BoxRec

scartissue wrote: ↑06 Dec 2018, 11:23 I remember the story on George 'Sugar' Costner and the fact that Ray Robinson didn't take too kindly to his nickname being plagiarized. Subsequent matches saw Ray KO George twice in the first round, which put that to bed. But it was interesting what Rog brought up about Sugar Hart buying his mom a house. I recalled the story of George Costner also buying his mom a house when he was making the bucks, but ended up with eye damage after getting butted pretty bad by Chico Varona and sadly, eventually went blind. But, not to worry, at least he always had the house that he bought for his mother to fall back on once she passed. The problem with that was, he put it in her name rather than his own and she left it to her daughter. Alas, the fighter. If Costner didn't have bad luck, he'd have no luck.

Dan
Your comments about Costner putting the house that he bought for his mother in her name,reminds me of our pal Gato Gonzalez. After beating Carmona for the championship,Gato bought a house in Tijuana(he told me in Colonia Hipodromo a swank neighborhood by the racetrack) for his mother. Like Costner,he thought one day he'd have another asset. Somehow Gato's brother's name got on the deed after the mom passed away. Gato tells me this story just shaking his head.

Rog, fighters should review the saying, "No good deed goes unpunished."

scartissue wrote: ↑06 Dec 2018, 17:02 Rog, fighters should review the saying, "No good deed goes unpunished."

Dan
I was looking at some news stories today and I saw that this homeless man found 17,000 dollars rummaging through some donations that were on the dock at the center where he was staying with his little dog. He turned the money in. There's a picture of him holding his dog and behind him are some of the paid workers of the center. They are all smiles. The guy should have kept the money . Maybe he did the right thing. I don't know. Looking at him smiling, holding his dog,I wish he had kept the money and no one would have known,especially ME.

Abraham Lincoln vs. John Wilkes Booth (1865)

Thinking of all the hypothetical,mythical matchups entailing the most importance and significance that deserve consideration on the forum,I offer a fight,no holds barred,between "Honest" Abe Lincoln and his assailant John "The Thespian" Wilkes Booth. I was a history teacher because I like reading about what happened behind me. American history certainly has had a big part with the events and consequences of what has transpired with everyone who is reading this. Henry Luce,the former publisher of Time and Life magazines, claimed the 20th century as "the American Century."But if the United States impact on the world changed the paradigm,it's a good idea to take a look back to The Civil War.Remember,for roughly 5 years there were 3 countries in North America:Canada,The United States,and The Confederate States Of America. Right off the bat,the CSA had no chance of winning.Even if England would have recognized the Confederacy,the North would have continued on until there was unconditional surrender. To put it in a nutshell,when they asked Baron Rothschild what side was going to win the Civil War,his curt reply,"the North because they have the largest purse."

But what transpired after Confederate General Joe Johnston,the last rebel commander in the field,finally turned over his sword,might have resulted in something very different if Abraham Lincoln had gone on living.His assassination infuriated not only the people in The North,but the congressmen who now were going to enact laws that would mete rules,and restrictions that would put the defunct nation in the vise grips of Washington. The name of these edicts was called "Reconstruction." The South's backlash and anger resulted in their adoption of new laws referred to as "Black Codes."It more or less was still "slavery",under a different guise. To give an example of how The South still held a grudge,Vicksburg,Mississippi didn't recognize nor celebrate The 4th Of July until after World War II. If Abe Lincoln would have been around, his magnanimous heart would have tempered reactions in The South. Vindictiveness wasn't a part of Old Abe's mantra.

So now let's get down to that dream match.I was re reading for the third time James L. Swanson's descriptive narrative, Manhunt, the chase for John Wilkes Booth after he fired that other shot heard 'round the world. In those days security for the President isn't like we have today. In 1865 there was no FBI or Secret Service. That night at Fords Theater Lincoln's box was unprotected. He told his bodyguard to sit below to get a better view. Booth was a sure fire nut case. He hated The Union and now Lincoln was going to pass laws giving Blacks their freedoms on a par with White folk:no more slavery,equal citizenship,and the right to vote. But J.W.B. never joined Bobby Lee's Army Of Virginia. He wasn't in Stonewall Jackson's muster. Booth never donned a gray uniform.He preferred silk shirts,spats,top hats,and white gloves. Yet he was on a mission to do away with a President he perceived as a "devil."

On the night of the assassination Booth gained easy access into Fords Theater,a venue where he had starred on the stage countless times. He walked up to the balcony,derringer in his pocket,a knife in his coat,and cautiously entered Lincoln's box.With Lincoln was his wife and another couple, a Major Rathbone and his fiancée.Booth's entrance went unnoticed. Booth stood erect and aimed at the back of Lincoln's head.Lincoln bent over slightly, and the shot from the gun happened together.Booth wasn't sure his shot hit Lincoln. But at 10:13 April 14th,1865 Abraham Lincoln would never regain conciousness.



In Swanson's book,he poses the thought of what would have happened if Lincoln would have bent over just a tad more?Let's say Booth's shot misses. He wouldn't have been able to reload for a second shot. Lincoln would have turned to face Booth. A struggle would have ensued(leave Major Rathbone out of this).Now who wins this no holds barred clash?


Swanson thinks Abe would have gotten the better of J.W.B. The reasons:Abe had the height and reach advantage. In his youth he liked to wrestle with the other boys in town.He had had built up his body(and now I'm going to let Swanson tell it).


"Lincoln...vigorous,muscular rail splitter from the West....hardened by years of brutal physical toil....a lean and formidable physique.Lincoln,not only his own life in danger,but his wife's,would have fought back arousing the fury of Mississippi River flatboatman who had fought off murderous pirates in the dead of night. A man who could still pick up a log and split it with his axe.He would have choked the life out of 150 pound thespian launching Booth on crippling dive to the stage."
Go Abe Go.


But in Joshua Wolf Shenk's book,Lincoln's Melancholy,Lincoln is described by friends and relatives as being "lazy-a very lazy man" to quote his cousin Dennis Hanks..Young Abe disliked physical labor. "He was always reading,scribbling,writing poetry."And his life as a "rail splitter" was only for a summer one year. They used that "rail splitter" slogan to his advantage when he ran for President. It is well documented that Lincoln suffered from depression and had other health problems.

So now that takes us back to Fords Theater. Let's say Booth's shot hits the ceiling,Lincoln turns on him,and the battle begins. Here's how I see it. Booth may be only 5'8''to Abe's 6'4",but Booth is 27 years old and Abe is 65.Abe's got the height and reach,but remember they are only a foot away from each other in that tiny room. Abe's height and reach would be of little use. But Abe liked to wrestle,but that was many years ago. Wilkes still had the knife,but could Lincoln have parried the blow?Did Booth know how to use a knife?Had he ever been in a knife fight?We have to discount crowd reaction. They weren't aware of what was going on up there. I'm sure Abe would have been the crowd favorite.

I see it out playing this way:Booth misses his shot.Abe turns.Booth lunges awkwardly with the blade,his momentum carries him over the rail ,and he lands on the seats below breaking his neck.Abe lives on to be a benevolent benefactor to The South and we would never hear the words "The South Shall Rise Again."

Patria

Patria. Look the word up in the Spanish dictionary and the definition reads,"native land".That's what it says in my Webster's Everyday Spanish-English Dictionary. An archaic meaning goes more into the metaphysical:"heaven, regarded as the true home from which the soul is exiled while on earth." That sounds closer to how Mexicans think about where they are. They live in a pueblo or a ranchita,small and remote,but that's their heaven while they're on earth. The symbiosis that becomes ingrained in their spirit from birth is with them even if they live to be a hundred. Their parents,brothers and sisters,grandparents,all the extensions are there or close by. Yank them away from that and a panic will take over,and then after the fear ebbs,a melancholy sets in.A lethargy. Maybe a loss of appetite. Refraining from talking. Even the opposite sex seems frightening. When that imaginary umbilical chord has been severed ,despair becomes the adjective.


There have been multitudes of talented Mexican fighters. Today,they still fill the divisions with legitimate contenders and champions . Their race, with their distinctive cultural practices and preferences,are graphic distinctions from the Western European cultures that came across the Atlantic to hone and tweak those philosophies into something they wanted better. Africans were seized from their "patrias",brought to the New World to serve Europeans and their off springs,under the whip and chain.


Mexicans left their their "rincones del cielos",their little corners of heaven,to improve their economic position.It was things they wanted like the aristocracy of the country had,and what the have nots could only see on television. But they didn't arrive by happenstance. They had a relative who had established a foothold. The part of town where they live in the U.S. is comprised of compadres from their patria states or hometowns. My wife's family, that's in the U.S., live in Calumet City,Illinois and New Rochelle,New York. They live in houses next to each other. They live on the same block.My wife's hometown replanted together to these two sites. They marry each other,they socialixe together,they feel the patria again. Their kids become Americanized to a degree,but this question with assimilation will never be complete the way the Mayflower ancestry and the European immigrants that followed want them to be. Be like them ? Impossible. For one thing Mexicans are going to marry Mexicans.I don't see that changing soon.


So again dagosd2000,what the hell does this have to do with boxing? The editors titled the thread "Classic American West Coast Boxing".Fair enough. But take the Mexicans and the Chicanos out of the equation and a big chunk of heaven on earth fighting would be missing. I remember when Long Beach,Pacoima,Boyle heights,East LA were the barrios.Now the patria is everywhere. Boxing in the Southland encompassing San Diego up through Los Angeles was ,and still is, inundated with Mexican fighters. Bring the fighters up from across the border and the interest intensifies.Just the rivalries between the Mexican born in the U.S. and the Mexican born in Mexico creates a cauldron. The patria has expanded leaps and bounds,but that surrogate heavenly home is still something very personal. "Change" is not a word that accompanies one's "patria." The way a mother cooks her beans and rice,makes her chile.How a father grows his facial hair . The wife knows when to leave him alone,and when he needs her to be there. How the Mexican fighter wants to fight in a patria setting,and if he is matched somewhere far away,it will be easier if the seats are filled patria. The patria is what he can draw on when he's in a tight spot. Patria is his heartbeat,his light.What he knows and understands.We all want to go to heaven.maybe we can make a snippet here.

You don't see many Mexican fighters who transplant themselves away from their patria. Maybe a big fight will be in Las Vegas, or New York,but there'll be enough tri color flags in the arena to exude a familiarity. The names of the Mexican champions can fill a tome,but if you see where their battles were fought ,the venues were within the perimeters of their patrias. Even when a Mexican fighter loses,he knows he can go home and eat his wife's pozole,the way she learned how to make it from his mother,and get the patria feeling back again.



Cielito Lindo -Little Heaven.
Pedro Infante

I don't care if it's the richest Mexican in the world. If he's down in the dumps and a million miles from home,he'll think of his patria,his" Cielito Lindo"

Heaven The Hard Way

When Danny "Little Red " Lopez defended his title against Salvador Sanchez in Phoenix,the experts(including myself) didn't give Salvador lasting 15 rounds let alone winning a title. Like a lot of Mexican fighters that came up through the ranks fighting in Mexico,especially the ones with the undefeated records and the string of KO's,if you study their records the victims aren't exactly a "Who's Who" of bonafide contenders. To paraphrase Greg Haugen before he stepped into the ring against J.C. Chavez at Estadio Azteca in Mexico City before 120,000 fans(that got in free)"Chavez has fought a bunch of Tijuana cab drivers." Mexican whirlwinds like Olivares, and Julio Cesar Chavez may have fought a few guys that drove a taxi cab at night to supplement their incomes, but that was because there was no money getting your brains beat out fighting as an amateur so the fighters starting out South Of The Border get thrown in with the lions from the beginning. Looking at Sanchez's record prior to fighting Lopez there wasn't a name that would have struck fear into anyone like Little Red. Granted, Sanchez was 29 and one loss going in,but then 10 of his first 13 fights were against taxi (oops),were against fellas' who had combined records of 10 and 10,five of the kids had never been in a pro fight before..Little Red had defended his title 7 times. He had traded punches with guys like Bobby Chacon,Chucho Castillo,Art Hafey,David Kotey,Mike Ayala,and Ruben Olivares That's Hall Of Fame opposition.

