BoxRec

God's Work

"So you never knew Burke?"I asked Jeff.
"I talked to him a little bit at Shirley's funeral and then when they had that memorial for her in here."
it was !0 am and Jeff had just opened up Champs. I could smell the Clorox from the back where the bathrooms are.One of the homeless guys in the neighborhood would come in before the place opened. Jeff would let him in and then the homeless guy would clean the bathrooms and mop the floor. He did that every morning.I don't know what he was getting paid.As usual Champs didn't get much of a morning crowd. The place was empty.
"I don't think we connected very well,"said Jeff."He seemed kind of far off."
"I remember that afternoon in here. He kept asking where she was."I said.
Jeff was Shirley's grandson.Jeff's older brother owned the Champs now. When Burke and Shirley were together she willed power of attorney to her oldest grandson,Jeff's brother. Burke was pretty well into the dementia by that time. Everyone thought Burke would pass before Shirley though. She was a lot older than Burke and seemed in good health,but she had a fall that broke her hip. She got pneumonia after the fall and that's what she died from.
"It was good that my grandmother had everything taken care of if something happened,"said Jeff."Burke had no one."
Jeff had replaced Ed who had been the day bartender ever since Burke and Shirley became partners and they bought out Cronins and renamed the bar Champs.Jeff didn't have the look of a bartender,especially in a redneck joint like Champs.Jeff looked younger than he was.Nothing prominent in his appearance ever drew him any notice. He had a small nose,thin sandy hair parted to the side,and vacant gray eyes.His hands were long and his fingers tapered to the ends.Every ounce of his pale thin frame emoted nothing of interest.If anything,he seemed to be always very clean. His standard attire was a plain knit shirt and a brushed pair of Levis
"Was Burke a good fighter?"asked Jeff as he drew me a glass of beer from he spigot
"He was better than most,"I said.
"I guess he was the champion of Canada,"said Jeff indifferently.
"He was real proud of that.That's why he renamed the place Champs."
"They've got some stories of some of his fights on the wall."
"Burke put them up,"I said.
"In a way I wish my brother would take them down. When someone asks me about Burke's career ,I don't know too much."
"He was probably a better trainer than a fighter.He'd get cut a lot when he fought.He lost a lot of fights because of his cuts."
"Did you ever see him fight?"
"Only once on television."
"Who did he fight?"
"A guy by the name of Jose Torres. They fought at the St. Nicholas Arena in New York. He was from New York and a Puerto Rican. He was also undefeated. A hot prospect. Had the crowd with him."
"So who won?"
"Torres gave Burke a pretty good beating. Burke couldn't continue.Torres broke his ribs."
"That was too bad."
"Burke's career kind of went downhill after that. Torres went on to be the light heavyweight champ of the world
"So the guy that beat Burke went on to be the REAL champ then," said Jeff tersely.
"Jose Torres died not to long ago just as Burke was beginning to fight his own battle."
"Did Burke know about him dying?"
"You know I told him about Jose Torres dying and he just gave me a boyish look.I thought he might not have heard me so I said it again,but he just stared at me all glassy eyed with a grin on his face."
"Maybe he was punchy and didn't understand."
"That's possible,"I said.
Jeff opened a box of cocktail napkins grabbing a handful and then taking a beer glass and twisting down on the napkins with the beer glass to loosen them up.
"Hey before you go I read your story last night on BoxRec about Ali,"said Jeff spreading the cocktail napkins on the bar.
"Did you like it?"
"I liked the part about what you said that if you can make people feel good by being around you that you're doing God's work. Did you make that up or did you read it somewhere?"
"I heard someone say once that part about making people feel good by being around you.I threw in the part about doing God's work."
Jeff gave a little smirk while spreading the cocktail napkins on the bar.
"You know that massage parlor that opened up upstairs?"he asked me with a now twinkle in his eye.
"What about it?"
"Well if you have a hundred bucks that ain't doing nothing those girls can make you feel like you're in heaven. That's doing God's work isn't it?"he said chuckling.
"You want to do some of God's work?"
"How's that?"
"Draw me another beer."

When America Had A King

They called Clark Gable "The King Of Hollywood." I was watching Turner Classic Movies this morning and saw one of his movies for the first time,Cain And Mabel. Gable played the part of the heavyweight champion.His love interest was Marion Davies. The film was made in 1936. Marion Davies' boyfriend William Randolph Hearst put a lot of heat on Warner Brothers to cast Gable as Davies' love interest. She even got top billing. I read were the critics panned the flick. The public didn't buy tickets either. First time I had seen that movie.It's not shown on TCM much.Gable had won an Oscar in 1934 for best leading actor in Frank Capra's ,It Happened One Night. His star was on a rapid rise when he made Cain And Mabel,but the film was quickly forgotten. Part of the rub was that just about everyone thought Gable was miscast as a boxer.


I'm not necessarily buying the excuse that Gable was "miscast" as a fighter.I'm not going to get into too many details,but the story was kind of goofy.They wrote some songs for Marion Davies.Gables' boxing scenes reminded me of Elvis ala Kid Galahad,a performance that bordered on the ridiculous.If they would have had a better script things would have turned out better. At that time to have Clark Gable in a movie and have a flop was along the lines of 42 to 1 odds against any thing like that happening .Well Buster ,it did.


When I think back as a kid about the leading men on the silver screen,Clark Gable was hands down the epitome of the leading man:tough and rugged,possessing the animal magnetism,but also instilled with a boyishness and humor.On top of all that he was handsome as hell. A face chiseled by Michelangelo.


One of the striking features about Gable was that he resembled the former heavyweight champ of the Roaring 20's,Jack Dempsey.That likeness was one of the qualities that caught the film moguls' eyes. The post war Jazz Age was ripe for heros. The women cut their hair,smoked,drank,and didn't wear underwear. But these first liberated wildcats weren't waiting around for some learned lover. They wanted something brash and strong. America was the heavyweight champion of the world.Europe was badly wounded.They were disorganized politically, and all the killing had drained the manpower.America was unscathed. America was strong and vibrant Everything was moving in that direction in the good ol' USA. Darwin had it right.


The book writers turned out salty realism. Hemingway kicked ass with his fingers hunting the keys of the typewriter..Steinbeck told a stark life's drama. Jack London and Ring Lardner didn't pull any punches in the sports pages when describing the action. The jazz cats blew their axes loud with unabandoned solos inside the speakeasies. Al Capone and Bugs Moran thought nothing of having someone gunned down on a public street.


The male screen idols had to match the Roaring 20's mantra. Babe Rut didn't settle for hitting a single. No,he went for the stands every time. He wanted those homerun hits and with every swing he just about tore off his jersey. Red Grange carried the pigskin through the line with stunned defenses clinging on to his uniform for dear life.Even the top stud of the oval,Man O' War,wasn't a win one lose one charger. He only lost one,and that was by a neck to a nag with the appropriate name of Upset.(You sure his name wasn't Buster?) I wouldn't have wanted to get near his stable after that upset.And in the most manly of the sports,boxing,and the coveted heavyweight crown,there was Jack Dempsey who was nicknamed "The Manassa Mauler. He looked like he must have been conceived and born inside a boxing ring.He was a cut out of a Colorado mountain and when he fought he came at you like a Rocky Mountain panther.scowling and snorting like a hungry animal.Jack's ,bronze frame with those Jack Dempsey muscles throwing every punch with all its fury.When Tunney beat him Jack still prevailed as the most virile. Gene(that could be a girl's name too)stayed away from Jack's attacks. No mano a mano for Gene against a guy with the nickname,Manassa Mauler. Besides,Gene said he liked Shakespeare more than fighting.

Every time I see Clark Gable on the screen,even when all the fast living at the end took its toll,I still think he was the toughest guy on the Tinsel Town screen. John Wayne and maybe Bill Holden could run with him,but Marlon and James were Johnny Come Latelys.That was the beginning of the method acting period.They struggled all the time about what was right and wrong. Dempsey and Gable didn't worry about what was exact. "Psychotherapy" was not in their vocabularies.Their prescription was a hit in the mouth.


Clark Gable

State Of The Art Device

My cell phone is one of those flip phones,sometimes I've heard it called a clam shell. I don't have internet capability.I can't download any thing like music.I have difficulty describing my phone because I'm in the dark about the what the latest cell phones can do. I have ,I guess you would say,just a plain old cell phone. I can call on it. I can receive calls.I can text,but have seldom done that.I have a camera and have taken two pictures.One picture is of the inside the tank of my toilet.The fill valve broke and my son in law wanted to go to the hardware store to buy a new one,but needed a picture of the old fill valve.The other picture is me with my dogs. I"ve had my phone for ten years. Once I got my cell phone wet and shorted the thing out. I went with my grandson to buy another one,but after looking everything over,I settled again on the same kind that I had before.I'm on my sisters family' account and pay ten dollars a month. People chide me for having such an antiquated device,but I don't want more than what I have now. It's not that I have a phobia,but I don't feel like tweeting or wanting to communicate with the outside world on an a cell phone. I like talking to people face to face.

I've been posting on BoxRec lately almost everyday. I feel that my posting is more like talking.to someone than typing into a void.. It's a way for me to let off steam,vent,work things out. I may be writing about boxing,but underneath there's a therapeutic exercise that,for whatever,makes me fell better after I type the last period. Sometimes I repeat myself. Sometimes I just tell the same story with a different slant. Trying to be original,especially at my age,is a challenge.

Our lives are comprised of around 25,000 days.What the hell can you talk about during all that time? Most people like to talk about themselves. That's a topic they are at least familiar with. But while they go on about how their kids are driving them up a wall or they hate their job,half the listeners don't care and the other half are glad that they have problems. Then there are the ones that all they want to talk about is all the good fortune that has come their way.Most of it is BS and their sole purpose is to make you feel inadequate. But the ones that turn me off the most are the cynics,the pessimists,the gloom and doomers.They see the dark side of everything.Hearing their banter sucks the life out of me.

As I grow older I want to be frank.I don't want to compromise.But thinking that telling the truth is setting me free is a labor of futility.It just makes my blood boil. I've never been able to roll with a punch.Let things go. I take things too personally. So I find myself shutting off from others.

I have a friend that I used to coach when he was a kid on the high school football team.That team that I coached in Tijuana. He called me up awhle back to tell me that his 9 year old son wants to be a fighter.He wanted to know if I knew of a good boxing gym in TJ. Well,there are plenty of boxing gyms. i recommended the CREA GYm in the Rio.Romulo Rodarte still trains fighters there. He worked with J.C. Chavez and his ex son in law Jibaro Perez. But now I wished that I never had answered the phone.I've seen his son. The kid is a real nice kid. That's part of the problem.He's too nice, He's a mama's boy and not blessed with any amount of coordination or physical stature. I was hoping that his father would see right away that his son isn't cut out to be a fighter.I told the father that it was a good idea for his son to get some exercise and learn how to defend himself,but not to go overboard.Well I got a call the other day from the dad and he's telling me Romulo Rodarte doesn't know what he's doing and that if I know of another gym. I made the mistake of telling him to bring his son to Erik Morales's gym in the Zona Norte.I had the feeling I was getting caught in the middle of something.

Well today I got a call from the kid's mother. She began reading me the riot act about pushing her kid into doing sometyhing he doesn't want to do.She told me her son comes home crying and with a bloody lip every night after going to the gym. She also said that I'm taking her husband's side in this and that I should mind my own business.


You can guess that after her tongue lashing I'd go to my therapeutic keyboard for treatment. Then I decided to get a little more use out of my flip phone. I discovered that I have the most important key that I've never used before,but from now on will push my finger on it so hard and often it will wear off the writing.You who are more sane and sensible know what it is. The "ignore" button.Gee,I feel a lot better now.



Me and my dogs

Unheard Words

Sometimes the printed history gets it wrong,doesn't tell the complete story.The way the media can throw something out there can make or break someone.He can be a hero or a villain.A known or a just a blip on the radar screen. If a someone is not there to experience first hand the person,all he knows is what Will Rogers said,and that's what he reads in the papers.

Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali goes down as the greatest talker who ever made his living boxing. If you ask the man on the street which fighter,or for that matter athlete, had the greatest gift of gab,10 out of 10 would answer,Ali. But the brief encounters i had with The Mongoose, Archie Moore, just mostly helping out at his Any Boy Can Club in San Diego one summer, convinced me that Ali had nothin' on Archie Moore when it came to conversation. Ali was charming,but Moore's allure was spiked with wisdiom. Ali was funny,but Moore's humor made you stop and think. Ali was clever,but Moore was heads taller with knowledge.Both men had compassion for their fellow human beings,but while Ali was brash with his remarks,Moore underscored his insights like a Zen master. Ali and Moore could expound witticisms,but it's Ali's words that are remembered. All the volumes of printed matter and what was documented on film regarding Ali could fill an airplane hanger.


