuck up or anything like that.I just said to myself that they were "in" there.I had a seat in the audience. If a topic on the thread is "What is the best fight you ever saw?",how could I ask that to a fighter who had fought before a standing room only crowd?Oh,I know you could, and he'd give you an answer,but I just wanted to sit back and listen. I had nothing to add.

I took one lasting impression home with me from that Father/Son Banquet.At a table a saw a big heavyset guy with a woman an a coupe of other gentlemen. One older.One younger.I asked Frank Balthazar who was at the event who were the occupants of that table.When he said the heavyset man was Mando Ramos,I was stunned. The regulars at Stevens Steakhouse had seen the transition. I had heard the stories,but a picture says a thousand words.Mando Ramos,the two time lightweight champ,the slickest little dude I ever saw in the ring,was there with his dad,wife and son. He was happy and very approachable.But I was hung up,a flaw in my character couldn't make at least go up to him and his family so I could say that he was a part of the greatest,most exciting fight I ever witnessed. The night Mando Ramos and "Sugar" Ramos put on a clinic of non stop action at the Olympic Auditorium. If one guy came up with something cute and clever, the other guy would wave his magic wand and respond. The fight could have been staged at the Louvre. It was a work of art. Mando won by the girth of a razor blade.He was determined not to be upstaged that night. Looking back, it was his greatest performance. After the bedlam ceased the fighters embraced.There were no losers.The fans were almost as exhausted as the fighters.

But I never got out of my chair at Stevens to say how much that fight meant to me. To see him like that brought out my insecurities. Mando Ramos is gone now too. They had a memorial service for him in Wilmington near his hometown of Long Beach. I wanted to make amends. I presented his son with a portrait of his dad.As nice a guy you could ever meet. I see the son once in awhile at these functions.I read that Mando sent a message to young people about drug and alcohol abuse and its adverse effects after his fighting days ended.A premature exit. During the ceremony in Wilmington,they showed a montage on film of some of Mando's battles. I remember Frankie Balthazar was sitting next to me.One of the clips showed a sequence of exchanges between Mando and Teo Cruz.Mando had stepped back like he was going to disengage,but then threw two rapid short right hand hooks to Cruz's side.Frankie nudged my shoulder.
"Did you catch that?" Frankie exclaimed."Mando knew every trick in the book."
Jackie McCoy said that Mando was the best boxer he ever had.Arlene Eaton called him "My baby."Mando Ramos had a charm.He was naughty,but you couldn't help but to forgive him. My former principal ,whose father owned a bar in Boyle Heights, said that Mando and Bobby Chacon were in the saloon as much as they went to the gym. At closing all three would leave with a blond on each arm. I heard so many of those stories that I thought Mando was born in Boyle Heights.We all know how fast Mando burned out. A child meteor.But like a shooting star he was magnificent to watch when he was going good.And as fast as a comet, he was gone. I wished I could have said something like that to him at Stevens Steakhouse that afternoon.


http://imgur.com/isDQ18s

Mr. Bad.Mando Ramos.Forever a boy. You and Bobby.RIP


http://imgur.com/ZW6xZVj

Mando Ramos in the dressing room after the greatest fight I ever saw

http://imgur.com/2eEghUz

A thousand words