Sanchez had appeared in rings in LA and Texas for a few bouts,but he hadn't faced the caliber of fighters that Lopez had beaten that earned his face on the cover of Sports Illustrated complete with story. Danny Lopez might have seemed too nice a kid in public,but when he got in the ring he was one of the most devastating two hand punchers in the business. We just hoped that Sanchez would bring his Mexican mantra of toughness with him and push Danny making for an exciting fight.


Since the fight was in Arizona there wasn't the Mexican national craziness inside the arena like if the fight would have been held at The Olympic Auditorium. The aficianados would have been cheering Salvador on and giving Danny the "chifles." But as it turned out Salvador Sanchez and Danny Lopez fought each other that night hammer and tongs. Forget defense.(Danny wasn't much for it anyway) .They traded shots that would have finished off any other featherweight in the division. It was sort of like Arguello /Pryor later on. Sanchez just wouldn't give an inch. He wore Little Red down so that in the hard luck round he had nothing left. The rematch was in order,but Danny could only survive a round longer this time.


Carlos Zarate was another South Of the Border rocket who had that undefeated knockout career in the beginning. 12 of his first 13 wins were against debut fighters. The 13th guy had fought 3 times as a pro.There was another undefeated Mexican bantamweight who was chasing Carlos.Alfonso Zamora. I remember this match having a partisan following of avid Zamora fans and just as enthusiastic Zarate members. The battle of the "Z's" took place at The Forum. It wasn't a night for the faint hearted. Unlike Sanchez and Lopez,this go was pretty much one sided. Carlos was a way better fighter. No one called for a rematch.


But there was another man out there who was slicing through butter with a hot knife,Wilfredo Gomez from Puerto Rico. Gomez was another of the undefeated,and with the knockout power to back it up. He was popular in the East.The Caribbean,Florida,and New York. When he fought there were standing room only crowds,mostly of Puerto Rican lineage.. His fighting weight was in the same vicinity as Zarate's and Sanchez's. Mexico vs. Puerto Rico here we come.

Mexican fight fans,turning the clock back 40 years,thought the Puerto Rican fighters were a little too cocky. Their trunks had too many sequins and slits up the sides. Puerto Ricans were tropical. Mexicans rode horses on the ranch. Mexican fighters had that stoic look after a victory. Puerto Ricans liked to jump on the ring strand and hold shake their fist to the crowd. Ok,so let's put Wifredo and Carlos in the ring and make sure to screen the incoming crowd for any weapons. There was no neutral site.The fight was in Gomez's backyard,San Juan.. Both fighters had trouble getting down to weight. Carlos said that that had an effect on his performance. But no one was buying it. Wilfredo crushed him.Zarate who had shown power before must have left his strength in the dressing room. When the fight was done he was sagging through the ropes.There was a lot of salsa dancing in Puerto Rico after that one.


But Mexico had another warrior waiting in the wings. The guy who was the underdog to Little Red the first time was now battling the odds against Wilfredo Gomez. But this fight wasn't going to be staged in a U.S. territory. Las Vegas ,Nevada ,where whatever goes on there stays there(and a heck of a lot closer to Mexico)would be the showdown for macho bragging rights. But now it was Wilfredo who couldn't stand up to the punch. Oh,he sure did try,but Salvador Sanchez had one of the toughest beards in the history of the sport.This time it was Wilfredo on the ring apron when it was over. He took Wilfredo down,and Mexico's spirits got the lift it wanted. The Mariachis played through dawn after that one.


It turned out the only guy who could beat Salvador Sanchez was himself. Drunk,behind the wheel of his fancy new Porsche after buying everyone a drink at the local cantina, he sped head on into a semi truck on a mountain road in Queretero near where he was born...The coroner said the only way they could identify his body was by recognizing his ring.

Yesterday I talked about "patria".-a Mexican's heaven on earth. No matter where he is,he wants to be in that place.Salvador Sanchez had everything:a championship,fame ,money,a family.Wasn't that heaven enough for him?


Salvador Sanchez

Rog, your mention of Greg Haugen and his 'Tijuana cab-driver' analogy had me recalling how he got under Chavez' skin. But none moreso than when he spotted a name on Chavez record that sent him into fits. The name was Jerry Lewis. Haugen goes into convulsions screaming, "Look, he fought the nutty professor!" Man, he paid that night for his transgressions.

scartissue wrote: ↑09 Dec 2018, 09:30 Rog, your mention of Greg Haugen and his 'Tijuana cab-driver' analogy had me recalling how he got under Chavez' skin. But none moreso than when he spotted a name on Chavez record that sent him into fits. The name was Jerry Lewis. Haugen goes into convulsions screaming, "Look, he fought the nutty professor!" Man, he paid that night for his transgressions.

Dan
I remember watching that fight in a hole in the wall cantina in the red light district(Coahuila) in Tijuana.When fight the came on the television,all the guys got up from sitting with the girls and huddled around the screen. You bet those women were disgusted. They sat their snapping their gum and smoking cigarettes. No one to buy them a drink(They split the price of the drink with the bar,called "la ficha")and no one to take them upstairs to the room.They couldn't have cared less who won. They hated it when there was a fight or a big soccer game on the TV.



Julio Cesar Chavez
His victims included cab drivers,comedians,and Greg Haugen

Suggestions For Boxing

I like looking at old fight footage in black and white.I liked it when fighters donned either black trunks with the white piping,or white trunks with the black stripe down the sides. When the hem on the trunks didn't drop below knee level. Black boxing shoes unless the fighter was Cuban or his last name was Clay. Arenas filled with the slow swirl of cigarette and cigar smoke. No women in bikinis at the weigh in. No mandatory stare downs at the weigh in or press conference. No music coming through the sound system when the fighters leave the dressing room to proceed down to the ring. Pyrotechnics of any kind: strobe lights ,searchlights,and fireworks are not allowed.Fighting venues permitted:honky tonk arenas,baseball stadiums or ballparks,bullrings. No fights allowed at Indian reservations. No fans permitted entrance wearing shorts,sandals,or flip flops. Fighters can not have hair below the nape of the neck. Trimmed mustaches allowed.No beards.On televised fights there can only be one announcer doing the broadcast while the fight is in progress.No ring card girls.After a victory the winning fighter can not jump on the ring rope and make any kind of threatening gestures like slashing of the throat of holding a make believe gun and pointing it. No dancing celebrations of any kind. No cartwheels or backflips permitted in celebration. No more than 3 chest pounding thumps for the winning fighter. No more than 3 people permitted in the fighter's entourage:manager,trainer,towel man.


All this might sound strange,and it will never revert back to this,but for the sake of the psyche we need to have not only boxing,but the world return to some kind of normalcy. Things need to cool down. A beseline that doen't carom around like an out of control missile. More of a glassy lake than a rolling sea.


I watched the Lomachenko fight last night. The pre fight build up was typical. He's painted as the greatest fighter in the world. He makes the other guy quit.He's the smartest,the toughest,the fastest. No one can be beat him. The guy he was fighting was a 32 to 1 underdog. So the bell rings for the opening round and no one is going to bathroom to take a leak because it might be over before the echo of he bell is gone. Well,the other guy,Pedraza,was in there to give it his best shot. He was unorthodox,gangly,switced back and forth to righty lefty. Loma couldn't put him in his crosshairs. In fact for the first few rounds the fight was pretty even.OK.So what? But I got the feeling that something in the air had a bad odor because Loma didn't have him quit before the third round.The Ukraine was coming off shoulder surgery. Pedraza had a title belt of his own. As the fight progressed the TV crew made it sound like Lomachenko was letting us down.This wasn't what we wanted to see. We wanted total annihilation.A massacre.What we saw was Pedraza fighting a crafty fight utilizing everything he could muster. Lomachenko couldn't be faulted for a lack of trying.However,in the later rounds we could see that he was pulling ahead comfortably. But where was the slaughter?The quit in Pedraza?The greatest pound for pound fighter out there is supposed too show more than that. They talked him up.It was a guarantee.


Then in the 11th round Loma caught Pedraza flush and dumped him hard on the canvas. I thought Joe Tessatore was going to have a heart attack. He was hysterical. This is what we came to see! Now we have the real Lomachenko!I told you so!But Pedraza got to his feet to beat ten.Then bam! Lomachenko decked him again. It was like the second coming of Ali,Tyson,and Sugar Ray all rolled into one.Now it's over. Pedraza will at least quit if he can't beat the count.But he arose again. Pedraza hung on to finish the round. He wasn't going to quit. But ah! The 12th and final round was next. Pedraza wouldn't escape the wrath of the world's best fighter.But he did. Both boys were tired. It was an easy decision. But it didn't live up tho expectations. There was more excitement in the rhetoric leading up to the match than in the real fight.


Too much was made of it. It was a good fight,not a great one. Lomachenko looked frustrated.He had an off night that's all.Remember the shoulder surgery. Pedraza showed spunk. All the "greatest" fighters whoever lived had their off nights. So let's cut out all the pomp and circumstance. Leave the circuses to Barnum and Bailey. With all the super highs come the drops into deepest rabbit holes. That baseline becomes a candidate for a Prozac prescription.


So take a look at my first paragraph again. Some of those suggestions would bring us back down to earth,not to mention a drop in our blood pressure.



An old black and white Jake LaMotta

d
.

d.

A Picture Says Few Words

There's a picture of a nattily attired Jack Johnson shaking hands with the wrestler bull Montana somewhere in Tijuana. The caption says the photograph was taken around 1919 or 1920. We all know that the Galveston Giant was as gregarious as they come.So was Bull Montana. He was born in Italy,came over on the boat to Ellis Island,and when he grew up became a high profile wrestler. He mingled with movie stars ,sports heros,,and gangsters. After leaving grappling to the younger bucks his Hollywood chums got him roles in the movies. He wasn't the leading man type.He was often cast as the thug because he looked like one. Knowing what I know about Jack Johnson,I bet he and Bull Montana were pals.


All of Joe Louis's people compelled the Brown Bomber to stay clear of Johnson. While I think they were alike a lot on the inside,what they revealed to the press and public was a very different image. Louis wasn't that demonstrative anyway. When World War II broke out,Louis enlisted and then made that memorable little speech on the dais with all the other celebrities at Madison Square Garden that signed up, and in a way only Joe Louis could convey it said,"We're gonna' win because we're on God's side." They say Harry Markson jotted down a few words for Joe that night. He figured Louis had articulation problems. So Markson hands him a copy with."We're going to win because God is on our side." Harry got it backwards believing that Joe needed help on the stage. Joe could take care of himself when he wanted to say something.He wasn't long winded ,but the people knew.