I'll begin by saying Ali deserves all the attention and awards. He was and still is "The Greatest like he always boasted he was.(but I've got this queasy feeling that his aura will fade from memory and some dolt like LeBron James eventually will be held up on his homemade pedestal) When I say greatest that must include adding up all the attributes.

If Archie Moore would have sat side by side with Ali in a university lecture hall, the neighborhood park,at a Civil Rights demonstration,or The Johnny Carson Show,I'm not saying Moore would have knocked him out,but he would have won an unanimous decision. But Moore wouldn't have wanted the KO.He always let his verbal contemporary or adversary walk away with his dignity intact. Archie Moore was like detective Kojak. He'd entrap the bad guy with his brains instead of having to rely on using a Browning.Ali was a voice raiser.He'd outshout you to win the day.Archie Moore would pick your pocket and make you walk away feeling like rich man.

But you'd have to blow away all the Ali wind and smoke to honestly make an assessment. You know by now I'm not into list making much. So you have Moore and Ali as the participants. For me to try to convince anyone who is number 1 and who is number 2...well I'll leave that up to the list makers. All I now is Archie Moore had a memory bank that like a Collier's Encyclopedia. Ali didn't know how many men were in a baseball lineup. Bring up anything and Moore would jump in with both feet with having the decency not to step on your toes.In the few moments I shared with him we never talked fighting only because he'd get weary of fielding questions about boxing.We'd talk music,mostly jazz. He saw that I was hep to that genre so he'd want to get the give and take going. The "take' was crucial to the discussion. If he thought you were versed,he wanted to know what you thought.

But i don't want to get too carried away.If he was in the dark about something,he wouldn't broach the subject. He might go to the library and read up on something he didn't know,but if he didn't think it important he'd let you do all the talking. But I never wanted to talk that much when I was in his presence. Only if he wanted the interaction would not want to come across with any short answers.

The bottom line with this is that if Archie Moore had the publicity behind him like Ali had, all the Ali rhetoric in the world would have to make room for what had to be said for Archie Moore.




Charley Burley.Archie Moore considered Charley Burley the best fighter he ever faced. And the world hardly knows his name

Lambs To The Slaughter

When Greg Haugen spouted off to champion Julio Cesar Chavez before their match in Mexico City that Chavez had built his win streak fighting "Tijuana cab drivers" all that did was just stoke Julio's fire as he if he needed anymore gasoline to poured onto his inflammatory resolve. Before 120,000 raucous fans ,that crammed Estadio Azteca, Chavez took the pugnacious Haugen on a bumpy ride to a 5th round TKO. Haugen should have kept that comment under wraps. By the time Julio had stepped into the soccer stadium to take on gringo Greg,Chavez had scored goals on Juan LaPorte,Rocky Lockeridge,Ruben Castillo,Edwin Rosario, Danilo Cabrera,Bazooka Limon,Jose Luis Ramirez,and Meldrick Taylor. You could classify those guys as limousine chauffeurs.,and far as the boxing public was seeing things,Julio Cesar Chavez had a Bugatti parked in his garage.

But that was par for the course for Greg Haugen to make that remark. I got to hand it to him. It took guts,or maybe Greg was drunk when he said it. There was some truth in what Greg Haugen had to say though. But the great Julio was not much different than any of the other great Mexican Bugatti drivers. You would think with all the pro fighters in Mexico that the kids with the amateur aspirations South Of The Border would fill up a dozen Estadio Aztecas. But the unpaid fighters in Mexico are few and far between,at least the ones in a boxing ring.


WBC lightweight champ "Gato" Gonzalez said to me that he got his pro baptism of fire without honing his skills in any amateur competitions. It was sink or swim. Not that a fighter in Mexico doesn't want to develop the traditional way in some sort of Golden Glove competitons,but it's the hunger for the peso that makes a kid throw caution to the wind to get in there with some guy a lot older and who's had a slew of fights under his belt. "Gato" told me he was 14 years old(he lied about his age)when he faced his first man___some guy with a hairy chest and a year short of 30 years of age.In other words a man It didn't get any easier for "Gato" to struggle up the ladder. There weren't any bleeding heart liberals and lawyers that would have shed a tear if Gato's next "man" opponent would have tied a firecracker to his tail and lit it. But Gonzalez prevailed. He endured the hard way. He has a belt sitting on the mantel that reminds him that his course wasn't a simile to let's say Sugar Ray Leonard or Muhammad Ali. When Roberto Duran fought Leonard in Montreal,Hands of Stone.when finding out that Leonard had made more dough in his first pro fight than what Roberto had amassed until he fought Ken Buchanan___well you could see why it looked like Ol' Stone Hands wanted to do some masonry work on Ray's face.

When I was working for the school district,I became pals with one of the kids on the wrestling team. The kid's name was Carlos Armenta. His dad's name was Carlos Armenta too.The wrestling Armenta told me that his father was a fighter in Mexico___somewhere way down below out in the middle of" nada" land. The kid told me his dad had fought Carlos Zarate.At the time Zarate was climbing that precarious rope in all the dilapidated fight arenas and crumbling bullrings in the republic.But similar to "Gato" and J.C. ,Zarate was making his opponents wish they were driving a taxi in the streets of Tijuana. Carlos Armenta Sr. was out cold in 2 rounds. .The kid was nice enough to show me a picture of his dad lying spread out on his back at the feet of the future bantamweight champ.The son was very proud of his dad.He had got in there with one of the best ever.I looked up Armenta's record in the BoxRec archives___showed he had 3 fights. He might have had more fights than that.Maybe 10? But Carlos Armenta would have made Greg Haugen's list of "taxistas."

Tiger Smalls,the ex fighter who now handles his featherweight son Prince,gave me a jingle the other day about his son's last fight in Tijuana at the Municipal Auditorium. He wanted me to pass the word along that his son was victorious. The point I want to make here is about that card .Again I went to the BoxRec search engine and saw the list of fighters that were due to lace them up as they say. Here's a list of some of those guys' records,wins first losses second.
3-10,0-6,0-4,0-10,0-10 again,1-13,0-7,4-25,and 7-34.
I wouldn't be interested in watching something like that. Lately I've been to some of those boxing matches they have in the bars in TJ.I stopped going. The quality is lacking,and that's being nice about it.I can't see how the commissions down there let this stuff to continue. It reminds me of these"tough man fights." These kids have no business fighting. But their ilk is always on hand for the new up and coming whirlwind so they add another KO on the books.

But there always comes along a killer of sheep like a Chavez or a Zarate. But someone has stop the lambs from going to the slaughterhouse. There are plenty of cabs to drive around.


Hands Of Stone

Archie Moore .Let him tell it.

A Fighter's Best F(r)iend

A good fighter might see a lot of money.Most fighters don't see much hard cash though. I wouldn't call fighters tight with their money. If anything they are probably are the most liberated of the free spenders. Their managers for the most part are the ones that make the matches,negotiate the purses,budget expenses,and make the decisions about who is going to train, their charge. That's a lot of responsibilty and with that a fighter has to trust his manager completely so he can focus all his energy into preparation and then in the end, the fight.Of course it's never that cut and dry. Fighters fire their managers. Managers walk away from their fighters.


Jack "Doc" Kearns will probably be remembered as the most remarkable of boxing's administrators.Kearns was involved in the affairs managing and promoting the likes of legendary pugilists Jack Dempsey,Abe Attell,Harry Wills,Mickey Walker,Benny Leonard,Joey Maxim,and Archie Moore.

Doc Kearns was called the biggest "con artist" in boxing.If he had lived long enough Trump would probably wanted him to write the preface to his book,The Art Of the Deal. Kearns nurtured Jack Dempsey from being a hobo riding the rails out West into eventually winning the Heavyweight Championship Of The World by dismantling the champ Jess Willard in Toledo.Willard was the betting favorite before the opening gong,but Doc was bold enough to wager 10 grand at 10 to 1 odds that his Manassa Mauler would dispose of the Pottawatomie Giant before the finish of the first frame. Doc almost cashed in with his bet.Dempsey had smashed Big Jess 7 times to the canvas in round 1 breaking his jaw,ribs,nose,and extracting a few teeth with his gloves.Willard had never been dumped on the seat of his pants before in a fight, Everyone in Dempsey's corner thought that the title switched hands to their boy,but a proud Willard wanted to go on. When Jess had made his decision Dempsey had jumped out of the ring unwrapping his wraps. I knew an old timer who witnessed the fight and told me astonishingly that he couldn't believe what motivated Dempsey to make such a fast exit. The fight lasted one more round. Willard stayed on his feet through round 2.(Dempsey had new wraps by this time).Jess's people wouldn't let him out for round 3 .The dancing restarted in Dempsey's corner.


Willard accused Dempsey of having" loaded " gloves. There was no proof. Nat Fleischer said he was in Dempsey's dressing room prior and saw no tampering. Then there's the famous picture of Dempsey sitting on the stool in his corner,his wrapped hands ungloved resting on the ring ropes.But the plaster of Paris would be underneath the tape.

Doc Kerns was caught with his hand in Jack Dempsey's cookie jar by Dempsey's movie star wife. Seems Doc was taking half of Dempsey's winnings and forgot to tell his fighter. After the Firpo fight they parted ways. That's when Doc got sore and said that Demspey's gloves were wrapped by someone from the International Of Bricklayers Union.. Kearns had put together the first million dollar gate with Dempsey when he matched him with Carpentier. There was the time Kearns took all the money out of the vaults from the four banks in Shelby,Montana after the hum drum Gibbons fight and then hopped the first train east a step ahead of the lynch mob. When it was all said and done years later when Doc Kearns couldn't swindle the Grim Reaper of letting him go another round,Jack Dempsey admitted that Doc had made him what he was. Doc started Jack fighting mostly out West where the local yokels could be razzle dazzled by Kearns and his buckets of plaster of Paris.The string of one round KO's made Ripley's Believe It Or Not.Doc was careful with Dempsey.He had him fighting a sick fighter Billy Miske.Miske would be dead after the fight three months later.A weak jawed Carpentier didn't last long. There was no match made with Harry Wills.Instead it was a big lug from Argentina who got the shot,and should have won the fight but the scribes helped Jack get back into the ring..

Archie Moore was Kearns last big name fighter on his list of Hall of Famers.Moore was going nowhere trying to get at Joey Maxim for a title shot. But Doc was in Joey's corner at the time. The art of the con reared its head again. He told Moore that if he could come up with 100,000 dollars to give to Joey,and of course most of that would find its way into Doc's loaded hands,the fight was on.Moore asked his pal Juan Peron the strongman for some financial help.Juan forked the dough over.Part of the deal was also now Doc would be shuffling Archie's deck.


Archie would say that Doc Kearns looked out for his best interests.Sometimes you can't see the forest from the trees,or the plaster of Paris from under all the tape.



Doc Kearns

BTW.I'll repeat about that time my father took me to Bob Johnston's Sport Palace Bar that was next to his burlesque house The Hollywood Theater.Sitting in the office was Johnston whose brother had a piece of Moore and Doc Kearns. This was around 1957.Kearns freely told the story of the hand wrapping in Toledo. Should have got that on tape.

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Young


When Archie Moore and Cassius Clay signed the papers for their match there were a lot of Moore fans(me included) that hoped that the fight wouldn't come off. The boxing society's old guard at that time was praying for some fighter to step into the ring with the Louisville Lip and sew a button on his mouth. The younger fan of the sport(me included)hadn't bought into Clay's routine entirely. When Sonny Liston destroyed Floyd Patterson, two in a row, everyone figured that when the time came for Liston to face Clay that Sonny's big fists would beat him down like a father taking the strap to his young son. We knew Archie Moore wasn't the "dad" that could administer that punishment.