When Woodrow Wilson and the country finally had had enough of Germany's bullying and the torpedoing of the British cruise ship.Lusitania,killing 128 Americans he called for war. In April 1917 America joined the allies. General Pershing was sent over to Europe with the American Expeditionary Forces to fight the Huns. But Pershing told Wilson that his army of white soldiers needed more training. I guess chasing Pancho Villa throughout Mexico in 1916 with the same crew wasn't enough exercise. So while the white soldiers were getting in more practice time in France,Pershing ,to help quiet the disgruntled English and French armies that had been put in a meat grinder for 4 years,offered his black soldiers to trade live ammo with "Jerry."But Pershing didn't feel the urge to put the black soldiers in any training camp. He threw them in there cold turkey. They suffered heavy casualties as a result.


By the time the U.S. entered in the war,Jack Johnson was running with high society on the Champs-Elysees. Escaping from a stretch in prison on that Mann Act beef,Johnson wriggled his way to Gay Paree. He was still the champ in his mind,and a lot of expatriates living on the Left Bank concurred. Jack might have figured that he could have gotten back in the good graces of Uncle Sam by volunteering with one of those colored units,but that would have interfered with his boxing exhibitions,a high fat diet,sipping the Chateau Rothschild ,and his voracious appetite for the opposite sex. So instead of taking a chance of getting mustard gassed,he spread the Dijon on the Chicken Provencal.


But let's face it,Joe Louis never was in a battle during World War II. However, every old time grunt that was in boot camp before being shipped out to the Pacific or the ETO,was mighty appreciative of Louis putting on those exhibitions especially if their sergeant was a good sport to get in there with The Brown Bomber and willing to get socked in the nose.


After Johnson lost his title to Willard, and then couldn't get back to the USA without handcuffs,he became the life of the party fighting exhibitions in Leavenworth.


Joe and Jack.Louis ,who probably achieved more, unintentionally, for making the white racist pause and take a second look at his phobia than anyone. Johnson,who probably threw more fuel on a fire of prejudice,knowing he'd fan those flames with his behavior than anyone. Joe Louis knocked out more white fighters than Jack Johnson.He had his share of white women like Johnson,but no one knew and he never married any of them.


So what did I mean by them being similar on the inside? I think they both liked people.They just had a different way of showing it. They buried Joe at Arlington.Trump pardoned Johnson this year.Now go figure.



Jack Johnson and Bull Montana-- Tijuana



Jack Johnson

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑08 Dec 2018, 21:52 Heaven The Hard Way

When Danny "Little Red " Lopez defended his title against Salvador Sanchez in Phoenix,the experts(including myself) didn't give Salvador lasting 15 rounds let alone winning a title. Like a lot of Mexican fighters that came up through the ranks fighting in Mexico,especially the ones with the undefeated records and the string of KO's,if you study their records the victims aren't exactly a "Who's Who" of bonafide contenders. To paraphrase Greg Haugen before he stepped into the ring against J.C. Chavez at Estadio Azteca in Mexico City before 120,000 fans(that got in free)"Chavez has fought a bunch of Tijuana cab drivers." Mexican whirlwinds like Olivares, and Julio Cesar Chavez may have fought a few guys that drove a taxi cab at night to supplement their incomes, but that was because there was no money getting your brains beat out fighting as an amateur so the fighters starting out South Of The Border get thrown in with the lions from the beginning. Looking at Sanchez's record prior to fighting Lopez there wasn't a name that would have struck fear into anyone like Little Red. Granted, Sanchez was 29 and one loss going in,but then 10 of his first 13 fights were against taxi (oops),were against fellas' who had combined records of 10 and 10,five of the kids had never been in a pro fight before..Little Red had defended his title 7 times. He had traded punches with guys like Bobby Chacon,Chucho Castillo,Art Hafey,David Kotey,Mike Ayala,and Ruben Olivares That's Hall Of Fame opposition.

Sanchez had appeared in rings in LA and Texas for a few bouts,but he hadn't faced the caliber of fighters that Lopez had beaten that earned his face on the cover of Sports Illustrated complete with story. Danny Lopez might have seemed too nice a kid in public,but when he got in the ring he was one of the most devastating two hand punchers in the business. We just hoped that Sanchez would bring his Mexican mantra of toughness with him and push Danny making for an exciting fight.


Since the fight was in Arizona there wasn't the Mexican national craziness inside the arena like if the fight would have been held at The Olympic Auditorium. The aficianados would have been cheering Salvador on and giving Danny the "chifles." But as it turned out Salvador Sanchez and Danny Lopez fought each other that night hammer and tongs. Forget defense.(Danny wasn't much for it anyway) .They traded shots that would have finished off any other featherweight in the division. It was sort of like Arguello /Pryor later on. Sanchez just wouldn't give an inch. He wore Little Red down so that in the hard luck round he had nothing left. The rematch was in order,but Danny could only survive a round longer this time.


Carlos Zarate was another South Of the Border rocket who had that undefeated knockout career in the beginning. 12 of his first 13 wins were against debut fighters. The 13th guy had fought 3 times as a pro.There was another undefeated Mexican bantamweight who was chasing Carlos.Alfonso Zamora. I remember this match having a partisan following of avid Zamora fans and just as enthusiastic Zarate members. The battle of the "Z's" took place at The Forum. It wasn't a night for the faint hearted. Unlike Sanchez and Lopez,this go was pretty much one sided. Carlos was a way better fighter. No one called for a rematch.


But there was another man out there who was slicing through butter with a hot knife,Wilfredo Gomez from Puerto Rico. Gomez was another of the undefeated,and with the knockout power to back it up. He was popular in the East.The Caribbean,Florida,and New York. When he fought there were standing room only crowds,mostly of Puerto Rican lineage.. His fighting weight was in the same vicinity as Zarate's and Sanchez's. Mexico vs. Puerto Rico here we come.

Mexican fight fans,turning the clock back 40 years,thought the Puerto Rican fighters were a little too cocky. Their trunks had too many sequins and slits up the sides. Puerto Ricans were tropical. Mexicans rode horses on the ranch. Mexican fighters had that stoic look after a victory. Puerto Ricans liked to jump on the ring strand and hold shake their fist to the crowd. Ok,so let's put Wifredo and Carlos in the ring and make sure to screen the incoming crowd for any weapons. There was no neutral site.The fight was in Gomez's backyard,San Juan.. Both fighters had trouble getting down to weight. Carlos said that that had an effect on his performance. But no one was buying it. Wilfredo crushed him.Zarate who had shown power before must have left his strength in the dressing room. When the fight was done he was sagging through the ropes.There was a lot of salsa dancing in Puerto Rico after that one.


But Mexico had another warrior waiting in the wings. The guy who was the underdog to Little Red the first time was now battling the odds against Wilfredo Gomez. But this fight wasn't going to be staged in a U.S. territory. Las Vegas ,Nevada ,where whatever goes on there stays there(and a heck of a lot closer to Mexico)would be the showdown for macho bragging rights. But now it was Wilfredo who couldn't stand up to the punch. Oh,he sure did try,but Salvador Sanchez had one of the toughest beards in the history of the sport.This time it was Wilfredo on the ring apron when it was over. He took Wilfredo down,and Mexico's spirits got the lift it wanted. The Mariachis played through dawn after that one.


It turned out the only guy who could beat Salvador Sanchez was himself. Drunk,behind the wheel of his fancy new Porsche after buying everyone a drink at the local cantina, he sped head on into a semi truck on a mountain road in Queretero near where he was born...The coroner said the only way they could identify his body was by recognizing his ring.

Yesterday I talked about "patria".-a Mexican's heaven on earth. No matter where he is,he wants to be in that place.Salvador Sanchez had everything:a championship,fame ,money,a family.Wasn't that heaven enough for him?


Salvador Sanchez

Sanchez was special. Was he truly appreciated during his time or did he gain more respect after he died? It appeared he'd not lived up to the people's expectations after the Lopez win with close one's vs. Ford and Castillo and then he obvously did against Gomez only to not live up to expectations vs. Garcia, Cowdell and Nelson. I guess nobody at that time knew just how good Nelson was either.

chrisjs1985 wrote: ↑11 Dec 2018, 12:10

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑08 Dec 2018, 21:52 Heaven The Hard Way

When Danny "Little Red " Lopez defended his title against Salvador Sanchez in Phoenix,the experts(including myself) didn't give Salvador lasting 15 rounds let alone winning a title. Like a lot of Mexican fighters that came up through the ranks fighting in Mexico,especially the ones with the undefeated records and the string of KO's,if you study their records the victims aren't exactly a "Who's Who" of bonafide contenders. To paraphrase Greg Haugen before he stepped into the ring against J.C. Chavez at Estadio Azteca in Mexico City before 120,000 fans(that got in free)"Chavez has fought a bunch of Tijuana cab drivers." Mexican whirlwinds like Olivares, and Julio Cesar Chavez may have fought a few guys that drove a taxi cab at night to supplement their incomes, but that was because there was no money getting your brains beat out fighting as an amateur so the fighters starting out South Of The Border get thrown in with the lions from the beginning. Looking at Sanchez's record prior to fighting Lopez there wasn't a name that would have struck fear into anyone like Little Red. Granted, Sanchez was 29 and one loss going in,but then 10 of his first 13 fights were against taxi (oops),were against fellas' who had combined records of 10 and 10,five of the kids had never been in a pro fight before..Little Red had defended his title 7 times. He had traded punches with guys like Bobby Chacon,Chucho Castillo,Art Hafey,David Kotey,Mike Ayala,and Ruben Olivares That's Hall Of Fame opposition.

Sanchez had appeared in rings in LA and Texas for a few bouts,but he hadn't faced the caliber of fighters that Lopez had beaten that earned his face on the cover of Sports Illustrated complete with story. Danny Lopez might have seemed too nice a kid in public,but when he got in the ring he was one of the most devastating two hand punchers in the business. We just hoped that Sanchez would bring his Mexican mantra of toughness with him and push Danny making for an exciting fight.


Since the fight was in Arizona there wasn't the Mexican national craziness inside the arena like if the fight would have been held at The Olympic Auditorium. The aficianados would have been cheering Salvador on and giving Danny the "chifles." But as it turned out Salvador Sanchez and Danny Lopez fought each other that night hammer and tongs. Forget defense.(Danny wasn't much for it anyway) .They traded shots that would have finished off any other featherweight in the division. It was sort of like Arguello /Pryor later on. Sanchez just wouldn't give an inch. He wore Little Red down so that in the hard luck round he had nothing left. The rematch was in order,but Danny could only survive a round longer this time.


Carlos Zarate was another South Of the Border rocket who had that undefeated knockout career in the beginning. 12 of his first 13 wins were against debut fighters. The 13th guy had fought 3 times as a pro.There was another undefeated Mexican bantamweight who was chasing Carlos.Alfonso Zamora. I remember this match having a partisan following of avid Zamora fans and just as enthusiastic Zarate members. The battle of the "Z's" took place at The Forum. It wasn't a night for the faint hearted. Unlike Sanchez and Lopez,this go was pretty much one sided. Carlos was a way better fighter. No one called for a rematch.


But there was another man out there who was slicing through butter with a hot knife,Wilfredo Gomez from Puerto Rico. Gomez was another of the undefeated,and with the knockout power to back it up. He was popular in the East.The Caribbean,Florida,and New York. When he fought there were standing room only crowds,mostly of Puerto Rican lineage.. His fighting weight was in the same vicinity as Zarate's and Sanchez's. Mexico vs. Puerto Rico here we come.

Mexican fight fans,turning the clock back 40 years,thought the Puerto Rican fighters were a little too cocky. Their trunks had too many sequins and slits up the sides. Puerto Ricans were tropical. Mexicans rode horses on the ranch. Mexican fighters had that stoic look after a victory. Puerto Ricans liked to jump on the ring strand and hold shake their fist to the crowd. Ok,so let's put Wifredo and Carlos in the ring and make sure to screen the incoming crowd for any weapons. There was no neutral site.The fight was in Gomez's backyard,San Juan.. Both fighters had trouble getting down to weight. Carlos said that that had an effect on his performance. But no one was buying it. Wilfredo crushed him.Zarate who had shown power before must have left his strength in the dressing room. When the fight was done he was sagging through the ropes.There was a lot of salsa dancing in Puerto Rico after that one.


But Mexico had another warrior waiting in the wings. The guy who was the underdog to Little Red the first time was now battling the odds against Wilfredo Gomez. But this fight wasn't going to be staged in a U.S. territory. Las Vegas ,Nevada ,where whatever goes on there stays there(and a heck of a lot closer to Mexico)would be the showdown for macho bragging rights. But now it was Wilfredo who couldn't stand up to the punch. Oh,he sure did try,but Salvador Sanchez had one of the toughest beards in the history of the sport.This time it was Wilfredo on the ring apron when it was over. He took Wilfredo down,and Mexico's spirits got the lift it wanted. The Mariachis played through dawn after that one.


It turned out the only guy who could beat Salvador Sanchez was himself. Drunk,behind the wheel of his fancy new Porsche after buying everyone a drink at the local cantina, he sped head on into a semi truck on a mountain road in Queretero near where he was born...The coroner said the only way they could identify his body was by recognizing his ring.

Yesterday I talked about "patria".-a Mexican's heaven on earth. No matter where he is,he wants to be in that place.Salvador Sanchez had everything:a championship,fame ,money,a family.Wasn't that heaven enough for him?


Salvador Sanchez

Sanchez was special. Was he truly appreciated during his time or did he gain more respect after he died? It appeared he'd not lived up to the people's expectations after the Lopez win with close one's vs. Ford and Castillo and then he obvously did against Gomez only to not live up to expectations vs. Garcia, Cowdell and Nelson. I guess nobody at that time knew just how good Nelson was either.

Chris
Good question. In the Southland,because he didn't fight here very often,he could have been more popular. He died too soon. I think he is more appreciated today. Near the end,he was beginning to unravel mentally,and I think eventually it would have had an adverse effect on future fights that would have been big matches. He was a great talent,but sometimes he did just enough to finally win at the end. With that kind of approach,it catches up with you.

Norman

I remember Norman in grammar school.He always liked to fight. it wasn't because of anger. He was a happy go lucky kid.You could say he was even a goofy kid. He wasn't very big. Even when he physically matured he wasn't very big. His long face had a doughy texture that always showed a pimple or two.A high forehead,stiff sandy hair,sparkling green eyes ,and a wide smile that showed off his two buck teeth in the front gave him that home spun demeanor. His limbs were wiry and when he walked there was a bounce in his gait. Norman wasn't an antagonizer. He would bounce up to you, play slapping, until the annoyance prompted a response. When Norman would start that stuff with me, at first I'd try to keep him at arms length. I was bigger and heavier.He couldn't hurt me,but I could never make him stop. Sometimes he'd hurl his whole body at me with his arms flailing away. I'd get so mad that I'd lay one into him,but he just kept bouncing back with that buck toothed smile.Finally I'd had enough.
"I quit Norman. You win,"I'd say out of frustration.
"C'mon,"he'd joke."We just got started."
"No.You win. You want to get the last punch in and I can't make you stop."
Norman would put his hands down and just grin ay me.
"Norman.You're tougher than me.I can't beat you."
I knew he liked when I'd say that to him. After wearing me out,Norman would move on to find another opponent. If none willing,Norman would pester anyone to the point that his ire would flare and the next fight would ensue. But although Norman liked to joke around with his shenanigans,he would hope his adversary(most of the time a stranger) would get pissed off so a real knockdown drag out battle would emerge. When this would happen,Norman would flip his switch. It was like watching one of the Katzenjammer Kids. But Norman never fought dirty. No kicking when the other guy was down. In fact if he decked the other guy,he'd back up,and let him get back onto his feet. I never saw Norman lose a fight.But I do have to say he had some luck. A bigger man might have wanted to break his neck.But back then the revenge factor wasn't like it is today. No weapons,no kicking or biting. always one on one. Even if you had a crew backing you,it was always one guy against one guy from the other side

.Now I can't say that code held true with the blacks.If they had the numbers against you ,they'd all jump in. And if you said that you'd had enough,that just impelled them to do more hurt That happened to me once back when I was driving a garbage truck one day filling in for my cousin Frankie. I stepped off to pick up a garbage can and the next thing I saw was this bottle flying past my ear. I was working the Southside streets of Chicago. I looked up and saw around ten of the "brothers" standing across the street laughing. It got my goat.
"Hey! Who threw that bottle!"
Next thing I see is all those guys bum rushing me.I fell to the curb taking a fetal position and covering my head.They buried me with kicks and punches. They were screaming in a tribal frenzy.I felt that they were going to kill me.Then out of the corner of my eye I saw something I'd never seen before in that neighborhood:a cop car leisurely patrolling up the street. He put on his light and all those dudes took off running. Usually after someone is already dead,then the cops show up. But I'm up on my feet,my head split open,ready to go back home and tear up my Ernie Banks baseball cards.

Well,to get back to how we used to fight. When everyone got older around high school age and a little after,we'd hang around the beach getting liquored up and go out looking for trouble. Back then we didn't like any "strangers" coming to our neighborhood,especially romping on "our" beach. The biggest offenders were the sailors,or how we used to like to call them,"swabbies."The Naval Training Center was the largest boot camp for swabbies west of the Mississippi so there were plenty of contenders. Looking back,I can't blame the sailors of coming around to "our" beach. Most of those guys hadn't even seen an ocean before. They were from places like Iowa and Tennessee.Besides,they wanted to try to score on some blond beach bunny in a bikini. They never did,or at least I never saw it happen.


Well,you could spot a swabbie a mile away. No tan,hair combed like a greaser,and talking like Jethro. They'd strut in,boom box playing Ernest Tubb so you could hear it on all the submarines that were even under the water.They were cocky and thought they were entitled to everything we had. They thought we were stupid,and we thought they were even dumber. They'd arrive with a snootful,and we had passed the wine bottle around since before the sun had set. Oh,you had to have been there.Sometimes the swabbies would start it off mouthing something about we were nothing but "California queers",or we'd come up with a gem like "How's it feel to f--k a sheep?" They would send out one of their guys(They had a fighting code like us).Norman would lead off for us. Before the sand would clear everyone on both sides got a chance to show what he was made of.When it was over it wasn't like we shook hands and became palsy walsies The swabbies would usually lick their wounds and go find a bar on Newport Street to repair. We'd go back to the beach and lick our wounds with more wine and smoke a joint or two. Who won? I guess it depends which side you asked.


About that time Vietnam was heating up and they started to draft guys. Norman was a ripe candidate,.After barely finishing high school,he landed a job at the filling station,and got married to his childhood sweetheart. She got pregnant and Norman got a letter to report to the induction center up in LA. So we all drove Norman to the Greyhound Bus Depot. His kissed his wife,and we all clutched his hand to wish him luck.


Norman was an Army grunt. We'd go over to see how his wife was doing. She had had the baby,a boy they named Kenny after Norman's older brother who had raised him after their father died.She lived with Kenny and his wife who had gotten some sort of disease that was causing her to go blind. But the spirits seemed high with them.Everyone was waiting when Norman would come home.


Then the word was sent that Norman got wounded over there. His squad was in a firefight.Norman kept going out,against his CO's orders, to bring back his wounded buddies.After carrying his third buddy back to their lines a mortar round exploded next to Norman killing his pal and severely wounding Norman. A piece of shrapnel struck him in his skull lodging in his brain.It was touch and go for him. They eventually brought him back to San Diego to Balboa Naval Hospital. His injury made him unable to talk and walk adequately. He was in rehab at Balboa for almost a year. In the meantime his wife had left the baby with Norman's brother Kenny and his wife. Norman's wife had gone to San Francisco to work in a strip club. She filed for a divorce.Of course all the guys would go and visit Norman. If we thought he acted goofy,that injury really made him that way. But it was the same old Norman with the happy smile, and though he couldn't walk or talk too good,he didn't let it get him down. I know he must have felt bad about what his wife did, running off and leaving him,but I never saw him feeling sorry for himself. After Norman was finally able to communicate more or less and get on his feet(he would always walk with a cane)he moved back in with his brother and his wife,and the baby.


I didn't see Norman for awhile after he had moved back with his brother. Then one day I was leaving the gym that was by the beach ,and I see this guy wearing a derby hat,flashy sport coat,a pair of pressed dress slacks,suede shoes,,and hobbling along with the aid of a cane. Norman saw me first. His face broke out with that ear to ear smile with the two buck teeth in the front.
"Normy!"I yelled
He held out a shaky hand,the other hand gripping the cane.He didn't say anything,but I could see he wanted to put something together. The when he had it together,he came across.
"You want to fight?"he stammered shamelessly.
"Norman ,you know better than that. I could never kick your ass."



The Arizona Café.Ocean Beach in San Diego

Hangout for Irish Bob Murphy,the old LA Rams,owned and operated by George Radovich.I left a lot of my past in that place.



Bill Black's Combo (with Rocky Graziano). They used to have all his records on the juke box at The Arizona. They might have looked different than what we see out there today,but they had a code.

Don't Be So Cruel

The worst boxing movie I ever saw in my life is Kid Galahad starring Elvis Presley.With that said and out of the way,I see there was some flap about Elvis Presley being honored with the Presidential Medal Of Freedom Award. There's a faction out there that says that Elvis is a metaphor for white society,the white way of life,the fan of the white supremecist,and an advocate of a White Christmas. Either these people are ignorant or just plain racists themselves. I was watching a documentary on the Turner Classis Movie channel depicting Elvis Presley's rehearsals prior to his 1970 opening in Las Vegas. Just about everyone of his female backup singers were black women. When Ali fought Norton here in San Diego,Muhammad donned a robe that read on the back,"The People's Champion." The gift giver of that piece of apparel was none other than Elvis Aron Presley. Elvis grew up in Mississippi listening to colored music:soul,blues,gospel .He assimilted those styles in his songs.When he came out with "Hound Dog",you can bet that he had Big Mamma Thornton's rendition of that tune in his record collection..But let's face it,the real rub has to do with Trump choosing "The King." If Obama would have opted for Elvis,these accusers would have jumped for joy. Elvis was a champion of people of color.That's what they would say. So this really has nothing to do with Elvis. The ulterior target of their comments are aimed The Donald. But anything he does is wrong with them.If you have a beef,just blame it on Trump.It's becoming a motto for the disenfranchised..But even a lot of the aristocracy are comparing him to that guy with the Oliver Hardy mustache that ruled Germany in the 30's and 40's..So if you have the flu or you can't get laid,blame it on Trump. You know, I mentioned at the opening of this spiel that I think the lousiest boxing flick I have ever seen was Elvis in Kid Galahad. I bet Trump had something to do with that.