For any of the old timers that scaled more than 175 pounds to fight Clay were matches that shouldn't have been made. Who knows how old Archie Moore was when he fought his last fight in LA? That young man so full of himself who spewed poetry about the exact round his opponent would meet his ring demise. Clay,tall, sleek and fast, a butterfly that had the bumblebee stingers for boxing gloves Light skinned,bragging that he didn't have the negroid features. He bragged that he was "pretty".He never thought of himself as rough and tough or even handsome. No, Cassius Clay was "pretty."He wasn't like the other negros.He didn't mumble and shuffle along like a Steppin' Fetchit.He'd say that.He had an allure,a gifted attractiveness. The girls couldn't take their eyes off him ,and he knew that. He wanted that attention from women,and they gave it to him in ample amounts of blushing and giggles. He wasn't a brute who wanted to manhandle them ,but tell them they were pretty and soft,and when he talked to them that way his eyes sparkled. The girls that idolized him didn't want him to get in the ring with The Bear.The girls who were the wallflowers at the dances had now been asked to two step by Cassius Clay. The brutes wanted only the fast, sexy ones. Clay wanted them all and pretty nearly accomplished this super human feat. But they worried that The Bear would not only win the boxing match ,but would want to hurt,punish the man/child like the father that finally says,"Don't go asking your mother to baby you.I'm her boss and I'm going to show you who's the man of the house!"

We knew Archie Moore wasn't going to be that guy to extinguish this rising star with the twinkle in his eye. Archie Moore was old. Archie Moore looked like a senior citizen. He talked with Mississippi manners. He philosophized. He wasn't brash and outspoken. Jim the runaway slave was his roll in the movie Huckleberry Finn. He carried the torch for the Joe Louises. Clay's firebrand was a genesis. He dropped down from the heavens like a messiah though there were plenty of earthlings that wanted to see him nailed to the cross. In time The Bear would provide the hammer and nails the mortals believed,but Archie Moore? We were hoping the fight wouldn't come off for any reason.

I watched the fight on the closed circuit screen an the Spreckles Movie Theater on Broadway in San Diego.When Moore climbed through the ropes wearing those baggy trunks my heart sank. There was Clay in his corner prancing and shuffling. He was no Steppin' Fetchit. He was a butterfly ballet dancer wearing a smile that took up the first three rows. He shadow boxed his hands looking like a Ferrari's pistons at 7000 rpms. I was hoping someone would pull the fire alarm inside the LA Sports Arena. Clay had predicted in his child rhyme that Moore would fall in" four."He could have taken him out in the first if he had desired.He left Moore in a heap on the seat of his pants, and then Clay,arms raised ,feet shuffling over a tired Archie,made us turn away our eyes.

The world now waited for The Bear to come out of his lair and do what was proper for truth ,justice,and the American way.But the USA way of doing things was beginning to move away from the norm. The traditions were getting long in the tooth. Youth wanted to assert itself. The kids were acting with bravado and though they may have lacked enough laps around life's block,they wanted a voice After the shock of the world in Miami,they found a spokesman,and he was black. The times were a changin',and those girls who had never got asked to the dance had their arms in Muhammad's hands and were ready to try some new steps on the dance floor


Cassius Clay fresh out of the Olympics,now a pro,in his hometown Louisville The neighborhood kids are gathered around him.They find him irresistible.The young light skinned girl with the freckles would became his last wife.,Lonnie Ali. She said of this moment that Cassius Clay said that I was pretty. I had always thought of myself as ugly. No one had ever said that I was pretty before. But she got to dance with him. Too bad it couldn't have been sooner.

Where do you get all of these truly remarkable stories? I really enjoy them so very much!

oogiebe wrote: ↑08 Jan 2019, 21:00 Where do you get all of these truly remarkable stories? I really enjoy them so very much!

Thanks ooglebe.Everybody has stories to tell. They just have to stop and look inside themselves.

Getting Through The Tinsel

By now you know that I've put the word out that Jose Napoles was my favorite fighter. But I need to clarify that when I say "favorite" .That description has to do with eye appeal now. From the first time I saw him walk into the ring in Tijuana's bullring , I had this "man crush" with Jose Napoles. The fight hadn't even started and I was already smitten with his assured walk,,the stoic tomcat face,the simple shorty green robe with "Napoles" inscribed with block lettering on the back .He climbed through the ropes like a panther biding his time waiting to eat his prey. By administering a few well calculated strikes,he had his dinner ready to be served.. But he hadn't even thrown a punch and I was hooked. I'd seen him fight a few fights,replays mostly,on those little square black and white television sets inside the various bars on Revolution Street on those blurred Sunday afternoons when the shots of Hornitos had steeled my mind believing I could tell who were the nonpareils in the squared circle. To see Jose Napoles in the arena of death was apropos. To see the presence in the open, outside with all the lights glaring their focus on his entrance,the echoing stir that arose as he got closer to the ring,I didn't need tequila to help form a perception.


The kill that night was a club fighter by the name of Herbie Lee. Napoles felt him out in the first,his piecing eyes never blinking,the tomcat face telling Herbie Lee that he would be a goner in the next round. I saw some flashes ,never a blow wasted,all true to the mark,and Herbie Lee was in Jose's jaws. It was a workout. An exhibition. Napoles would cross to the U.S. side to make a meal of Curtis Cokes and finally,after removing his Mexican sombrero, have that elusive championship crown on top of that tomcat head,but now he could smile.


Go ahead and tease me about going overboard maybe. A man crush. Go ahead and rag on me about that. But as time marches on and I became more blessed so to speak the hard way,with wisdom,I learned to not become so enamored by love at first sight. Rick Farris tells the story of Jose Napoles getting ready to fight Hedgemon Lewis training at the Main Street Gym in LA. Rick was in the gym everday training for his bout on the undercard. Rick said that one afternoon Jose showed up at the gym and immediately there was the smell of whiskey in the air. Fighters would be hittng the bags and Napoles would shove them aside like he owned the joint and say that he wanted to use the bag. The other fighters relented figuring he was the champ and that he was entitled to use any of the equipment per his demand. But Jose was playing ariound.He was drunk and being a prick. He sparred that day with the local fighter Baby Cassius and in a cklinch Jose decided to give Baby a sampling of what he had been drinking. As the spume ran down his front,Jose let out a big laugh. But he wasn't finished working up some more spit on the now tentative occupiers inside the gym. Phil Silvers,a local trainer,was sitting in a corner observing all this stupidity,but jose wasn't going to let him off the hook and just take mental notes. Jose strided up to the seated Silvers and spewed a long trail of whiskey venom into his face.

Napoles opened a bar in the swank Zona Rosa district of Mexico City. The feds came in one night and tried their extortion tactics on the now naturalized Mexican citizen. Jose got some of his boys to back him up as they jumped these goon cops,stripped them naked,and then tossed them out into the street. I would have given away my Jose Napoles Kids Club Card to have been there.

After Stracey made him look like the "cooked" fighter he had evolved into,he started up a salsa band. He played the trumpet.his wife sang the songs. Well ,Jose never made them forget Dizzy Gillespie,but let me tell you his wife could have traded lyrics with Gloria Estefan. I saw his group perform at the Rancho Grande Bar on Revolution Street, It was in the 80's. As was par for the course,those events usually provided some extracurricular activities that you could describe as pier six brawls,no conceding your weapons to the sheriff at the door. Well, I think Jose was glad to see that he could participate in something he could do with more skill than tooting on his trumpet. He didn't dive into the middle of it,but I did see him deliver some very well aimed shots reminiscent of the first time I saw him in the TJ bullring. Napoles's band wasn't going to make anyone give up on Carlos Santana so he skimmed what was left of the proceeds and said "adios".


Fighters and boxing ilks said he was always complaining about being jerked around by racist promotors and managers.He wasn't shy about asking for a loan and then putting the good Samaritan on his pay no mind list. He went through women and booze with a panther's appetite. I guess you could say the man had his flaws.

But Jose Napoles is still my favorite fighter. The man crush is gone,. Chalk that up to my youth I guess. No,now it's purely an aesthetic assessment. He was beautiful to watch in the ring .When he was on. he was Michelangelo with boxing gloves. Even Ray Robinson said after Jose beat Indian Red the second time that Jose was the best fighter around. History has told us that inside the man his athletic masterpiece boxing skills didn't transform itself into his soul. His moral makeup was finger painted. Jose was a counterpart to Ring Larder's Midge Kelly in the short story ,Champion.All they wanted to write about were the triumphs.

I guess it's good to know the other facets of Jose Napoles. It's interesting,but when they talk about him not much wind is blown on his shortcomings. We all have our faults.Casting the first stone is left for the ones that store the skeletons in their closets. Jose Napoles. Hey,did I ever tell you about the time I looked up my favorite fighter in Ciudad Juarez? One hell of a guy that Jose Naples let me tell you.



The poster out front of Napoles's gym,Club Roma. The building is pretty run down. When I went there I asked them if I could look inside. I was told that the gym was locked up and no one was allowed inside.I got the impression that Jose had lost control of the place. When I asked him about it later he said that the gym was still his.

A Tale Of Two Sluggers

Ted Williams was born in San Diego and later moved to Inverness,Florida to live the rest of his life. Archie Moore was born in Benoit,Mississippi and later moved to San Diego California to live the rest of his life. Ted Williams was a star baseball player in the early 30's on the local Hoover High School team. He was all everything back then and was the captain of the baseball team that won the City Championship. After graduating high school he signed a contract playing for the Pacific Coast League San Diego Padres. Eddie Collins,the general manager of the Boston Red Sox,was in San Diego during Williams third year with the Padres,got a whiff of what this kid was all about on the diamond,and had him ink a contract with the Red Sox. Williams had a cup of coffee with the Red Sox' minor league club,the Minneapolis Millers.Williams hit the boards running being named the MVP of the league. The parent club then brought him up to the bigs where Williams finished his rookie year batting .327 ,slugged 31 round trippers,and drove in 145 ribbies. There was no Rookie Of The Year award yet in baseball,but Babe Ruth said of Williams that he was the best rookie in the big leagues. 'Nuff said .Williams along with Joe DiMaggio of the Yankees were the two best non pitchers in the game. If there were these forums back then the numero uno question on the baseball threads would have been,"Who's better?Williams or DiMaggio." When the war broke out and the country began drafting men into the service,Williams and DiMaggio were reluctant to go. But it wasn't like the Civil War where the privileged could pay for someone to fight the battles for them.No.If you got your notice you went down to the induction center.Williams graded out 1-A and was sore about it. Someone told him to go back and plead with Uncle Sam that he was the sole support of his mother. After bouncing around the appeals courts Williams was smiling again being classified 3=A.Now he figured that was all behind him,but the public,including the baseball following,began throwing fastballs at his head. In 1942 he enlisted in the Navy Reserve. He was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the Marine Corps.Williams was blessed with a hawk's eyesight. They taught him how to fly planes and made him a flight instructor. Williams missed three years of his prime playing days in the Corps. When he got his discharge he returned to the Sox and resumed hitting the ol' pill with future Hall Of Fame swings.By this time DiMaggio had also come back from playing service ball on some secret atoll in the Pacific theater. But when he returned Joe's fragile ankles were beginning to keep him off the playing field. Ted Williams was undoubtedly the best hitter around. But oops,then came Korea. Again Williams was called up. Now he started kicking all the chairs in the locker room. Two years flying Panther Jets in Korea, Williams jet was shot down by enemy flak. It was a close call. But he again was back in the bigs after the two sides called a truce.Williams retired from the game in 1960 with a lifetime .344 BA. He's the last hitter to hit over .400 accomplishing the feat in 1941 batting .406.


Archie Moore fought in all the tank towns that crisscrossed the country and he realized that he was in that Black Murderers Row of great fighters who would never get that title shot because of the color of their skin. The Row had to fight each other most of time because the white fighters: the Cochranes,Grazianos,Conns,Servos,Cerdans,all champions at one time or another, knew if they faced an Archie Moore or a Charley Burley they'd be on the losing end. LaMotta fought Lloyd Marshall,a murderer on that row, losing a decision. Afterwards Marshall announced a role call of his negro peers and proclaimed everyone of them could take Jake. it wasn't until after World War II that things began to break in favor of Moore. Mike Jacobs,who controlled the big matches east of the great divide, had retired in 1946.Joe louis and Sugar Ray Robinson were in his camp and they reaped the rewards as good as a black fighter pre war days could manage.Archie Moore was 40 something when Doc Kearns told him that if his champ Maxim could be bestowed 100 g's from the anxious Archie that he could get into the ring with Joey.Of course Doc got most of that money and included in the "deal"would switch sides and handle Moore from then on. So Moore won the title taking home 800 dollars clear. Moore campaigned to fight Rocky Marciano for the big prize and got his shot. But Moore was 40 something plus three years and finally succumbed to Rocky's slugs. Moore caught the Marciano with a counter in the 4th and he fell to a knee. But that was the end of Moore's highlight reel. Moore got another chance to fight for the biggest prize in boxing,but came up a cropper against Floyd Patterson. Moore said he "needed" the money and that's why he moved up in weight,but then he always said that Doc and co manager Charley Johnston always took care of him.Hmm.Finally in 1962 after a journey beginning in 1935 having gone into the ring over 200 times that included a record of 143 KO's,the old Mongoose showed his age against the cocky Cassius Clay who had started out as one of Archie's protoges.Archie's age was somewhere around 50 something by then.