Elvis Presley aka Kid Galahad

A Creaky Look Back


When I tell millennials that there used to be a baseball park at the foot of Broadway,I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard the response,"Really?" But they tore down the old green wooden structure in 1958 so they could build a new stadium,Westgate Park, in Mission Valley.But Lane Field,the ballpark at the foot of Broadway across the street from the Navy ships that were docked at the harbor,was a venue that also showcased the big boxing matches in town.Those fights usually featured Archie Moore as one of the combatants.During the 40's Moore put the gloves on with some pretty good local talent. Johnny Sikes,Johnny "The Bandit" Romero,Eddie Cerda,and the infamous Hogue brothers:Big Boy and Shorty. If you look at Archie Moore's record you'll see that Shorty beat Archie 3 out of 4. I heard Archie say once that Shorty Hogue drew his motivation from his" dislike of colored folk." Shorty even spouted off in the papers that he's never lost a fight to a negro and wasn't planning to in the future..This must have been before Eddie Booker beat him,and then in his next fight Lloyd Marshall had the best of him too. When Charley Burley knocked him out in Minneapolis that ended his shot for a title. Archie Moore finally beat Shorty,but it was kind of a quirky deal. The fight was at The Coliseum. Archie was supposed to fight Shorty's twin brother,Big Boy,but he wasn't lookin' and walked into a parked car out in the street. Seems this car had a bumper that stuck out just far enough to put a gash in Big Boy's shin. Well the docs ain't gonna' let a guy with a gash in his shin step into the ring to fight Archie Moore,but Big Boy's other half,Shorty, is sitting ringside and springs out of his seat volunteering to be his brother's replacement. Instead of the promotors wanting to give the paid their money back,they told Shorty, who had snoot full ,it was OK to put on a pair of trunks. Shorty could have used his brother even with the bloody shin as a tag team partner. Archie made short work of Shorty in 2.

After Moore won the light heavyweight title from Joey Maxim in 1952 ,Archie never saw the ring again at Lane Field.He fought 3 non title goes at the Coliseum against some average fighters,and even paused to KO Howard King in one round in the Tijuana bullring.


Lane Field was origanally constructed as a Navy athletic facility in 1925.Then in 1935 Bill Lane relocated his PCL Hollywood Stars team from LA down to San Diego. Lane had FDR's ear, and was big contributor to his campaign. That was enough juice to get the WPA to rebuild the facility into a baseball park.The first year of the team in 1936,a local kid out of Hoover High School named Ted Williams tore up the league.He went to the parent team the Boston Red Sox the following year. I never saw Archie Moore fight at Lane Field nor did I ever see Ted Williams swing at a pitch at home plate.But I saw the PCL Padres. I'd take the "O" bus from the beach and it would drop me off right at the front gates. Roller Derby,midget autos ,and motor cycle racing I saw.I was also a proud member of the "Knothole Club" that entitled me to get into the ball games for half a dollar.

I never gave it two thoughts when they demolished Lane Field,but today when I keep looking back to where my footprints left their marks,I often close my eyes and dream about an old rickety green ballpark. The quarter hot dogs,the nickel box of popcorn,a coke was ten pennirs. In those days the major league clubs had a slew of minor league teams across the country. I can say I saw Rudy Regalado,Harry "Suitcase" Simpson,and "Dusty" Rhodes sweat through their flannel uniforms. I missed out on Ted Williama and when Joe DiMaggio came down with the San Francisco Seals. And I never got to see Archie Moore fight.I would have liked to have seen him fight on a breezy warm night at Lane Field,the gulls coasting under a cloudless sky,hearing the drone of a PBY's engines as it strained to lift off in the harbor. After The Mongoose retired an impulsive Shorty Hogue at the Coliseum,Moore stepped into the ring against Big Boy.That fight was at Lane Field.It was the only time those two fought each other. I'm sure Big Boy wanted to get even with Archie for KOing his bro,but Archie flattened Big Boy early. I wonder if Shorty was sitting at ringside?I bet he was,and I don't think he had nothing nice to say about Archie Moore.



Old Lane Field

FYI:The longest homerun in history was hit at Lane Field. Harry "Suitcase" Simpson sent one over the center field wall and the ball jumped up onto a boxcar that was parked on the railroad tracks in front of The Sante Fe Depot.Well,the train went off with the boxcar and Harry "Suitcase" Simpson's homer arriving at LA's Union Station a couple of hours later--a distance of around 120 miles. Not bad for an old timer like Harry who was sent down to the minors from the New York Giants the year before.

Quick Turnaround

Somehow I was bestowed the honor of being on the voting committee of The World Boxing Hall Of Fame in 2008. I saw the ballot.I don't know who determined how those names merited recognition,but I can't remember putting up an argument. I ran down the list.I can't remember how many names were on it,but I know that I could only put,I think, 6 "X's" in the boxes of the nominees I thought deserved the award. 6 was less than half the eligible names. I can't remember who I marked on that ballot except for Lennox Lewis ,and I know I voted for him. You had to be retired for 5 years to become qualified to get on the ballot. It was 2008 and Lennox's name made the roll. At that time The International Boxing Hall Of Fame hadn't inscribed Lewis's name to their honor roll so the WBHOF beat them to the proverbial punch,if that meant much anyway.

The big banquet room at the Marriott Hotel in Inglewood was packed to the doors. Armando Muniz was the president of WBHOF. Rick Farris was doing a lot of work putting things together. The Hall would dissolve in a few years. It was the same old song of not bringing enough money in to keep things running on a white collar level. Another thing that couldn't get done was for them to have their own structure--a memorial that could put on display the esteemed names of the fighters along with a historical narrative of boxing. What would baseball's hall of fame be without Cooperstown where you can see the plaques and bats and gloves of Ruth,Gehrig,and Aaron? Pro football without a Canton where the new and former award winners can gather with family and fans feeling like they've reached a corner of their baseball heaven? Canastota has their edifice where fighters and their following can rub shoulders and sense that this chamber is sacrosanct--a place reserved only for pugilism. To hand out accolades at The Marriott in their dining room felt like being on an undercard.


I did a painting of Lennox Lewis that I wanted to give to him. I'd given other fighters paintings before. I'm no Rembrandt so when I saw that they were sincerely grateful for the my efforts I would treasure their response poignantly. But Lewis was flying in from England. LAX is close to The Marriott,but the emcee for the evening,Tom Kelly,told us that Lewis's plane was delayed. Maybe a half hour,perhaps an hour. Lewis was the biggest name that was going to get inducted so you just have to wait. Things began to drag a little. You could feel a restlessness. A lot of the faithful were checking the time on their watches. I got up from where I was sitting and put the painting against a wall beside the kitchen. I felt funny having the thing by my chair. Finally,Tom Kelly announced that Lewis's plane had touched down. I got up to retrieve my art.


Well,LAX is a mess. It's hard to get around inside. it's too small to handle the flow that moves through going and coming. A good hour later you could see a crowd forming outside the doors of the Marriott. Then I could see Lewis's impressive frame and massive dreadlocked head deliberately working its way towards the dais. He had a lot of people around him.i guess they were friends,bodyguards,his wife.It was celebrity status stuff.i'd never seen a fighter in that posture before. Not even Ali. But all these people formed a barrier around him. Lewis seemed very stiff. He had this look on his face that said "I don't feel comfortable here." It was virtually impossible to approach him. I think he wanted it that way.When he reached the dais,his wife sat to the side with the other families of the inducted fighters. She is very pretty. I think she was a beauty queen once,but her allure quickly faded when I saw that she was beginning to nod off on her chair.The crowd gave Lewis a big hand after Tom Kelly's introduction. Lewis got up to the microphone and made a short speech. He was impassive.His voice didn't carry. I wasn't paying too much attention.Then he said he had a return flight in a few hours and that he couldn't stick around and mingle. He stepped down from the stage with his entourage returning to their previous positions. Someone had to nudge Mrs. Sleepy Head that they were leaving. Like a slow moving ebb tide they disappeared out the door and into the night

Well,that put a damper on the finale.Lewis got his plaque,his wife got 40 winks,and I had totally forgotten about presenting Lewis with my rendition of him. But I didn't regret it that much. He didn't seem in a mood to get a painting or partake in anything supplementary. He was a big party pooper. Besides, if I had tried to break through the human wall that barricaded him from all the well wishers ,I probably would have got my ass kicked.



See what you missed out on Lennox? Maybe if he had known that I voted for him he might have hung it on his wall somewhere.

His Most Crucial Round

If Joe Cortez had put a halt to Juan Manuel Marquez's impersonation of a jumping jack in the first round of his first fight against Manny Pacquiao,I wonder what have transpired for Marquez down the road. Manny had worn a title belt,albeit in various weight classes, since 1998. His only loss was to a Thai fighter, Boonsai Pangsurat,for the vacant WBC Flyweight title. Manny couldn't make the weight at 112 and was drained when he stepped into the ring that night. He was otta' there in 3 rounds.In his next fight he puts on a healthy 9 pounds and wins the super bantamweight championship. He gets on a roll winning 11 with a draw. One of his victims is an impressive TKO over Marcos Antonio Barrera.With that win over a top drawer Mexican fighter,an international rivalry generated. Mexicans respect Manny because he's a warrior and doesn't shoot his mouth off,but they wanted one of their paisanos take him down to earth.After dominating Barrera,Marquez is offered as the underdog opponent for the PacMan. Marquez had comprised a good record and was recognized as being a the stereotype tough Mexican battler. The expectation was for a toe to toe slugfest.Looking over past performances of the two,that wish appeared attainable. Manny Pacquiao, at that time,was transforming himself into a cash cow with an angry bull ring temperament. The media was championing the champion building him up as a Pan Asian smaller version of Iron Mike.


It's not uncommon to see Mexican fighters begin the first round of a fight kind of in a fog They don't have that eye of the tiger when the bell sounds. I'm sure psychiatrists could write a dissertation for a PhD doctorate examining the causes of this slow beginning. I'll put my tongue in my cheek and give you my take on why this happens. I'll be Marquez. He's in his corner waiting for the opening bell.

"What am I doing here?I'm far away from home(remember that patria chica thing?).I don't like it here. I wish I was back in Mexico with my family and friends.I like it when I'm with them.I wish I was eating my mother's homemade flour tortillas that she knows I like.I belong there not in this place.This is like a dream.The crowd,the lights,Pacquiao is ready to go I can see.It's all in God's hands anyway. Only HE knows. It's been decided. Whatever happens.happens. All I know is I don't feel right. I don't want to be here. I want to go home."


The bell rings.Manny storms out with a plan in mind. Marquez isn't thinking about all the work he put in. He has no plan that he can extrapolate because he can't focus.He holds his gloves up like a robot.He's pawing with his jab.He wants to give the appearance that he is a fighter,that he has a plan.It's all a sham. He leaves the left out there,his right hand drops below his chin.BAM!--Pacquiao' shoots his left and Marquez is on the seat of his pants.

"I'm not hurt. I can get up.What happened?"

Cortez wipes his gloves and motions him to continue. Marquez still is a deer in the headlights.He paws the left,the right below his chin. De Ja Vu all over again.BAM! He's on his rear again.

"I'm all right.Why is this happening? The crowd wants him to kill me."

Cortez repeats what he did before.He doesn't seem that he wants to stop the fight. Now Pacquiao has a crazed look on his face. He wants to tear Marquez apart. It's gotten primal. He's on him like a lion on a wounded prey. He slides Marquez along the ropes. BAM! BAM! --another straight left and while Marquez is hanging on the ring strand,Mannyclubs him with the left again. Now Marquez is stretched out on the canvas.He puts his gloves over his eyes.