Archie Moore became a local fixture in San Diego. Never shying away from an interview with a scribe or being a guest on a TV show like What's My Line or Groucho Marx's You Bet Your Life, Archie Moore's robust face could be seen everywhere in town. He had that red brick house built in Southeast San Diego with the swimming pool shaped like a boxing glove in the back patio.You'd spot him at youth ball games,local award ceremonies,and rode in every parade put on by somebody with clout. He ran his Any Boy Can Club for the kids to get them away from the bad elements in the neighborhood. He was with Foreman in Zaire.He'd be cooking up his special fried chicken with his secret sauce at the M.L. King Day festival at Ocean View Park. He was a philosophizer,a lecturer,and preacher all rolled into one.He corresponded with everyone that wrote to him or gave him a call on the telephone. Sometimes you didn't even have to make the first move.You'd go to the mailbox and find a letter postmarked "San Diego CA."There wasn't a sportswriter that didn't suffer from being kicked to the curb by The Mongoose. He loved living in San Diego and the city loved Archie Moore. Everybody around back then has an Archie Moore story. You've heard some from me over the years.

On the other hand Ted William, after leaving San Diego, put his hometown on the endangered species list. He rarely visited his parents after he landed with the Red Sox. His reason was that his mother was so busy with her Salvation Army dutes that he didn't want to cause a stir. He stayed in Florida and took up game fishing. He retuned to baseball as the manager for the Washington Senators. Not a man of patience,Williams was short with his players. They didn't take to him and he could have cared less The fans in Beantown gave him more Bronx cheers than hurrahs and he would counter with his middle finger as he walked sulking back to the bench.. He despised reporters snubbing them or sarcastically raking them over the coals. He'd sit in the dugout calculating his batting average as the Red Sox were sinking into the second division. He never carried the team on his back.I think his teammates would have bucked him off anyway His fingers never donned a World Series Ring. You were always on pins and needles around the guy. Look up the word "arrogance" in the dictionary and you'll see his face. Williams came back to san Diego near the end of his life for an All Star Game that was played at Petco Park. Even then he ,when he was confined to a wheelchair from a couple of strokes,he acted uptight.The difference between him and Archie Moore was that Williams just wanted to "take" all the time,giving nothing back in return.When you walked away from Archie Moore he left you with a part of himself in your heart and soul,and you put it under lock and key.

When Williams passed away his family put him in one of those freezers that keep your body from rotting so if they find a way to bring you back to life,you've got a chance of walking the earth again..So while Ted Williams is packed in ice I'm hoping they blow a fuse wherever he is.I know if Archie Moore was alive today he would give me tonguelashing for saying that.


Two sluggers from San Diego

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑09 Jan 2019, 20:44 Getting Through The Tinsel

By now you know that I've put the word out that Jose Napoles was my favorite fighter. But I need to clarify that when I say "favorite" .That description has to do with eye appeal now. From the first time I saw him walk into the ring in Tijuana's bullring , I had this "man crush" with Jose Napoles. The fight hadn't even started and I was already smitten with his assured walk,,the stoic tomcat face,the simple shorty green robe with "Napoles" inscribed with block lettering on the back .He climbed through the ropes like a panther biding his time waiting to eat his prey. By administering a few well calculated strikes,he had his dinner ready to be served.. But he hadn't even thrown a punch and I was hooked. I'd seen him fight a few fights,replays mostly,on those little square black and white television sets inside the various bars on Revolution Street on those blurred Sunday afternoons when the shots of Hornitos had steeled my mind believing I could tell who were the nonpareils in the squared circle. To see Jose Napoles in the arena of death was apropos. To see the presence in the open, outside with all the lights glaring their focus on his entrance,the echoing stir that arose as he got closer to the ring,I didn't need tequila to help form a perception.


The kill that night was a club fighter by the name of Herbie Lee. Napoles felt him out in the first,his piecing eyes never blinking,the tomcat face telling Herbie Lee that he would be a goner in the next round. I saw some flashes ,never a blow wasted,all true to the mark,and Herbie Lee was in Jose's jaws. It was a workout. An exhibition. Napoles would cross to the U.S. side to make a meal of Curtis Cokes and finally,after removing his Mexican sombrero, have that elusive championship crown on top of that tomcat head,but now he could smile.


Go ahead and tease me about going overboard maybe. A man crush. Go ahead and rag on me about that. But as time marches on and I became more blessed so to speak the hard way,with wisdom,I learned to not become so enamored by love at first sight. Rick Farris tells the story of Jose Napoles getting ready to fight Hedgemon Lewis training at the Main Street Gym in LA. Rick was in the gym everday training for his bout on the undercard. Rick said that one afternoon Jose showed up at the gym and immediately there was the smell of whiskey in the air. Fighters would be hittng the bags and Napoles would shove them aside like he owned the joint and say that he wanted to use the bag. The other fighters relented figuring he was the champ and that he was entitled to use any of the equipment per his demand. But Jose was playing ariound.He was drunk and being a prick. He sparred that day with the local fighter Baby Cassius and in a cklinch Jose decided to give Baby a sampling of what he had been drinking. As the spume ran down his front,Jose let out a big laugh. But he wasn't finished working up some more spit on the now tentative occupiers inside the gym. Phil Silvers,a local trainer,was sitting in a corner observing all this stupidity,but jose wasn't going to let him off the hook and just take mental notes. Jose strided up to the seated Silvers and spewed a long trail of whiskey venom into his face.

Napoles opened a bar in the swank Zona Rosa district of Mexico City. The feds came in one night and tried their extortion tactics on the now naturalized Mexican citizen. Jose got some of his boys to back him up as they jumped these goon cops,stripped them naked,and then tossed them out into the street. I would have given away my Jose Napoles Kids Club Card to have been there.

After Stracey made him look like the "cooked" fighter he had evolved into,he started up a salsa band. He played the trumpet.his wife sang the songs. Well ,Jose never made them forget Dizzy Gillespie,but let me tell you his wife could have traded lyrics with Gloria Estefan. I saw his group perform at the Rancho Grande Bar on Revolution Street, It was in the 80's. As was par for the course,those events usually provided some extracurricular activities that you could describe as pier six brawls,no conceding your weapons to the sheriff at the door. Well, I think Jose was glad to see that he could participate in something he could do with more skill than tooting on his trumpet. He didn't dive into the middle of it,but I did see him deliver some very well aimed shots reminiscent of the first time I saw him in the TJ bullring. Napoles's band wasn't going to make anyone give up on Carlos Santana so he skimmed what was left of the proceeds and said "adios".


Fighters and boxing ilks said he was always complaining about being jerked around by racist promotors and managers.He wasn't shy about asking for a loan and then putting the good Samaritan on his pay no mind list. He went through women and booze with a panther's appetite. I guess you could say the man had his flaws.

But Jose Napoles is still my favorite fighter. The man crush is gone,. Chalk that up to my youth I guess. No,now it's purely an aesthetic assessment. He was beautiful to watch in the ring .When he was on. he was Michelangelo with boxing gloves. Even Ray Robinson said after Jose beat Indian Red the second time that Jose was the best fighter around. History has told us that inside the man his athletic masterpiece boxing skills didn't transform itself into his soul. His moral makeup was finger painted. Jose was a counterpart to Ring Larder's Midge Kelly in the short story ,Champion.All they wanted to write about were the triumphs.

I guess it's good to know the other facets of Jose Napoles. It's interesting,but when they talk about him not much wind is blown on his shortcomings. We all have our faults.Casting the first stone is left for the ones that store the skeletons in their closets. Jose Napoles. Hey,did I ever tell you about the time I looked up my favorite fighter in Ciudad Juarez? One hell of a guy that Jose Naples let me tell you.



The poster out front of Napoles's gym,Club Roma. The building is pretty run down. When I went there I asked them if I could look inside. I was told that the gym was locked up and no one was allowed inside.I got the impression that Jose had lost control of the place. When I asked him about it later he said that the gym was still his.

I always love when you write about Napoles. You really should write a book or something on him!

chrisjs1985 wrote: ↑10 Jan 2019, 22:51

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑09 Jan 2019, 20:44 Getting Through The Tinsel

By now you know that I've put the word out that Jose Napoles was my favorite fighter. But I need to clarify that when I say "favorite" .That description has to do with eye appeal now. From the first time I saw him walk into the ring in Tijuana's bullring , I had this "man crush" with Jose Napoles. The fight hadn't even started and I was already smitten with his assured walk,,the stoic tomcat face,the simple shorty green robe with "Napoles" inscribed with block lettering on the back .He climbed through the ropes like a panther biding his time waiting to eat his prey. By administering a few well calculated strikes,he had his dinner ready to be served.. But he hadn't even thrown a punch and I was hooked. I'd seen him fight a few fights,replays mostly,on those little square black and white television sets inside the various bars on Revolution Street on those blurred Sunday afternoons when the shots of Hornitos had steeled my mind believing I could tell who were the nonpareils in the squared circle. To see Jose Napoles in the arena of death was apropos. To see the presence in the open, outside with all the lights glaring their focus on his entrance,the echoing stir that arose as he got closer to the ring,I didn't need tequila to help form a perception.


The kill that night was a club fighter by the name of Herbie Lee. Napoles felt him out in the first,his piecing eyes never blinking,the tomcat face telling Herbie Lee that he would be a goner in the next round. I saw some flashes ,never a blow wasted,all true to the mark,and Herbie Lee was in Jose's jaws. It was a workout. An exhibition. Napoles would cross to the U.S. side to make a meal of Curtis Cokes and finally,after removing his Mexican sombrero, have that elusive championship crown on top of that tomcat head,but now he could smile.


Go ahead and tease me about going overboard maybe. A man crush. Go ahead and rag on me about that. But as time marches on and I became more blessed so to speak the hard way,with wisdom,I learned to not become so enamored by love at first sight. Rick Farris tells the story of Jose Napoles getting ready to fight Hedgemon Lewis training at the Main Street Gym in LA. Rick was in the gym everday training for his bout on the undercard. Rick said that one afternoon Jose showed up at the gym and immediately there was the smell of whiskey in the air. Fighters would be hittng the bags and Napoles would shove them aside like he owned the joint and say that he wanted to use the bag. The other fighters relented figuring he was the champ and that he was entitled to use any of the equipment per his demand. But Jose was playing ariound.He was drunk and being a prick. He sparred that day with the local fighter Baby Cassius and in a cklinch Jose decided to give Baby a sampling of what he had been drinking. As the spume ran down his front,Jose let out a big laugh. But he wasn't finished working up some more spit on the now tentative occupiers inside the gym. Phil Silvers,a local trainer,was sitting in a corner observing all this stupidity,but jose wasn't going to let him off the hook and just take mental notes. Jose strided up to the seated Silvers and spewed a long trail of whiskey venom into his face.

Napoles opened a bar in the swank Zona Rosa district of Mexico City. The feds came in one night and tried their extortion tactics on the now naturalized Mexican citizen. Jose got some of his boys to back him up as they jumped these goon cops,stripped them naked,and then tossed them out into the street. I would have given away my Jose Napoles Kids Club Card to have been there.

After Stracey made him look like the "cooked" fighter he had evolved into,he started up a salsa band. He played the trumpet.his wife sang the songs. Well ,Jose never made them forget Dizzy Gillespie,but let me tell you his wife could have traded lyrics with Gloria Estefan. I saw his group perform at the Rancho Grande Bar on Revolution Street, It was in the 80's. As was par for the course,those events usually provided some extracurricular activities that you could describe as pier six brawls,no conceding your weapons to the sheriff at the door. Well, I think Jose was glad to see that he could participate in something he could do with more skill than tooting on his trumpet. He didn't dive into the middle of it,but I did see him deliver some very well aimed shots reminiscent of the first time I saw him in the TJ bullring. Napoles's band wasn't going to make anyone give up on Carlos Santana so he skimmed what was left of the proceeds and said "adios".


Fighters and boxing ilks said he was always complaining about being jerked around by racist promotors and managers.He wasn't shy about asking for a loan and then putting the good Samaritan on his pay no mind list. He went through women and booze with a panther's appetite. I guess you could say the man had his flaws.

But Jose Napoles is still my favorite fighter. The man crush is gone,. Chalk that up to my youth I guess. No,now it's purely an aesthetic assessment. He was beautiful to watch in the ring .When he was on. he was Michelangelo with boxing gloves. Even Ray Robinson said after Jose beat Indian Red the second time that Jose was the best fighter around. History has told us that inside the man his athletic masterpiece boxing skills didn't transform itself into his soul. His moral makeup was finger painted. Jose was a counterpart to Ring Larder's Midge Kelly in the short story ,Champion.All they wanted to write about were the triumphs.

I guess it's good to know the other facets of Jose Napoles. It's interesting,but when they talk about him not much wind is blown on his shortcomings. We all have our faults.Casting the first stone is left for the ones that store the skeletons in their closets. Jose Napoles. Hey,did I ever tell you about the time I looked up my favorite fighter in Ciudad Juarez? One hell of a guy that Jose Naples let me tell you.



The poster out front of Napoles's gym,Club Roma. The building is pretty run down. When I went there I asked them if I could look inside. I was told that the gym was locked up and no one was allowed inside.I got the impression that Jose had lost control of the place. When I asked him about it later he said that the gym was still his.

I always love when you write about Napoles. You really should write a book or something on him!

Thank You Chris
I think if lived in El Paso ,Tx., that is a stone's throw from Ciudad Juarez,I'd try to put something together. Napoles doesn't live very far from the border. But what I like to do is take something personal from my subject and sort of stream of consciousness the sentences together. Biographies would put me outside the box. I'd like to visit Napoles maybe once a week,smoke a cigar with him,and talk about what's up in the neighborhood. I know he'd bring up the boxing angles,but then those comments would mean more to me than if I tried to form an image of him with something said by a third party.Their interpretations would then have to be mine. The greater value would be to say that this is what so and so thought about the guy.


Chris,you're English. I often think of the volumes that have been written about Winston Churchill. The score of biographers that came after Churchill's passing. I admire their efforts to put Churchill's life into a tome. But then I think of Churchill's nanny,Mrs. Everest. Churchill said of her,

"I loved my mother dearly-but from a distance.She was my confidant.Woom(His nickname for her.That was as close as he could come to saying"woman") looked after me and tended to all my wants.It was to her that I poured out all my troubles. "

Her picture hung on his bedroom wall at Chartwell alongside his father's. She wouldn't have traded those early years for all volumes that were cranked out about ol' Winnie that fill the library shelves. What a book she could have written!

Ted Williams old house where he grew up in the suburb of North Park. When he came back to San Diego he went to visit the old place. The guy that was renting the house was unaware that Ted Williams lived there 70 years ago with his family. In fact he didn't even know who Ted Williams was.After Williams died someone put a Boston Red Sox pennant on the gate. If the image of the house looks a little vacant and distant that's because it could serve as a metaphor for Williams. He was never around.Very few knew of him just that he was born in San Diego. He had one old school chum around still that he went to Hoover High School with,Bob Breitbard.He was very active in San Diego with prep sports. I went to school with his daughter ,Gayle. Ted Williams' mother was Mexican. He seemed so far away.

The Metal Shop

One of my first jobs as a teacher was that they put me in charge of the class at the high school for the kids that got kicked out of their regular classes by the teacher because they were disrupting everything. They called my class the "Improve Class." The class was in the old metal shop room that they had shut down some years ago when the district wanted to focus on mainly academic courses.So they blacked out the windows in the metal shop room and converted the space into a classroom for the F--k Up Kids and called it the Improve Class. I don't think the district or the principal cared if the kids improved or not.You see if they sent those bad kids home the district wouldn't get any money from the state. The state pays the district money for each day a kid's in class. If he's absent for being sick or on a vacation or has to take care of his baby sister,the school doesn't get a kickback from the state. If a kid gets booted out of class and is sent home-same thing. He ain't in class so the school comes up short. so they invented the "Improve Class" and put me in charge. The really just wanted to dump the kids on me thinking that I was the new guy and wouldn't put up a beef-and they were right.Hell,I didn't mind. They told me what they wanted me to do about the class.1.No Talking 2.They Must Have Their Noses In A Book For The Six Hours They Spent In Class. 3.(This was the best one.)I Couldn't Say Anything To Them. I had to just sit there and watch.They were on an Irregular schedule.(that meant they couldn't eat lunch with the other kids and I would take them to the bathroom).They gave me a walkie talkie so I could get in touch with the front office or if they wanted to contact me.

Well,for starters I took their rule book and put it in the round file. There wasn't going to be a trial and error period of adjustment for me.I could see this comin' a mile away.I knew what kind of kids I'd be getting.I'd have all the bused in kids from the ghetto occupying the seats.The year I had the Improve Class I had only one white kid.. The only white kid showed up opening day.

The first day before the first period ended I got some action. I got a call on the walkie talkie that a couple of teachers had some problems and that I'd have two new arrivals. The first kid who walked through the door was this big hearty looking blonde fellow. He looked like a surfer type.Hair down to his shoulders,T shirt,frayed levis,and a pair of flip flops. I told him to sign his name to the sheet and take a desk. I asked him if he had his books. He gave me this glassy eyed look and mumbled "Naw." He slumped down into a desk in the back row and closed his eyes.Several minutes later arrival number two touched down.He was a little Mexican kid.I could see he was a squirrely sort.He giggled when I told him to sign the sheet. He looked like he still belonged in grammar school. He couldn't have weighed 80 pounds. Dark skinned,black eyes and thick black short cropped hair He was wearing an open collar light blue shirt,a pair of clean khakis,and one of those off brand tennies you buy at Target.He walked on his tip toes and was always grinning like he knew something you didn't. He also went to the back of the room.I could see that he also was bookless. I thought I'd clear the air right away with these two.
"I'm not going to read you the rules. They told you what they were. If you think that I'm going to sit here for six hours and not say anything you're nuts.This ain't the Breakfast Club. They don't care what goes on in here as long as you two are out of their hair."
The surfer looking dude sat up and opened his eyes
"So what did you do this morning to piss the teacher off?"I asked the surfer.
"The teacher asked me where my books were and I told her I didn't bring them so she kicked me out of class. "
"So what did you say to her before that?"
"I told her to go f--k herself."
"You planning on saying that to me?"
"Maybe,"
Now I went to one to my secret weapon. I had two pair of boxing gloves hanging on the wall behind my desk.
"See those boxing gloves," I said not looking back to the wall.
"Say that to me and I'm gong to toss you a pair of them gloves and then I'm going to lock the door."
Surfer Joe kind of smirked.
"Go ahead and start something. I'll kick your ass. I don't care.," I growled.
Surfer Joe's face got flushed.I looked down at the sheet at his name.
"I see your name is Kauai Collins. You been to Kauai?"
"I was born there,"he said.
"I was there around 30 years ago bummin' it with a couple of surfer pals from OB. We wanted to try surfing in Hawaii. Mostly on Maui.Honolua Bay."
"You must have went in the summer."
"That's when Honolua Bay breaks,"I said.
"Did you like it?"
"Got my ass kicked.Never so scared in my life. When I saw the size and speed of those waves breaking way out on the reef I s--t my pants."
Surfer Joe got a spontaneous laugh out of that.
"Did you ever hear of an Ocean Beach surfer named Pat Cosgrove?,"I asked him.
"He surfed for the U.S. team in the world championships."
"He made a name for himself over there with us. Me? Well,I had a little luck.The first wave I took off on I lost my board. It went into a cave a splintered into a thousand pieces.The was the end of my surfing days in Hawaii."
The surfer got out from his desk and moved up another row to another desk
"So what made you leave Kauai,Kauai?"I asked him.
"My father left my mother and me.He was an addict and a dealer.Then my mother got hooked on heroin and they killed her.They said she owed them money."
"That's pretty bad,"I said."So who are you living with here?"
"My uncle. My father's brother.He's dealing too."
I paused to think.
"Look .this might sound corny but you can get away from all that if you do good in school. You seem like a smart kid."
"I don't like school,"he scowled.
I just looked at him.i didn't want to get on my soap box. I then looked down at the sheet again for the name of my second visitor.
"So Raphael.How did you get sent here?"
"I spit water in this girl's face,"he said giggling.
"Why did you do that?"
"I just felt like it."
"You keep this up and they'll send you back to Logan Heights and you can go to school there."
Raphael lost the silly grin.
"I don't care."
"Why's that?"
"I'm an illegal aklien.So is my mother. We live in a parked car in Logan Heights.Sooner or later they'll catch us and we'll be sent back to Mexico."
"Where's your father?"
"I never knew him .He left before I was born."
Another pregnant pause.
"Look dude. If you do good in school and that day comes when they find out you can say that you want to stay because the system of education is what you came up here for so you and your mother can have a better life. You're entitled to a hearing."
"Would you back me up?"
"Sure, but you have to keep your nose clean."


By the end of the week Kauai and Raphael were back in their regular classes. About a month later I was reading the local section of the paper. There was a story about how the police had finally arrested a suspect who was robbing the liquor stores in Ocean beach. The suspect's name was Kauai Collins I thought that was the end for him. He'd be a lifetime criminal. His horrible childhood would be something he couldn't shake,at least not in a positive sense. Then many years later I was strolling through the bookstore looking for something to catch my eye. Man did I get an eye opener. There at the front counter was a shiny hardcover book titled,"My Jihad" by Kauai Collins. I picked it up and read the preface. That was the surfer kid that sat in the Improve Class that first day.He described his felony filled life after dropping out of school. He told the story of his mother getting killed and how he was in and out of jail all his life.However, he thought he had found something that would change the course of his life:he became a Muslim and joined a mosque. It was the mosque in San Diego that one of the 9/11 terrorists belonged to. He was really getting into being a Muslim ,but when he got wind that there were terrorists that were circulating at the Mosque,he got a patriotic rush. He decided to go to the CIA. He said the CIA wanted him to be an informant,a double spy of sorts. Well,the way Kauai told the story was that the CIA wasn't using the information he was providing so he left the CIA and became a soldier of fortune hitman for organized crime in Mexico.He got shot in the leg and was giving him pain so he had the leg chopped off. He walked around with one of those titnium legs and was proud of it.

When the football season began to crank up at the school I saw Raphael suited up running around the track with the cross country team. He still wore that s--t eating grin as he waved to me all excited. I thought at least he was making an effort .He told me that he was trying real hard in school and that his mother was happy. I was still with the team for three more years.By this time Raphael was a senior.We'd see each other from time to time.He never seemed to fill out and still wore that silly grin. Then one day I got a call to come to the principal's office.I thought a kid had told him what really was going in the Improve Class. The principal was standing at the door.He shook my hand.
"I've got some news,"he said.
I thought maybe he was going to assign me to a regular class.
"Raphael Ibarra is Point Loma High School's valedictorian."
I was taken aback.
"But he has a problem. He's got scholarships to Harvard,University of Chicago,Stanford,and MIT."
"That's terrific,"
"Yes.But now he has to prove his citizenship.He wants to know if you'll accompany me and his counselor to his Immigration hearing."
"I'll be there.Just fill me in,"I said, my head spinning.
Well we were all there at the Federal Building that morning.The principal,Rahael's couselor,me ,and his mother.We all got up to make our speeches.Raphael's mother didn't speak english ,but I think that that worked in our favor. The hearing officer was some old white guy that looked like he'd been around the block all his life. When we were done,it was his turn to speak. He focused his eyes on Raphael. He wasn't wearing his s--t eating grin
"Raphael,"the officer said with his hands folded. "You have made your mother proud today. You have made me proud also. i'm sure your friends are happy to see how things went with you. You bucked the odds and accomplished something very difficult. You had the highrst grades of all the students at Point Loma. A's in every one of your classes. This ccountry is happy to have you with us. You are a young man as important as anyone else. I am happy to decide after going over your records ,not only scholarship but citizenship,with my colleages and want to bestow to you and your mom permanent alien cards.With these documents you are legal residents of the United State,Hopefully your next step will be to become natualized citizens.Congratulations."
The hearing officer stood up and shook Raphael's hand and then embraced his mother. Well by this time evryone is cryin' and huggin' each other.i got to admit it was wonderful.
"By the way,"said the hearing officer."What school have you decided on?"
"The University of Chicago, I want to study in cancer research."

There you have it.i'll never forget that first day in the old metal shop room that became the Improve Class. However,in the end it all came to an abrupt end. I got another call slip to see the principal.This time he wasn't standing at the front door to shake my hand.
"Roger,"he said frowning."We have to close the Improve Class."
"Was it something I did?"
"Well,let's put it this way.The teachers are complaing that the kids would rather spend the day with you than be in the regular classes so they are misbehaving so they can be in your room."
"Well,it was fun while it lasted.I wish I could have done more."
"By the way,be sure you clear out your desk.And don't forget to take your boxing gloves."