"So this is how it's going to be?He wants to take away my manhood. But's all my fault.I'm acting like a maricon. Everyone must think I'm afraid. The women,the children,the men,my family,my friends,and that mother f---er Pacquiao.He hit me when I was down. I'm bleeding.I look like an a-- hole. F--K this guy. F--K everyone. I'm gonna' get up.He's going to have to kill me. But he doesn't know it but I'm going to kill him."


Marquez holds him off and is fighting back. At the end of the 1st round he deliberately strides to his corner bleeding and breathing heavily. He looks a mess,but he feels like a man again.


"Get it together man.I can out box this guy. I can take his shots. I can slug too.That won't happen again. Now I'm mad. I'll have him wondering what happened.He can't make me look like a maricon. My family and friends,Mexico are with me. I don't need anything more than that.That son of a bitch thinks he had me. I'm going to come back and give him a beating.I've got everthing to lose. I don't want to lose my respect. Why couldn't I've been thinking like this before?I had to get my a== kicked to wake me up."


Of the four fights Marquez had with Pacquiao this was his greatest effort. For me it even surpassed the final encounter with Manny's face hitting the mat before the rest of him did.By that time they were evenly matched. But looking back on the 1st round of the first fight,if Marquez would have let go of the rope,I don't think he could have ever reached the heights he secured later.A Hall Of Famer. Pacquiao's poison. I'm sure Juan Manuel ,looking back on his career,is proud of how he engaged the enemy inside the. ring ropes. He's got to feel a satisfaction and pride about how he pulled himself through a very tenuous moment in 2004.And I'm sure he sent a "Thank You Note" to Joe Cortex for not stopping the fight.



Juan Manuel Marquez

That's the Way It Is


There's a sign on the Tijuana side of the border as you're crossing back into the U.S. It reads,

"50,000 cars and 20,000 pedestrians a day cross into the United States."


That's makes the border crossing at San Ysidro(the town just in the other side of Tijuana)the most traveled border in the world. There are 26 lanes on the Mexican side that are provided for cars. There is only one line for foot traffic. All occupants in a car and everyone walking across at the checkpoint must show documentation.That includes Americans. Americans traveling into Mexico don't need to show identification at the Mexican checkpoint. Most of the people traveling into Mexico from the San Diego side are Mexicans or Chicanos that live in Tijuana.Most of those people are returning from working in San Diego.Without those U.S. jobs,TJ would dry up. My granddaughter who lives in TJ works in San Diego at a CVS pharmacy. Her husband works at the shipyard in National City.I have another granddaughter in Tijuana whose husband works at the Marriott Hotel at the Embarcadero on San Diego's waterfront.


Who knows what kind of money a Mexican makes in Tijuana? Unless he's connected with someone with influence,his daily existence is trying to exist. People are at the middle of intersections performing, trying to entice a handout. They juggle tennis balls,dance in Azrec dress beating drums,some swallow fire,and other strum on a guitar and sing. There are Indian women walking with their small children selling gum and candy. There are men and boys holding grimy rags wanting to wipe down your car for a tip(Your car gets more dirty after they finish).Some people just beg wanting to let you know that they want to something to eat.(Maybe,or it might be for drugs or alcohol))

Lately I've seen more boxing gyms opening up in Tjuana. Every colonia has a boxing gym. They're crude places. Inside, maybe a tattered ring,old frayed punching bags,gloves,and headgear shiny from age..The instructors are usually ex pugs. At least they claimed that at one time they boxed professionally somewhere.I walked into a gym downtown and saw on the wall a newspaper article about the owner of gym, who is also the instructor, of having been a fighter in Brazil.There was no one in the gym.The ring mat was laid on the cement floor.The ring posts were all ajar. A young dark skinned girl came out from the back.I asked her how much it was to join.Very pleasantly she said 300 pesos a month. That's around 20 dollars U.S.


Also there's been a resurgence of boxing matches in Tijuana. Most of the cards are at bars in the downtown area or in small gymnasiums that dot the city. The fighters aren't very good,but it's not unusual to see a card filled up with 10 or 15 fights. The main event is most likely an 8 rounder. Depending on who's on the docket a price for a ticket is somewhere between 4 and 10 dollars. They're pro fights ,but you can tell the fighters have probably had no amateur experience.

To add there's been more and more American fighters on these cards.Tiger Smalls son,Prince, has fought more times in TJ than up here in San Diego. The problem is there's nothing going on as far as fights in San Diego. Prince is a featherweight who's been in action for 5 years,but him and his dad want to make their break.I don't know the details of why this is happening so I don't want to make a supposition.He's beginning to fight the same fighters he's had an easy time with before. I've talked to Tiger a few times about this and he's tearing his hair out.. I saw where Prince was on a card at the racetrack to fight the main event. That was on the 9th of December. BoxRec still hasn't posted the results,not only of Prince'sfight,but the entire card. This has happened before. Tiger asked nme to inquire with on of the editors. The editor replied that recently the promotors of these matches have misinformed Box Rec of the true results. For example they'll say this guy won when he actually lost.Talk about getting on someone's Pay No Mind List.


I can only guess how much these fighters earn.It can't be much. The fights aren't televised.If you look up some of these fighters' records, every time they go out there they lose,mostly by knockout.A referee,who works fights on both sides of the border,told me a promotor handed him 20 bucks for his night's work. James Kitchen,who fought a few times in Tijuana, told me that you have to send one of your people over to see how they're wrapping the opponent's hands. He laughed and said his people would walk back tracking in plaster of Paris on their shoes.


But Tijuana wasn't always this way. In the Golden Era of boxing in the Southland I saw some great fighters step into those Mexican rings:Olivares,Saldivar,Davey Moore,Jose Napoles,Julio Cesar Chavez,and Sugar Ray Robinson Jibaro Perez,Erik Morales,Antonio Margarito,and Julio Cesar Sr. have homes in Tijuana.You'll see them around. They'll drop by the CREA gym in the RIo and swap stories with Romulo Rodarte who trained Chavez for a spell. He also trained and managed his ex son in law Jibaro. Margarito used to have a gym in Colonia Pancho Villa,but it shut down. Erik Morales still has his gym in the Zona Norte,but it's not as hardcore as it once was. A lot of women and kids are just in there for the exercise.Julio Cesar Chavez opened a gym in plaza Santa Celia later selling it. The gym still is open. I visit Cheto,who bought it from Julio, from time to time.Last time I went it was pretty slow in there.

So like I said,boxing is making a resurgence,but you can edit "surge" out of the word and come up with a better description --maybe "restarting". Well, TJ is a tough go if you're at the bottom. It's a struggle. You can struggle working a bum job for lousy pay. You can struggle to get to the U.S. by any means necessary. You can join a gang and hope they don't find your head cut off of in a ditch somewhere.You can marry the governor's daughter or son.(That's probably the longest of the odds).Or you can go to the gym and say you want to try your hand at fighting.But if you win,be sure you phone in the results instead of the promotor making the call.Cheto was telling me he had a beef with BoxRec.They had reported that one of his fighters had won,but the promotor called it in with the other guy winning. Hey,Prince are you reading this?Asi es Mexico.


Julio Cesar Chavez and one of his charges in his gym in Plaza Santa Cecelia before he sold it

Taking A Little Off The Top

Just Off The Top Of My Head:Just as I was mentioning yesterday about Prince Small's fight in Tijuana on the 9th not being posted on BoxRec ,I get a call from Prince's dad,Tiger, wanting to know why. This happened once before with one of Prince's fights in Tijuana. He won,but it didn't get posted. Like I said yesterday,BoxRec is getting a lot of bogus reporting on the outcomes of matches from Mexico The Mexican commissions will phone in the results crediting the losing fighter as having "won" .I explained to Tiger that his son wasn't being singled out. It wasn't a matter that they had it in for him because he was an American. Mexican fighters have been getting shafted too. So Tiger wants me to contact BoxRec again.He texts me a link on YouTube showing Prince winning his fight on the 9th. I sent it out this afternoon to one of the editors on Box Rec. I think everything will turn out in Prince's favor.

Before Charley Powell passed away several years ago,I saw him at one of California boxing banquets.We spoke for awhile. I asked him how his brother Art was doing. He thanked me for asking and said Art was doing fine. There were three Powell brothers. They all attended Lincoln High School in Southeast San Diego.All three were super athletes. Art was a wide receiver for the New York Jets and later with the Oakland Raiders. I think he was All Pro first team in the old AFL every year he played. He retired before the AFL got absorbed by the NFL. He would have been an All Pro even after the merger. You can think back when and remember athletes who would have been super stars today if they were playing. Art Powell would have been one of those names. He was tall,lean,and fast.He scored double digits every year in TD receptions,almost 20 yards per catch.His big bro Charley was no slouch either playing with the pigskin. He wasn't as tall as Art,but he was built solidly and could move on a dime. Before they kept stats on QB sacks,he sacked Otto Graham, the quarterback for the Cleveland Browns, 9 tines in a Sunday afternoon. I think that would still be the record today.But Charley wanted to be a pro fighter. He looked like a body builder and fought like one. He went in there with some pretty good boys who had experience. Charley definitely needed more seasoning.Cassius Clay used him as stepping stone on his way up to the championship. BTW,the youngest brother, Jerry,quarterbacked Lincoln High's football team to the CIF championship. He was also honored as the city's MVP But I remember also about the three brothers was that they exuded style and class.If you saw them at a dinner to honor local athletes and coaches,they'd be attired in tailored suits graciously engaging everyone without any pretensions. They still lived in Southeast.Later Charley had a furniture business in LA. They were pillars of the community,human landmarks like Archie Moore. Today,if I were to ask a young black kid from Southeast San Diego(or a kid of any other color) who were the Powell brothers or Archie Moore,I'd get some strange looks.


When George Foreman was getting ready in Africa to fight Ali,Dick Saddler,Big George's trainer, brought his upright piano.I saw a clip of him playing some boogie woogie in Zaire. He sounded like Eubie Blake on those ivories. Training camps can be real drudgery. A training camp without any levity can be real counterproductive. I don't know. Maybe Saddler didn't know any of Foreman's favorite songs.



Eubie Blake--Charlston Rag



Prince Smalls



Charley Powell--The Bo Jackson of his day



Prince Smalls

A Primal Thought

A coal miner knows going in that eventually he'll wind up with black lung disease. A fighter going in thinks that he'll wind up all right. When a fighter begins to wander into dementia he maybe doesn't realize he's on that path. Then when the illness takes hold it's hard to figure what he knows. I knew a fighter who lived down where I worked for the school district. After his fighting days were over he got a job working in the general services department for the school district.Essentially he was a maintenance man. He rode in the district truck with his partner, They went around doing things like replacing lights,repairing broken desks,hauling away junk. They would sometimes complain that they were assigned to do a job that wasn't in their "job specs." For example if they had to replace a rusty drain trap in the cafeteria,they'd gripe that they weren't plumbers.That was a job the plumbers should attend to. But on the other hand if the plumbers had to repaint a section of the bathroom where there was some water damage caused by a leaky pipe,the plumbers would whine about that was a job for the painters. Working civil service is like being in the Army--always complaining.I don't know if complaining keeps things going or is part of the mantra;but everyone complains and everyone gets tired of listening to the other guy's sniveling. But Jose,the ex fighter turned maintenance man for the school district, wasn't that way. He went along taking everything in stride. He got along with everybody because he wouldn't bend anyone's ear with his problems He had some though.His wife got a stroke when she was in labor with their son.That was when she was in her 20's . She could talk and think OK,but she needed a walker in order to move around. She couldn't do much housework so her sister came in to live with the family. The sister was backwards ,to use that term.She was afraid to interact with people and couldn't hold a job without having panic attacks. As much as she was a help,she was also a burden. The son had learning disabilities:ADD,dyslexia.He went through school in Special Ed classes. With all that said,Jose never talked about it wanting to elicit any sympathy or pity.