Graduation Day at Point Loma High School

The Man Who Fought The Man Who Fought Ezzard Charles

He rode a Harley cherried out with a metallic candy apple red gas tank,stock handle bars,and a fat tire on the back wheel. I just knew his name as Bob.He looked lean and mean with sandy long hair to his shoulders,a fu man chu mustache,and a tattoo of a rattlesnake on his right forearm. A gravel voice reinforced his demeanor..Oily levis and a t shirt dotted with holes was always partially hidden by his leather vest that read "Hells Angels --Dago" on the back.You'd always see him with a "rag" tied around his head. He didn't initiate much talking and was short with his answers if you asked him a question. The way I got to know him was that he worked out in gym in back of Vic's Health Food Store on Newport Street in Ocean Beach. The gym was once an old wood garage that Vic had converted into a gym for weightlifting. Vary basic inside with a couple of used Olympic bars,dumbells with fat grips that went up to 100 pounds. There were a couple of homemade exercise benches,a lat machine,a big mirror with a crack in the corner,and a picture of Steve Reeve as Hercules nailed to the wall.. Bob would ride up through the alley and park his bike next to the gym.He liked to workout alone.If I wasn't working out after Vic had closed his store will all the regular crew coming in later,I'd be in the gym working out by myself too. I liked it though if someone else was in the gym with me because sometimes I'd need "a spot." Bob would usually workout in the afternoons.Sometimes it would just be me and him in th gym.

In those days there were no 24 Hour Fitness Clubs,I think the first francise gym was Jack La Lannes,but it was over near the border in Imperial Beach. I wouldn't have worked out there anyway. To big and you had to buy a long term membership.I could lift pretty heavy in those days--powerlifting stuff. Bench ,squat,and dead lift. Bench presses was what I focused on .It doesn't require much technique. Dead Lifts were very rudimentary also. I didn't work squats too much because I had torn a cartilage in my knee playing football in college. Bob lived in Ocean Beach.Recently, The Hells Angels had been drifting into the little beach town. Before long they had taken over te local spot where the locals liked to shoot pool,The Family Billiard Den. Once the Angels set foot in there it wasn't a place to take your family anymore. They also took over a bar that was next to the Arizona..That bar I always talk about that Radovich owned and the LA Rams would be in there during fishing season and Bob Murphy who Radovich handled as an amateur would get drunk and start fights inside his place. But Murphy had been dead for years before the Angels came to OB and the Rams by that time had moved to St. Louis.Besides all those players like Skeets Quinlan and Bob Waterfield and Crazy Legs Hirsch that Radovich got to know playing semi pro ball for the San Diego Bombers had all retired even before Murphy met his demise. Bob would hang out with the other Angels at the bar that was next to the Arizona across the alley, It was called Webbs. A old redneck from Mississippi named Spike Webb owned the joint. When Ocean Beach started to turn into a Haight Ashbury he sold the bar to the Hells Angels

Most of those Hells Angels were no good, mean and nasty. They were always toting a gun or a shotgun somewhere.They had a band playing in Webbs on the weekends. One night the drummer started something about getting his pay and all the Angels jumped him and shanked him dead. Webbs also was the bar the parents and coaches of the Ocean Beach Little League would go to to celebrate the end of the season .After the Angels moved in I told those parents and coaches not to go in there because the Angels would make trouble for them. They didn't believe me. They thought that the Angels would leave them alone. But it didn't happen the way they thought. This is how the Angels would get started. They'd send a few of their women over to one of the tables and they'd start talking to some of the coaches.Nothing special. Just some small talk. But it was a ruse. Then some of the Angels would come over to where the little league group was sitting and accuse them of trying to put the moves on their women.That's what happened that night when that group from th little league went to Webbs. The next thing those people who were minding their own business knew was that were getting attacked from all sides by Hells Angels kicking and clubbing them with baseball bats and gun barrels. The little league group didn't want to fight,but that meant nothing to those sociopaths.They just kept pouring it on.

I had heard through the grapevine that Bob didn't jump into that melee. It was mostly "Prospects" who wanted to get into the Angels and prove themselves.It didn't surprise me that Bob didn't jump in. He seemed above that kind of stuff. I mean if guys from the motorcycle club,The Mongols would have been in Webbs that night,Bob would have been in the middle of it. I saw a rumble once between the Angels and The Mongols at a park in east county in the foothills.It ain't like you see in the movies. Some spark touches off a blurred frenzy of fists,kicks,stabbing and shooting. It starts fast and ends as quick.All over in a matter of seconds.The bangarang that I saw finished with two dead Mongols with gunshot wounds to the back of their heads.There was blood all over the place. Before the sheriffs could make the seen the bikers had headed for the hills except the two dead guys. Bob was there but I was hiding under a rock when the firing started so I can't tell you about his participation.


Bob was a good guy to workout with in the gym. One day just me and him were in there,He asked me if San Diego had any fights. I thought he meant the rumble biker type,but no,he was interested in going to a boxing match. He told me he used to box a little when he lived in Idaho. He said he did some pro fighting. I asked him who he had fought. He told me that he had fought George Logan.He was one of the last guys to have fought Ezzard Charles.I didn't get any more information from Bob about the result. I didn't ask.But he did offer this.
"Ezzard Charles was one of the great fighters that they don't talk much about unless you were a fighter.,"Bob said in a hoarse voice."He had that Lou Gehrigs disease at the end and he shouldn't have been fighting,but he needed the money."
"Archie Moore lives here in San Diego. He had a lot of trouble with Ezzard Charles.He never beat him,"I said wanting to add something pertinent.
Then I tried to make a joke.
"You could have used a guy like Ezzaed Charles in the Angels."
Bob didn't say nothing after that and just finished his workout and then rode off on his Harley.


Ezzard Charles

Offers They Couldn't Refuse

Finishing up rereading Harry Otty's book,Charley Burley And The Black Murderers Row. It's a great read.What I like about Mr. Otty's effort is that he went to many of the people associated and close to Charley Burley:family,friends,promotors,managers,trainers,fighters who had swapped leather with Charley Burley,and some of the more sordid characters that slithered their way through the fight game. Otty doesn't put too much of his two cents into the image of Charley Burley. He leaves that up to the reader.

The fighters that made up "The Row",Charley Burley is probably discussed the most mainly because they say that Ray Robinson ducked him,and Robby being considered by many fans of the sport as the greatest pound for pound fighter that ever lived makes one think maybe Charley Burley should receive those accolades. There's plenty of quotes by the aforementioned Burley connected that think he was the P4P greatest and could have taken the great Sugar Ray.

When they name that Murderers Row the usual suspects are always on the list:Holman Williams,Bert Lytel,Jack Chase,"Tiger" Wade,Eddie Booker,Jimmy Bivins,Lloyd Marshall,Cocoa Kid.None of these fellas,including Burley ,got the title shot not to mention a title tiara.Ezzard Charles and Archie Moore sometimes aren't referenced.That's only because they eventually got their shot and got to put that studded hat on their heads. But The Mongoose had to wait 15 years and pass up Jack Benny by three years of age to finally cede to Doc Kearns terms.After 9 years of fighting mostly fighters of his own color and non title goes,against the white champs for peanuts,at 27 years of age him and Walcott squared off for the up for grabs NBA crown.Joe Louis had hung up his gloves and Mike Jacobs didn't have a lock on the east coast venues anymore. So that opened it up for the black fighter.

What's really noteworthy in Otty's book is that he doesn't pull any punches about the "deals" the black fighters had to absorb so they could continue fighting. It wasn't even a question of a title shot. Most of them knew that that experience was just a dream. If they didn't obey,they didn't get fights.


No fighter wants to come out and say he took a "dive.' His self esteem and reputation would make him a pariah. He couldn't sit with his grandkids and tell them bedside stories thinking that those children, who think that gray haired old man is their ultimate security blanket,was a cheat. They would be too young to understand anyway. Gramps wouldn't want to back peddle and explain the reason why.


My father, when he was working for the Outfit, would tell me that in Chicago after Robinson beat Tommy Bell that Robinson would "carry"any fighters he fought in the Windy City around like a wet nurse. Bob Satterfield(who could be added to The Row)was called on to do the ol' dropsy doodle on command. Otty's book is loaded with innuendos. Here's a good one.Ike Williams said Robinson went into the tank against Maxim.(Christ, the guy almost died of heat stroke).The New York negros got double crossed by Ray so he hd to go to the coast to escape being tar and feathered. The two times he did land in the Garden after his comeback ,Fullmer and Basilio put Robby in the loss column. Then there was Archie Moore flopping against Leonard Morrow in California not waking up flat on his back. on the ring mat in round numero uno. Hey,how about Ezzard Charles getting hammered 8 times to the canvas by Eddie Booker?Ez said he had hurt his hip in training.

I remember my father(play it again Sam story)getting into the ring with Angelo Dundee after Cuban Louie ,behind on points,flattened Raphael Gutierrez with a telegraph left hand to qualify to fight Benvenuti for all the marbles.
"Well,Ange,you got your title shot,"said my father ,arm around his paisan as they walked smiling back to the dressing room.

What were the two Liston/Clay-Ali fights all about? If it's still up go to YouTube search Charley Powell/Mike DeJohn..Break out the air spray.My pal James Kinchen was in one I don't have the guts to ask him about.One of his last fights.The one he had with Virgil Hill.But like I said.What the hell would he say?I know.I had the flu that week or I hurt my shoulder sparring.


But I don't care if Sugar Ray Robinson or Archie Moore or James Kinchen shaded the truth. Even a surly sort like Sonny Liston might have done what he had to have done. If he didn't he might have wound up floating in the East River. Then there's the talk about him not going into the tank against Wepner. I guess that's what "hot shots" are made for.


Sonny Liston flashing the V for "victimized."

The Best Weather In The World

It's raining today in sunny San Diego so I stayed in most of the day watching old movies. Public Enemy was on with James Cagney and Jean Harlow so I got inspired to write this:
Movie are just movies and aren't real.They're filled with a lot of actors that play parts that are unlike themselves in real life. James Cagney wasn't "a dirty rat" off the set and didn't shove grapefruits in the faces of gun molls when he wasn't making pictures. He started out in show biz as a tap dancer and begged the studios to cast him in musicals,but Public Enemy put the kibosh on those aspirations until Cagney finally got his wish playing George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy that earned him the Oscar.Later in life he bought property in rural New York state and built a farm.

Ok ,watching Public Enemy made me think of my grandfather,Diamond Joe and the stories about when he was the boss of the 19th Ward and old man Kennedy was selling him Seagrams Whiskey smuggled across the border from Canada so Diamond Joe could serve it in his Bella Napoli on Halsted Street along with his bootlegged beer.He let the Genna brothers work that bootlegging end,but that's when he had a falling out with Capone. It was in the Bella Napoli ,where Capone ate his spaghetti every night.Bugs Moran's people tried to bribe the cook with 10 G's to lace Al's macaroni with prussic acid.Bug's goons wound up face down in lake Michigan.Capone had a sit down with Dempsey at the Bella Napoli about a deal to have the fight fixed with Tunney.Capone had a million dollars burning a hole in his pocket that he wanted lay down with the book,only if he knew the outcome before the fighters squared off in Soldiers Field. Dempsy didn't bite. He told Capone that it would be his last fight .So they twirled their forks with linguini and hoisted some of my grandfather's chianti and said "Salute". Across the street was Jane Addams Hull House for the orphan kids. Diamond Joe was the "padron' of the 19th Ward and would open the doors to the Bella Napoli for a feed for the orphan kids on his dime.He was also bedding Ms. Addams that raised a lot of eyebrows because the senior citizen's sexual inclinations were with other women. My grandfather had this ritual where when the immigrant Italian men would approach him to ask his blessing and if he could put something in the envelope before the fresh off the boat groom went down the aisle with his ripe bride,Diamond Joe would have the honors of seeing the bride's blood on the bedsheets before the husband could do the christening. When the sports and movie celebs would blow into the Windy City a standard stop was at the Bella Napoli where the best bands performed on the bandstand. Bix Beiderbeck, Louie Arstrong,and Kid Ory would play the latest tunes for Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pickford,Charlie Chaplin,Babe Ruth ,and the Manassa Mauler. On March 21st,1928 Diamond Joe was walking back home with his two bodyguards,the Varchetti brothers,when he was gunned down by shotgun blasts that had been soaked in garlic from a drive by sedan ,The killers drove one of Henry Ford's Model A's.Henry had nothing to do with shooting Diamond joe ,but when my father got his discharge from the Marines after WW II he saved a bullet for one of the assassins. His partner had dropped dead from a heart attack before my father could put a slug in the back of his head.After my grandfather's demise my grandmother went to Capone and asked what happened. Al gave the standard gangster reply."It was an accident."Capone offered to take in my father to live in his mother's house and he cold be pals with his son,Al Jr. who everyone called Sonny.My grandmother forked my dad over to Capone not before ceding my grandfather's 50,000 dollar diamond ring that he named "the Sun."While my father was playing stick ball with Sonny Capone,Al Sr. was being indicted by the feds for tax evasion. Capone's lawyers were at Al's mother's house to discuss the upcoming trial with second in command ,Frank "the Enforcer" Nitti. The Enforcer made sure
Al wasn't present at the meeting. It was there that Nitti told the lawyers to sell Capone out. Nitti wanted to be Number One Don,and besides Al's brain was infested with syphilis.My 13 year old father was listening in the hallway to this scheme. Nitti saw him and grabbed my father by the neck and said he would kill him if he opened his mouth. My father told me this story in 1975. Big Al went to Atlanta's gray bar hotel and Frank was now the big boss.My father went to work for The Outfit under Dons who where brought up in the rackets by Diamond Joe:Nitti,Paul "The Waiter" Ricca(Ricca was once a waiter at the Bella Napoli),Sam Giancana,and Tony "Big Tuna" Accardo. I never knew what my father did for a living until we were in California.


I never knew what my father did for a living when I lived in Chicago.Everything was on cruise control.Then one day there was a family sit down and the announcement was that everyone was moving to sunny California When I turned 18 my father let me in that my grandfather was murdered.I was led to believe up to that time that he died of pneumonia.Bit by bit I was told that my father got in a jamb in Chicago and that triggered the move out West. After my father died I got hold of the Chicago papers of his troubles. My father was all over the front pages for three days Even my uncle who lived in Los Angeles read about it in the LA Times.The Outfit lawyers had enough clout to keep him from going to jail.

My father only went back to Chicago once.That was to visit Diamond Joe's mausoleum. Turned out my grandfather sold the site and she moved Diamond Joe to a corner of Mt. Carmel Cemetery into a common grave. I used to go back and visit my cousins Frankie and Joey.Joey died from an overdose.Frankie fell off a ledge and wound up paralyzed. Every few years when I'd go back to my grandfather's house on the corner of Polk and Oakley Boulevards I could see the neighborhood going down hill. My grandmother sold the property to the University of Illinois at Chicago .Outside the gates of the school the area had degenerated into a slum of winos,drug addicts,and pimps.


I guess it all worked out for the best.My father pined for the good old days. He'd be on the phone just about everyday to Chicago talking to his goombas before they all went to Mt. Carmel. My father was an underling to Giancana,Chuckie Nicoletti,and Johnny Roselli.When The House UnAmerican Assassination Committee subpoenaed them to tell what they knew about the JFK assassination they wound up with their pals at Mt. Carmel.

Life in California sure isn't what it as like on the corner of Polk and Oakley.But that corner doesn't even exist anymore. So they make movies like The Godfather and Public Enemy played by actors like Brando and Jimmy Cagney. It's all make believe. What people know about that gangster era in American history they learn from the movies. As a kid I grew up around all that.But then we moved to San Diego.They say it has the best weather in the world


Diamond Joe feeding the Hull House orphans plenty of pasta.

The Pen Is Mightier Than The Boxing Glove

Just closed the cover on Harry Otty's book,Charley Burley And The Black Murderers Row. Second time through for me and I'll probably read it a few more times before I turn to dust.Interesting anecdotes from people that were close to Burley. But like any biography you get the hint from the start if the author is either pro or con with his subject. Can't get away from that. You can appear objective,but enough innuendos can show your hand. Harry Otty writes about Burley's errands he did for some gangsters. It was mostly muscle.Fighters are good to have at your side if there's going to be a showdown. But Otty paints a picture of an unassuming Burley who was kept in the dark by his criminal associates when he was asked to do some favors. Some of the thugs that were involved with Burley are quoted in the book that Charley was unaware of what was going down.Hey,they liked Charley. And Charley was also seen in the neighborhood in the company of some pretty fast women.Of course Charley said they were just friends and everthing was all innocent and what not. Charley's wife was suspicious and naturally jealous,but remember Harry Otty's brush strokes when painting Charley. Charley hung in the Louvre not on the back wall of a juke joint And of course Charley never partook in one of those "funny fights." He said so even if the eight managers that handled him passed him along like a chain letter.Forget this idea especially back then that you had to play along to get along aka title shot. Charley was black.Robinson and Louis were enough for a white public that was brought up agreeing with Plessy vs. Ferguson.


Charley Burley may have been passed by though by a lot of fighters that thought they'd have nothing to gain by losing.. He said that Robinson wanted to fight him only if he did the flop in the first fight. (He never mentioned any fights after the first one)Charley also said that after Robinson died that George Gainsford told him that Sugar Ray wanted no part of him.Some of the stories from the scribes after some of his fights said that Charley looked uninterested.The word around town was that Charley was told to fight according to someone else's script.But Charley is quoted as never playing giving in to the mob. But like I said yesterday no fighter is going to come forth and say he took a dive or that he was a goon for the mob or that he cheated on his wife.(Honey,I don't know how this woman wound up in my bed.Maybe she came in through the window) Only a jerk would fess up to all that. The truth doesn't set you free,it just gets you into hot water.

So the biographer picks a guy to write about that he either likes or wants to rake over the coals.In this day and age you can sell more copies by digging into the skeleton closet. Those rags that are in the racks at the check out aisles don't have headlines that say he was nice to his mother and loved animals.No,it's the other way around. He put his mother in the county farm and tied firecrackers to little puppies' tails. Turn on the Weather Channel sometime. All they got on there are the places with bad weather:tornados,hurricanes,and earthquakes. The more destruction and the higher the number on the Richter Scale make for a bigger story. Who wants to know it was sunny outside unless you're living there? Let them other saps shovel snow. I'm waiting for the Patriots to lose.Then they'll say Tom Brady is a bum.All those writers who'll kick Tom Brady to the curb I bet were cut from the junior varsity squad at their alma maters.


But it wouldn't bother me if Charley Burley broke some welcher's arm in a back alley. Or if he got throwed and blowed by some bar fly in one of those sleazy hotel rooms that has that neon sign going on and off outside the window. And if he took a dive?He probably did it for a bigger cut than what his purse was, and also if he wanted to keep on fighting.

You can write it anyway you want about Charley Burley.If Archie Moore said that Charley Burley was the best he ever got in the ring with. that validates it with me. All that other stuff just shows he was human like all of us.



Sugar Ray Robinson
By NOT fighting Charley Burley,Sugar Ray Robinson put him on the map. Harry Otty didn't title his book Holman Wiliams And The Black Murdereers Row or Lloyd Marshall And The Black Murderers Row. Hell, What if they had fought and Robinson knocked Burley out? How about Eddie Booker And The Black Murderers Row?

Book Report

They've got one of these carts near the front door of the gym where I workout down at the beach.The cart contains used books. You're supposed to take a book and leave a book About a month ago I saw that someone had donated Mike Tyson's autobiography,Undisputed Truth. At the bottom of the book's cover it says "with Larry Sloman." I've always been a little skeptical about autobiographies that have underneath the title "with....".Sometimes we're led to believe that the author of the self story was accomplished without assistance only to discover later that the subject necessitated a ghost writer. I've read "autobiographies" of Dempsey and Ray Robinson,just off the top of my head,where it's stated that the fighters had someone in their corners to construct the words. I have a copy of Jack Dempsey's " By The Man Himself",not quite alone because the sportswriter Bob Considine was next to the Manassa Mauler typing away while Dempsey offered the information. By the way, Dempsey's and Considine's John Hancocks are on the inside cover.I also have in my possession Henry Armstrong's "Gloves Glory And God".Armstrong took on this literary fight alone. No help from an outside pundit. On the inside cover I have Armstrong's dedication to one of his fans with Hammerin' Hank's signature.


I know the Tyson's book did quite well with sales. I don't think many people picked up a copy of Armstrong's book. The LA Times reviewed Tyson's Undisputed Truth as "a Masterpiece...Grimly tragic...Reading Tyson's memoir is like watching a Charles Dickens street urchin growing up."

The Wall Street Journal called it "Raw ,powerful,and disturbing...a pulsating story line like few others."


The Associated Press used adjectives "hefty...raw and profane...soul baring."

Those representations may by on the nose or hyperbole.I don't know because I never got by the first page. Mike(with Larry by his side)begins by stating that after his trial ,before he went to jail, he looked up his old girlfriends and had a last romp in the hay.I read a little more and then decided that when I went back to the gym I'd toss Undisputed Truth back in the cart. They sure knew how to grab the reader,but not me.I guess more dames out there would rather see what the baddest dude on the planet,the heavyweight champ, is like in the sack than, let's say ,the Wimbledon Men's first place finisher. So it's right there at the opening bell of page one.Iron Mike got his last "mercy f--k". But is this really how Mike Tyson tells a story? I felt separated right away. That isn't how Mike Tyson talks. That's Larry Sloman's rhetoric. The way Larry Sloman thinks Tyson would talk.It sounded like a phony Mickey Spillane. Now I'll drop it. I only read the first page.

Henry Armstrong's effort came out in 1956. He was "born again",his fighting career a distant past. The book has long been out of print. I found a copy in a used bookstore collecting dust. When I looked inside and saw the signature my pulse raced.When I nonchalantly plopped the book on the counter I asked the nerdy looking clerk how much. He picked it up.even opened the cover and saw the signature.He pursed his mouth,looked up, and then said,"How about giving me 5 dollars." I don't hold anything against him. He didn't know who Henry Armstrong was.

I tried to find something on the internet,a review or an opinion. of Gloves Glory And God.One person on Amazon that had bought Gloves Glory And God put in a few modest words,

"This book is written in a very simplistic manner and tells what must have been a fascinating life in a very downplayed manner...Don't buy this book if you're looking for an in depth study of Armstrong. Just get the book for a simple and easy read. Just hope a better biography of Armstrong is out there."

I read Gloves Glory And God cover to cover. I loved it. The simple eloquence was poignant. "Simple" can express a thought without pounding it into our senses with a sledgehammer. When I was reading Gloves Glory And God,I felt it was just me and Henry curled up in the easy chair. There was an honest intimacy. Nothing pretentious. Why want to sensationalize Mike Tyson's life? The adrenalin has already been exuded. That LA Times scribe that drew the analogy of Undisputed Truth with Charles Dickens is just a tomato can writer. At least Henry Armstrong had enough class not start off his life's story by telling us about all the broads he screwed to get our attention. Maybe he should have looked up Larry Sloman to punch it up a little



Henry Armstrong

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑13 Jan 2019, 18:57 Offers They Couldn't Refuse

Finishing up rereading Harry Otty's book,Charley Burley And The Black Murderers Row. It's a great read.What I like about Mr. Otty's effort is that he went to many of the people associated and close to Charley Burley:family,friends,promotors,managers,trainers,fighters who had swapped leather with Charley Burley,and some of the more sordid characters that slithered their way through the fight game. Otty doesn't put too much of his two cents into the image of Charley Burley. He leaves that up to the reader.

The fighters that made up "The Row",Charley Burley is probably discussed the most mainly because they say that Ray Robinson ducked him,and Robby being considered by many fans of the sport as the greatest pound for pound fighter that ever lived makes one think maybe Charley Burley should receive those accolades. There's plenty of quotes by the aforementioned Burley connected that think he was the P4P greatest and could have taken the great Sugar Ray.

When they name that Murderers Row the usual suspects are always on the list:Holman Williams,Bert Lytel,Jack Chase,"Tiger" Wade,Eddie Booker,Jimmy Bivins,Lloyd Marshall,Cocoa Kid.None of these fellas,including Burley ,got the title shot not to mention a title tiara.Ezzard Charles and Archie Moore sometimes aren't referenced.That's only because they eventually got their shot and got to put that studded hat on their heads. But The Mongoose had to wait 15 years and pass up Jack Benny by three years of age to finally cede to Doc Kearns terms.After 9 years of fighting mostly fighters of his own color and non title goes,against the white champs for peanuts,at 27 years of age him and Walcott squared off for the up for grabs NBA crown.Joe Louis had hung up his gloves and Mike Jacobs didn't have a lock on the east coast venues anymore. So that opened it up for the black fighter.