Jose wasn't the greatest fighter around,but he was no bum either. He won his first 6 fights in unimpressive fashion--all monotonous decisions.Then he lost the next 6 in a row--all monotonous decisions. He wasn't what you'd call a crowd pleaser. He was born in Tijuana,but never fought down there. He told me that he always wanted to be a fighter,and even when he began losing he still enjoyed fighting even though he knew he would never amount to much. But he didn't fight that long. He only had around 25 or 30 pro fights. He might have won more than he won. Of the 25 or 30 fights he could only score 3 KO's. However ,Jose was very proud of the fact that he'd never been stopped,or even off his feet.I saw him fight a few times at The Coliseum.He was a welterweight. He wasn't much of a defensive fighter . His face showed that. He had a fighter's face--the craggy nose,thick brows over deep set puffy eyes,wiry black hair His canvas skin was lumped up from all the punches.He'd squint when he talked setting off the lines in his forehead.He talked like he had a cold,but that was because his busted up nose was clogged with cartilage. If he was in a room with a crowd of people he'd become within its mass. Jose never initiated a conversation. He listened a lot.I never knew what he was thinking half the time because he never said much,and when he did ,it was never something critical.


I was about the only guy on site that would carry much of a conversation with Jose. He still liked boxing.He liked the Cuban fighters that migrated to Mexico. He even named his son Ultiminio in homage to "Sugar" Ramos. "Sugar" rolled off the tongue easier than Ultiminio.besides "Sugar" was a "boxing" name. Jose would like to travel up to Los Angeles to take in the various boxing events.He was never inducted into any of their Hall of Fames. He liked to go because he could meet up with the fighters and reminisce old times.There wasn't much left in San Diego. There were some of his old adversaries in Tijuana,but he really looked forward to going up to LA to those banquets. Jose was always sure to take his wife. I would always see her with him at a table. She never said much. I noticed that she would stay close to him all the time. She had this concerning face,always looking at him. It was a time where Jose would lighten up,not that he was unhappy,but just being in a room with all those fighters,made him feel at home.


One year at a California Hall of Fame banquet I didn't see him there as usual. When I got back to work at the school district,one of the custodial crew told me that Jose and his wife had gone on a tour of Italy.He burned up some sick leave and they went to Italy. The guy that told me this said that Jose was beginning to "slip." Jose's wife wanted to get him away thinking that this would be the last chance they could do something like this. She had always wanted to go to Italy.


Well,a few moths passed. I didn't see Jose and his partner in the truck.Then I saw the "General Services" truck parked out by the athletic fields. Jose's partner was there working on mending a chain link fence. When my break came,I went over to ask what was going on.
"I haven't seen Jose,"I said."Is he all right?"
"Jose doesn't work for the district anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Well,you know how those fighters wind up. He's punchy. The DMV yanked his license. The district had to let him go."
I was speechless. The ex partner now didn't seem that concerned and went on working on the fence. I said thanks and walked away.


A few years ago I was at Rick Farris's inaugural opening of The West Coast Boxing Hall of Fame banquet. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jose sitting at a table.Beside him was a girl. She was very pretty and shy looking.She kept looking at Jose attentively. I made my way over to where he was sitting.I think I startled him,but when he saw me he broke out smiling and became very animated.
"Rogelio you old bastard.How the hell did you get up here?"
"I 'm a friend of Rick Farris's. I wouldn't miss this for nothing."
"Well,I'm a friend of Rick's too. Hey.I want you meet my niece Dolores. Isn't she pretty?"
Jose turned quickly at his niece.She kept her impassive face looking straight at him.
"She's here because I can't drive anymore. Isn't that just like the DMV? They don't think I can drive anymore,and you know,they're right. Hey don't you think my niece is pretty?She's supposed to be watching out for me,but I'm watching out for her. You know,I got to keep her away from guys like you. Oh,I'm just kidding. By the way where's your wife Maria?"
"She's in Michoacán visiting her family.Where's Gloria?"
Jose put his head down and stopped talking. His spirit vanished.
"I see they're about to begin Jose. I'm gong back to my table. I'll talk to you later."
Jose didn't say anything keeping his head down. Later I went to the bar and saw Jose's niece. She had a coke in her hand.
"I want to apologize for my uncle,"she said.
"What for?"
"Gloria didn't want to come up here today. "
"Why's that?"
"She always was afraid that he would get like this. She doesn't want to be around fighters anymore. She asked me if I'd take him up here."
"I'm sorry,"I said trying to find the right words.
"That's OK.He's turning into a child is all."
"I wish I could do something,"I said.
"When you have the time tell him that you want to f--k me."
"I couldn't do that. He'd get sore."
"He'd think you were kidding.Besides,you know you'd like to ."



The great Cuban welterweight, Luis Rodriguez

If You Don't Believe In Heaven You'll Go Through Hell At Four In The Morning

Whitey was my best pal. His real name was Walter,but his big brother used to call him" Watty"Well everyone else didn't pick up on the double "t's" in Watty so they called him Whitey. I called him Whitey and even after awhile his big brother called him Whitey.He was a couple of years ahead of me in school,but he hated book learning They put him in all the remedial classes..The rooms were in the basement. It's like they wanted to hide those kids from the rest of the student body. The remedial kids weren't popular. They didn't go to dances or play any sports.They didn't run for any school office.They knew they wouldn't win,and besides most of them didn't have high enough grades to qualify. Whitey told me that he was going to take Music Appreciation class because he liked music,but the teacher kicked him out. Whitey told me that the teacher had these flash cards with pictures of all the instruments on them. Well,the teacher held up a picture of an instrument(it was a French horn)and asked Whitey if he knew its name. Whitey said that it was a tuba and the teacher began laughing. Well Whitey was Italian and he was usually a real mild mannered guy,but if you slighted his intelligence his dago temper would take over. He called the out the pedagogue.
"Hell I didn't know what it was.That's why I'm taking the class you a-- hole."
That was Whitey's last experience learning about musical instruments. In fact Whitey didn't see much purpose in most of the subjects.Learning about the principle products of New Hampshire and who won the Franco Prussian War didn't fit into Whitey's motivation to make a buck. Whitey's old man was a degenerate horse gambler. He worked at the foot of Broadway at Frost's Lumberyard.He took the "O" bus back and forth to work during the week. On Sunday,his day off,he'd ride the "O" bus all the way down to the border,walk across to the Mexican side,and then hop a cab to the Caliente Off Track Betting that was on Revolution Street. He'd then proceed to blow most of his week's earnings on horses that were one stride away from the glue factory. He'd take the "O" bus back to the beach where he lived with his wife and three kids. When his wife would ask him for some money,he'd say he didn't have any money left. He had left the rent money at the book. . But the guy never took any blame for his discretions.
"Hell.I felt lucky,"he'd snort back.
If anyone complained, he'd take off his belt and there'd be hell to pay.


Whitey's mother,bless her heart,was a hard working woman who would often try to fend off her husband when he'd get his ire up. I don't remember seeing her much without a black eye or a swollen lip. She died before Whitey left school. She always told him there was no free lunch. You had to go to work to get what you want. Whitey couldn't wait to turn 16 so he could leave school and go find a job. There was one class Whitey did like though. It was one of those "electives" classes.Whitey liked working in the school cafeteria during the lunch period. I'd see him back in the kitchen preparing the lunches and cooking the meals. He was a different Whitey. He might not have known what a French horn was,but he could whip up an order of eggs over easy.ham.home fries on the side faster than you could sing The Marseillaise. His boss liked the way Whitey handled himself in the kitchen so he got him in contact with Phil Florentino who managed Leonardo's restaurant on India Street in Little Italy. Well,it was like rolling spaghetti on a fork. It wasn't long before Whitey was making everything on the menu.The joint could be packed to the doors and Whitey could handle the all the orders faster than you could sing "One Meatball."


Whitey's dad didn't last long after Whitey's mom passed on. From breathing all that sawdust at the lumberyard and rolling his own Bull Durhams he got lung cancer and died. But like him it wasn't his fault that he got sick.
"Hell. The doctors told me to stop smoking the Bull Durhams so I switched to Camels(the unfiltered kind)."

I never saw Whitey take any interest in gambling on anything,but after his dad died,he followed his footsteps--all the way to the Off Track Betting windows. Whitey liked to bet as bad as his old man. He liked the nags the best,but he'd bet on the football games and the fights when he got the urge.However, sometimes Whitey would get confused when he went to the "Selling Window." One morning we drove up to Del Mar to bet the Early Bird. (Whitey never liked waiting around for the races to start) .He looked a little worried in the car on the way back.
"Roger.I bet the daily double."
"So?"
"Well I want to know if I still win if I switched the numbers."
"What do you mean?"I asked.
"Well,I wanted to bet 5 and 10 and I said 10 and 5."
"Let me see your ticket."
I looked at Whitey's ticket.
"It says 10 and 5."
"Can I still win if 5 and 10 come in?"
"No.It has to be 10 and 5 in that order."
"But I thought..."
"You can only switch it if you had bet the Quinella.What are the odds on !0 and 5?"200 to 1,"he stammered.
"All I can say is I hope you get lucky."
"I won't lose any sleep on it,"he said."I only bet 5 dollars."
It's a good thing that Whitey didn't kick himself over that miscue. 10 and 5 came in and we went back to the track the next day to cash in .

There was the time at the book on Revolution Street and Whitey plays a 500 to 1 bet on a daily double.He bet another 5 spot.Would you believe it, his nags finished the way he bet them.He saw the results in the next morning's paper.
"I wasn't worried,"he gloated.
So we hauled down to TJ to collect.Whitey strolled up to the Cashier Window and before long I heard raised voices.I went over to investigate.
"That guy won't give me all my money,"complained Whitey.
"Why not?"
"He didn't say. I'm going to kill him."
"Now settle down.I'll talk to the guy."
Well the cashier points out this sign on the wall that the Off Track Betting pays out a maximum of 100 to 1. Not any amount higher.
I turned to Whitey who's standing right next to me listening all this.His face was all red and he looked like he was going to lose it.
"Whitey,"I said in a very clear and slow voice."He didn't rip you off. See the sign.It only pays out a maxim of 100 to 1."
Whitey ain't listening to what I had to say.
"That son of a bitch wants to cheat me out of my money!I'm going to get him!"
"Whitey,"I pled."We'll all go to jail.He's right. Calm down and listen to me."
It took sometime to finally make Whitey back off from killing the guy although he still wasn't convinced by the time we walked out. Whitey had a good chunk of dough,but he still thought he got swindled.