What's really noteworthy in Otty's book is that he doesn't pull any punches about the "deals" the black fighters had to absorb so they could continue fighting. It wasn't even a question of a title shot. Most of them knew that that experience was just a dream. If they didn't obey,they didn't get fights.


No fighter wants to come out and say he took a "dive.' His self esteem and reputation would make him a pariah. He couldn't sit with his grandkids and tell them bedside stories thinking that those children, who think that gray haired old man is their ultimate security blanket,was a cheat. They would be too young to understand anyway. Gramps wouldn't want to back peddle and explain the reason why.


My father, when he was working for the Outfit, would tell me that in Chicago after Robinson beat Tommy Bell that Robinson would "carry"any fighters he fought in the Windy City around like a wet nurse. Bob Satterfield(who could be added to The Row)was called on to do the ol' dropsy doodle on command. Otty's book is loaded with innuendos. Here's a good one.Ike Williams said Robinson went into the tank against Maxim.(Christ, the guy almost died of heat stroke).The New York negros got double crossed by Ray so he hd to go to the coast to escape being tar and feathered. The two times he did land in the Garden after his comeback ,Fullmer and Basilio put Robby in the loss column. Then there was Archie Moore flopping against Leonard Morrow in California not waking up flat on his back. on the ring mat in round numero uno. Hey,how about Ezzard Charles getting hammered 8 times to the canvas by Eddie Booker?Ez said he had hurt his hip in training.

I remember my father(play it again Sam story)getting into the ring with Angelo Dundee after Cuban Louie ,behind on points,flattened Raphael Gutierrez with a telegraph left hand to qualify to fight Benvenuti for all the marbles.
"Well,Ange,you got your title shot,"said my father ,arm around his paisan as they walked smiling back to the dressing room.

What were the two Liston/Clay-Ali fights all about? If it's still up go to YouTube search Charley Powell/Mike DeJohn..Break out the air spray.My pal James Kinchen was in one I don't have the guts to ask him about.One of his last fights.The one he had with Virgil Hill.But like I said.What the hell would he say?I know.I had the flu that week or I hurt my shoulder sparring.


But I don't care if Sugar Ray Robinson or Archie Moore or James Kinchen shaded the truth. Even a surly sort like Sonny Liston might have done what he had to have done. If he didn't he might have wound up floating in the East River. Then there's the talk about him not going into the tank against Wepner. I guess that's what "hot shots" are made for.


Sonny Liston flashing the V for "victimized."

Charley Burley became a contender in the welterweight division within the first two years of his career as a professional boxer. He was regarded a fighter with plenty of skill and good punching power. Things looked quite promising for Burley at the time he was introduced before the world welterweight title bout between Henry Armstrong, the reigning champion, and Ceferino Garcia took place at Madison Square Garden on November 25, 1938. Burley had just won a bout with Billy Soose in his hometown of Pittsburgh on the 21st of November in addition to winning over Fritzie Zivic (a rematch), Cocoa Kid and Leon Zorrita earlier in the year. There was quite a bit of talk about a possible world welterweight title bout between Burley and Armstrong at the time.

But there were dark clouds ahead for Burley. At the time, he had a chipped bone in his right hand for five months and had worn a cast on his hand since his bout with Soose. The cast wasn't scheduled to come off until the 17th of December.
After his victory over Sonny Jones on January 10, 1939, Burley had surgery on a hand and was on the shelf for five months.
It is obvious that his career hit a big rut, one that he never got out of until he retired during 1950. Burley would struggle mightily to jumpstart his career, but his lack of drawing power at the gate ensured that he was never going to get a world title shot or lucrative bouts.

During Burley's career, Pittsburgh was a fine fight town, especially when the steel mills were going at full capacity during World War II. A number of other fighters from the Pittsburgh area were good drawing cards at the time that Burley was active, notably Billy Conn, Fritzie Zivic and Sammy Angott. But Burley had a great deal of trouble getting bouts almost everywhere, even in Pittsburgh, during much of his career. Perhaps the main reason why Burley never became a good drawing card was that he had a very dull fighting style, resulting in many of his bouts being "stinkers." It also didn't help that he was far from being colorful.

In terms of getting bouts, Burley seemed to do better in California. As a result, Burley moved with his family to San Diego during World War II. At the time, San Diego had weekly boxing cards at the Coliseum, but that was not a major venue. In the state of California, Burley probably got his biggest paydays at the Civic Auditorium in San Francisco with Benny Ford as the promoter, the Hollywood Legion Stadium with Charley MacDonald as the matchmaker and the Auditorium in Oakland. It appears that Burley drew gates as high as $15,000. in both San Francisco and Oakland. At Hollywood Legion Stadium, the gates may have been over $10,000. At the Coliseum in San Diego, the gate may have been $5,000. or $6,000. if there was a capacity crowd. Even in California, Burley wasn't fighting very often and a number of his bouts didn't draw that well. As a result, Burley supplemented his income while holding down a job in a manufacturing plant in San Diego.

Besides the Hollywood Legion Stadium, Burley didn't fight at another boxing venue in the Los Angeles area. It didn't help that Babe McCoy, the powerful matchmaker of the Olympic Auditorium, wasn't interested in having Burley fight on his cards. There were black boxers who did fight at Los Angeles area venues besides the Legion Stadium, notably Henry Armstrong, Willie Joyce and John Thomas. Both Armstrong and Joyce were crowd-pleasing fighters and fine drawing cards. Thomas was in some memorable bouts with top fighters in Los Angeles.

Even in California, Burley was not a big enough drawing card to attract the likes of Sugar Ray Robinson and Jake LaMotta.
Robinson would not fight in California until 1947 while LaMotta never fought there.

I am wondering what would have happened if Burley adopted a fighting style which was more crowd-pleasing. Jack Hurley was able to convert Harry "Kid" Matthews from a "safety-first" fighter to a more "crowd-pleasing" one with a great deal of success. Although Matthews had a very impressive record as a "safety-first" fighter, his purses were miniscule. With Hurley at the helm beginning in 1949, Matthews went on to make a lot of money for the time.

- Chuck Johnston

A Piece Of Ribbon


Some of the old time black legends in the fight game were approached in the 60's by black activists and militants to join the cause. The old time fighters understood their motives,but not their methods. Muhammad Ali became a Black Muslim,but ex fighters like Joe Louis,Archie Moore,Charley Burley,Ezzard Charles,and Ray Robinson passed on conforming to Islam or partaking in violence as a solution to matters of civil injustice. If you think about it,Ali certainly embraced Muslim beliefs and expoused those ideas with his gift of oral rhetoric,but he didn't give a second thought about abandoning his trainer Angelo Dundee,his business manager Gene Kilroy,his foil Howard Cosell,or making an appearance on the Johnny Carson Show. He was invited to the Whitey House by president Bush junior and presented with the Presidential Freedom Award in 2005.I don't recall Stokely Carmichael or H.Rap Brown having the President Of The United States tie that ribbon around their necks inside the Oval Office. Ali raved that he wasn't going to fight no Viet Cong because they never called him a n----r. Well ,there were plenty of black soldiers who went to Nam who were captured by those Viet Cong who wound up with their severed genitals in their mouths tied to a tree. I don't think it mattered if they were called a n----r by some Viet Cong.

I know Archie Moore was as concerned by the Civil Rights Movement as any of the young blacks who went around shouting expletives and with clenched fists straightened in the air. But Moore, who had experienced racial prejudice in the deep south,and was denied opportunities to fulfill his potential as a fighter, didn't have the chance to stand on the dais at Cal Berkley to address the college kids in attendance who there on daddy's dime. Archie Moore had to scuffle all his life. When he was fighting he was being jerked around by managers and promotors. After boxing he was getting a stipend from the City Of San Diego and a donation or two from people who saw that Moore's tenets of living life honestly and working hard endowed by faith and family would prevail instead of burning down the neighborhood Too many excuses,he knew,would eventually fall on deaf ears.The free lunch would come to the time where you'd have to dig into your own pocket when the check was put on the table.


There weren't any of those former black fighters that had that chip on their shoulders. When asked to march they said"Thanks,but no thanks." During the struggle in the 60' and 70's of the Civil Rights Movement,I guess it was necessary for the Black Panthers to rear their heads.You can think it was noise like that that blew down the Walls Of Prejudice. But when thinking about how a society should treat each other,it's not with the fist but with concern for one another. Archie Moore,Charley Burley,that's how we want citizens go about their day to day lives,no matter what te color of your skin.

So it's Muhammad Ali that gets the invitation to the White House to have that red,white,and blue medal bestowed to him by the Executive Of Chief. Archie Moore or Charley Burley in the working office of the president?Well,maybe they thought that that wouldn't look right. By the way,who's "they"?



Archie Moore

Besides being a truly great fighter, Charley Burley was a gentleman and a good family man with a terrific work ethic when it came to holding down a job or while training. While race may have played an important part in his boxing career, it was far from being the only reason why he didn't get lucrative paydays or a world title shot.

- Chuck Johnston

Today He'd Be Called The Black Bomber

If we're to get the right perspective of why Charley Burley and the black murderers row never got that shot we have to understand what the social climate was in America during the 1940's.(BEFORE WW II).Granted ,all those row killers,Burley included, could have easily stayed in there with any of the talented white fighters at or around their weight,The main reason they didn't get their turn for a championship was that they were BLACK. People who attended fights back then were 99% white. If a white fighter was in there with black fighter ,,the crowd was pulling for whitey. Fritzie Zivic and Charley Burley were both Pittsburgh boys but when they fought each other in their hometown the crowd was shouting "rah rah" for Fritzie. Charley got the raspberries if not hearing a few racial slurs coming from the bleachers. The paying white public didn't want to see two black fighters fighting in a title bout or even if it wasn't for all the marbles.They wanted to see the black fighter lose to the white fighter plain and simple.When Robinson and Louis fought a black fighter it was a non title fight(Exception was when Louis fought John Henry Lewis because he knew Lewis was going blind and wanted him to get a reasonable cut of the gross)The fight drew flies. The public wasn't interested .Even Robinson and Louis didn't make that much money when they were on top compared to their white counterpart title holders. Joe louis had to swallow giving up more than half his purse to his managers John Roxborough and Julian Black plus Mike Jacob scooping up his end and don't forget Braddock's manager Joe Gould letting his boy fight Louis for the title so for the next ten years everything Joe made he had to fork over to Gould. Remember, Ray Robinson didn't fight Tommy Bell until he was 28. Archie Moore was 42 and had to pay Doc Kearns 100 grand so he could get in there with Maxim. Archie pit 800 dollars in the bank after beating Joey and had to keep Doc around.

So when we think of all those talented fighters getting the short end of the stick,yes,no white contender or champion wanted to take a chance losing it all to those colored boys. And the public didn't want that to happen also. You think the public didn't want to see Louis get beat especially a white fighter?Even Dempsey and Baer predicted Herr Max would win the rematch with Joe.Forget a lot of that Hitler Nazi stuff. The war hadn't started yet. There were plenty of white Americans who thought that Max Schmeling had Louis's number and wanted him to turn the trick again. A championship boxing belt is a very prestigious piece of leather.It's a symbol of manliness. The public was a little nervy about Louis and Robinson knocking out all those white boys. Why escalate that aura with with having Burley the middleweight king?

When the United States committed to the war,blacks weren't allowed to engage in combat. They were thought as not having what it takes. Black soldiers would lose to German and Japanese soldiers ,so the public and the pentagon thought. Blacks weren't as smart. They were lazy. White men feared for their white wives and girlfriends if the blacks were permitted even footing. Blacks were used as human guinea pigs being injected with syphilis in the Tuskegee experiments. White folk didn't want to sit on the same toilet seat that a black had sat on.Anti lynching laws were never enacted in congress. Crippled white children were invited to Warm Springs to swim with FDR,but the crippled black kids had to use the waterhole in their neighborhood.

So Louis and Robinson held on to their titles beating white fighters and guys like Mike Jacobs were making money hand over fist. In 1940 Joe Louis was penned by the pundits as the "Brown Bomber".Today he'd be called the Black Bomber." Yes,Charley Burley was avoided by white fighters because he was very good. But if he were to have won that title he would have defended it against white fighters. Back then America saw blacks a whole lot differently than we do today.If Charley Burley would have been white he would have been the champ,If he would have looked like Billy Conn he would have got his shot.And I don't have to tell ya' how good Billy Conn was.


Joe Louis