One night me and him were at the new Caliente book they had just opened where the old Jai Alai Palace used to be. The casino was real swank. Nice bar and restaurant.Looked like something you'd see in Vegas. We're betting the dog races from Arizona when I saw Whitey standing in front of the seller window. He walked back to where we were sitting with a betting slip in his hand.
"You know that Tyson fight is tomorrow,"he said.
"You mean you bet that?"
"Yeh,"he said smiling."I put 20 dollars on Tyson."
"He's fighting this Buster Douglas. This guy is a 42 to 1 underdog."
"That's why I bet Tyson,"he smirked. "He can't lose."
"Yeh,but you aint gonna' win nothing. For your 20 dollars you won't win a dollar."
"Is that all?"he sighed.
Let me see your ticket. I broke out in a laugh.
"You bet Douglas,"I said.
"No.I bet Tyson."
"Whitey, what did you say to the guy at the window?"
"I said that I didn't want Douglas."
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you."
I felt like Oliver Hardy speaking to Stan Laurel.
"Well ,I'm not going to lose any sleep over it,"he said.
"I don't know what it is with you,but I'd be tossing and turning."


Iron Mike Tyson

Getting Reacquainted


A few years ago i wanted to take my grandson Adam to the fights in Tijuana.I thought it would be a good experience for him. I didn't want to go to one of those bars around town that put on a card of so so fighters. I wanted to show my grandson what the boxing matches were like in Tijuana when i was frequenting the fight venues like the old downtown bullring,the Arena 72,and the Municiple Auditorium back in the day. Trying to explain and make my grandson visualize what it was like to see Jose Napoles,Ruben Olivares,or Julio Cesar Chavez in action at one of the before mentioned arenas,the electrifying crowd with all the pyrotechnics, is a struggle that falls way short capturing the tenor. It's like trying to describe a Sinatra song in writing, or depict what the Grand Canyon looks like with a speech. So I waited for an opportunity for a fight card to pop up in Tijuana that I thought might warrant taking Adam to see.The problem was I thought that boxing had passed me in Tijuana. I wasn't familiar with any of the local talent.i couldn't think of a fighter's name. I had to grope around .The only household name I could think of was Canelo Alvarez,and by that time I knew he'd never be in a Tijuana ring anymore.In fact Canelo Alvarez had never fought in Tijuana.

Then one afternoon I was leaving Esther's Galleria just off Revolution Boulevard on 4th Street. Esther and her daughter have been putting my paintings in frames for 20 years. The best workmanship for an unbelievable price,all in 20 minutes.Anyway, I'm in the parking lot outside the store and ready to pay the attendant Eduardo and have him give me the keys to my car. Eddie is a boxing nut and we always talk the fights every time I go to Esther's.
"Eddie,any fights coming up?"
Usually the conversation is about what Canelo has on his menu or how Marquez will do against Pacquiao ,or who's out there that can finally take Mayweather. But this time I stumbled onto something good. At least it turned out to be a scoop.
"Nery is going to fight at the Auditorio," Eddie responded.
"Nery,"I said trying to place the name."Is he any good?"(I kind of knew that I asked a dumb question)
"He's very good,"answered Eddie seriously."He's undefeated."
"You know I've been wanting to take my grandson to see a good fight in Tijuana."
"He won't be disappointed,"he said with a straight face

Well.I thought this might be the time that I was waiting for. I went home and couldn't find anything on Youtube of this Nery guy.Luis Nery to be exact. I got my grandson to concede.I thought he might back off. Going to the fights in Tijuana is like asking a stranger to walk the back alleys in the Coahuila with your wallet sticking out of your back pocket.At least that's what their overactive imagination tells them.But Adam seemed up to it. His gringo dad, who's a sherriff, furrowed his brows,but my daughter, who's a lot like her mother, said only."Well,have a nice time." She knew everything would be all right. She knew me and my history.


I didn't know any of the fighters on the card. But I had a good feeling that my stars were in a good alignment. As me and Adam were driving down on the 5,I explained that the Municipal Auditorium was the last landmark fight venue still standing in TJ. I tried to spirit an animated image to Adam about how being at a fight in Mexico is something unlike any other boxing event. I told him that I saw the great Vicente Saldivar at the Auditorio lose his title against the Japanese Shibata in an incredible upset. But Adam had never heard of Vicente Saldivar before. The simile of my persuasion was describing Michelangelo's David with sign language.

I was happy to see a good crowd inside the Auditorium. There was a frenetic stir in the air. It brought me back 40 years.I could sense that Adam's senses were getting bombarded.I knew that anymore descriptions would be counterproductive. The huge vacuum of the arena amplified everything--the lights,the noise,the movement.It was an aura of high definition. The July heat was tempered inside the arena.It was a shirt sleeved crowd. They were rambunctious and clamoring.They demanded whatever inspired them. I didn't want to bring up to my grandson about the primal tradition of the dead rattlesnake being flung around ringside. That's where we were sitting. I can say with satisfaction that I almost grabbed that reptile as it sailed by my head,but a very eager aficianado lunged his body in front of mine to make the interception.

The fights came fast and frequent. They were typical Mexican fights I'm glad to report. It wasn't a place for a combatant to be noncombative. By the time the Nery fight was to commence,I was already satisfied that me and Adam got our money's worth. Adam didn't say much.I could see with all that bombardment of his senses kind of left him speechless.(BTW.Before I get to Nery's performane,Jaime Munguia also fought that night.Like Luis Nery I had never heard of Jaime Mungia. I was so focused on waiting for Nery to enter the ring that I have only a vague recollection of Munguia's effort. I know he won,but I don't remember a lot of details)

When Nery entered the ring the crowd went wild. They,I could tell,had seen him before. He was in there with anther Mexican fighter that had only lost 3 times in over 30 fights. I figured he was going to be a good test,and besides all the screaming and yelling roaring down on Nery to stay unbeaten might piss of this kid from Sonora named Sanchez.All I know was I couldn't wait for the opening gong.

I looked at Nery in his corner waiting for the bell to sound. He was like a coiled spring.He wasn't one of these loose happy go lucky guys in the corner like a Baby Vasquez. Nery looked menacing. He had a good three day growth of beard.When he disrobed I saw that he had a thick chest and built shoulders for a bantamweight. He looked older than his 24 years. I was thinking about my stars' alignment. At the bell Nery moved in bent and determined. What got my eye was that he was a "surdo,a lefty..He kept his feet a little wide and with those cubed shoulders and that deep chest it brought back memories of Saldivar. But this wasn't a night for Nery to be upset like the time I saw Shibata shock the boxing world at the same audtorium more than 40 years ago. I can say Sanchez was game. He had no other choice. He could have run, and then they would have run him out of Tijuana. He stood up to Luis Nery,but Nery walked this kid down and busted him up.Every shot he hit him with was powerful,and what impressed me was the two handed body punches. Down to the body and then up to the head. He made Sanchez quit in his corner,but there was no dissatisfaction from the aficianados. Sanchez got a reprieve.

Well ,the night couldn't have turned out any better. I could tell Adam was impressed. I could tell he had his thinking cap on.He had seen something that a lot of kids on the U.S. will never experience,and I also re enumerated what I wanted to convey to Adam on the drive to Tijuana..
"Remember I was telling you about Vicente Saldivar on the way down?Well ,this Nery fights just like him."
I could put down my paint brushes.Adam had seen it with his own two eyes.



Luis Nery in action

The Greatness Of Them All

If someone has to tell you how great he is ,he probably isn't that great. I've got a girl cousin who is a few tears older than I am. Her mother was married to a big honcho in the Sears -Roebuck Company.This guy was her step father. Her real father died when she was very young. I remember her father.He was a quiet person,a doctor.He died of cancer. My cousin didn't have to wait around till the end to inherit her fortune. She went to Northwesten University.After graduating, she moved out to San Diego. She married a guy who was a DEA agent. They bought a fancy house in LaJolla. That's about as posh as it gets in San Diego,or anywhere else. She used her degree to be a grammar school teacher. Things seemed to be cruising along for her,but then her husband got cancer and died. My cousin quit her teaching job after a few years and opened up a travel agency. She began to write articles for Fodors Travel Magazine. She met a guy in church who claimed he's descendant from president John Adams. His family is loaded,and together my cousin and this Adams character travel all over the world. She writes for Fodors and he's her photographer. Between her stories for Fodors,her late husband's pension,the travel agency,her inheritance,and all the property in San Diego this Adams has amassed throughout time,keeps them up to their alligators in material things.. When they are not galavanting around the globe,my cousin's husband buys and restores antique automobiles. Any car worth less than 300 hundred G's is considered a clunker. However, her husband 's restorations are hindered because he can't finish anything he starts. My cousin says he's got ADD or ADHD,or dyslexia, maybe the whole trifecta. I was with this guy at a car show once and saw him sit in front of a monitor telling the history of the Ford Motor Company.He watched it 3 times for 3 hours straight, transfixed not blinking an eye. The docs might call his affliction A Something,but for me he's a nut case who drives me up a wall.

Well, when my cousin married this Adams dude,she didn't take his name.I've read some about the presidents.They say insanity ran in the Adams' family. I think my cousin's husband is related to the second president.But there's something that gets under my skin about my cousin too. Granted,this Adams guy has a screw loose somewhere,but my cousin is also the biggest phony I've ever met. All she talks about is all the places in the world she has been to.I think at last count she'd been around the world 14 times. That was 6 years ago. Her nutty husband follows her around the planet taking pictures of her with Australian aborigines carrying her across a river(she's been to Australia 6 times),or posing with the Dalai Lama at one of his seminars in Tibet(she's been to Tibet 4 times),or the time she sat down with Pavoratti and did an interview with him for Fodors.(she only interviewed Pavoratti once).I think she keeps a tote board in her room of all the places she has been to.


But believe me,this isn't any sour grapes coming from me. It might sound like it,but it ain't. What gets me is that every time we get together she acts like one of those snobby Manhattan socialites who eat their meals at Sardi's or the Waldorf Astoria at" their " special table. If I told her I visited Buckingham Palace,she'd say something like ,"Why didn't you tell me you were going.I could have arranged for you to meet the Queen." The day she went on and on about going through the Panama Canal on the president of Panama's private yacht and noted that the bathrooms in Panama are the cleanest in the world,I had to reach for the Excedrin.Then there was the time when she went to Vietnam and stayed at the Hilton. She lounged at the pool writing articles for Fodors about what the "real" Vietnam is like.What I'm trying to get across is even with all her frequent flyer miles, I think she's kind of a dummy. I haven't heard from my cousin and her goofy husband in more than 10 years. I'm not sitting by the phone waiting for their call.

When I helped out Archie Moore at his boys club that one summer,I kept my ears open for any anecdote from the Old Mongoose. Any snippet.What it was like finally winning the title.His early fights at the Coliseum.
Traveling to fight the local heros' in their backyards in places like Argentina and Australia in front of unwelcoming crowds.. The tricks of the trade he picked up.Fighting Marciano in Yankee Stadium.What was going through his mind in the opening round in Montreal when he fought Durelle the first time.Traveling on the road with Lucky Thompson's jazz band.Hangng out with Sugar Ray and Joe Louis. Dealing with a cocky Cassius Clay when he took him in the beginning at his training camp in the foothills of Ramona. Working in Hollywood in the movies.Playing poker with Duke Ellington and his guys. Being on The Groucho Marx Show.All the fast cars and faster women. I didn't hear him divulge too much when I was wrapping hands and toweling off the kids at the boys club. He had his mind on those young kids who he didn't want to see get hooked up with the local gangbangers. He couldn't let himself get sidetracked talking about himself,or how the bathrooms in Panama are the cleanest in the world.




Duke Ellington