BoxRec

What fight did Elvis Presley attempt to attend at the Olympic Auditorium but had to be escorted out because he caused too much distraction?

The Uglier The Better

One of my favorite movies is the Quiet Man directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. The supporting actors are top quality veterans,mostly of Irish decent.The setting is Ireland,where Sean Thornton(John Wayne) wants to live out the rest of his life in the land of his ancestors. Sean Thornton is an ex pug who killed a fighter in the ring,and now wants to remove himself as far away that memory as possible. No one recognizes him except the village vicar played by the venerable Barry Fitzgerald who was born in the Land of Erin.Wayne asks Fitzgerald not to spread the word around about who he is and what he did in his last fight.In the mean time, Wayne spots a cute red headed lass,Mary Kate Denahar played by O'Hara, who happens to live next door to Wayne with her brother. Well ,how could a bachelor living thousands of miles from where he came from not fall for an Irish Rose like Maureen O'Hara?They begin to flirt,then they kiss,and now it's time for Wayne to do the proper thing and ask her brother for his permission to marry off his sister.But the brother is one of these macho Irishmen who doesn't care for Yanks, but finally grudgingly relents,but says he won't part with his sister's dowry. That's the basic thread of the story:Wayne and his new wife O'Hara battling to have big bro give up the dowry. Without the dowry,O'Hara explains to Big John that she won't be able to do the dirty deed.Something about an old tradition. Wayne is called a sissy by the brother because if his sister's new husband wants that dowry he's got to fight him bare knuckles.Marquis of Queensburry rules.But Wayne still carries the guilt of what happened in his last fight,though it was an accident.He never wants to lift his hand in anger again.But after imagining day after day what O'Hara would look like in the buff,and then having the thrill of eliciting her blood on the bedsheets,Wayne decides to track the big bully down and kick the s--t out of him. Wayne catches up with Mr. Grouchy Face at the local pub. A donnybrook ensues that spills onto every rill,ness,and potato field in the village.It's not clear who won,but both wallopers wind up arm and arm back at Wayne's place drunk.The rivals become blood brothers.The dowry is coughed up,.And now Wayne gets to see what his wife looks like with her clothes off and everyone lives happily ever after.Oh,I forgot to mention who played O'Hara's brother.Victor McLaglen.The same guy who fought Jack Johnson after Lil' Arthur's had manhandled Tommy Burns to become the first black heavyweight champion.


McLaglen ,the East Londoner with the Irish flowing in his veins,fought a non title scrap with Jack in British Columbia. McLaglen was a tough guy who lied about his age(14) when he went off to fight for the British army against the Boers in South Africa. Someone checked his birth certificate and he got the boot from the military. From there he took his overactive hormones to Canada and engaged in wrestling and boxing matches.He got in th ring with Johnson,but he was a big slow lug with lots of heart and little skill,at least to make Jack Johnson run for cover. When The War To End All Wars broke out,McLaglen was all grown up age wise and enlisted with the Royal Irish Fusiliers. After the war he went back to pugilism earning a 16 and 8 record.

But the big screen was his call. A film producer saw him and picked him to play the part of a fighter in a 1920 silent.In 1925 he sailed across the pond and settled in Hollywood.Director John Ford took a liking to the strong man and cast him in 1935 in the leading roll of the snitch in his film The Informer. Big Vic may have never been an Empire champion,but his work in The Informer garnished his mantel with the Academy Award for Best Leading Actor. I might add his competition was steep:Clark Gable,Franchot Tone,and Charles Laughton. But those three were all in the same movie, Mutiny On The Bounty. It was like when Lincoln won the presidency.He was the lone Republican running against three Democrtats.But McLaglen became a big star of the screen after his Oscar. He was in John Ford's camp:actors who loved,drank,and fought hard. It wasn't a club for pretty boys like Cary Grant. No,being ugly was a positive with John Ford. A man's man doesn't dance The Conitinental like Fred Astaire.He might square dance a little but he doesn't dip

The year was 1955.My mother,sisters,and grandmother were sent on a vacation to California by my dad. We wanted to see the opening of Disneyland. We stayed at The Ambassador Hotel.I remember Dick Haymes was the attraction at the Coconut Grove. Rita Hayworth was with him. We went to Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm,The Brown Derby. Me and my sisters were invited on stage at The Pinky Lee Show.We took a tour bus to see where the stars lived.We even drove down to The Hotel Del Coronado,where they would later film scenes from Some Like it Hot, and stayed a day there.


However the thing that sticks out in my mind even today was when my mother saw Victor McLaglen in the elevator of the Ambassador Hotel. My mother and I were standing in front of the elevator door waiting for the elevator to come down. When the door opened I thought it was Big Foot wearing an Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. I made sure I didn't get in his way as he exited. Then I heard my mother say,"My goodness it's Victor McLaglen."
I could see that she was blushing like a Betty Co Ed school girl.
"Who's that?"I asked not enjoying my mama doing a little swoon in front of a someone who looked like he fell off Mount Rushmore.
But my mother still hadn't come up for air yet. My question was left unanswered.After a few moments my mother had gathered herself,but still was mute on the subject of whoever Victor McLaglen was.

From then on I never worried about my squashed nose and bushy eyebrows.All I could hope for was when I grew up I'd have some hair on my back.


Victor McLaglen

d

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dagosd2000 wrote: ↑31 Jan 2019, 21:22d

I kept hitting the "reply" button instead of the "edit" button That's why all the "d's".Still would like to know who made Elvis leave the building.

In A Dusty Corner In The Basement

The building was torn down years ago. I think it was on the corner of 6th and A streets. It was a place that sold used books.A two story job with a basement. A very big building built before the war.What I'd think every time I went inside was that this old relic would eventually give way to all the renovation and modernizing that was going on in the area. The old downtown landmarks of San Diego had nothing to offer the tourists. After Vietnam the sailors weren't around like before that frequented their old haunts anymore-the Oriental bars,the poker rooms,massage parlors,the X rated video arcades.The Hollywood Theater.the last of the burlesque houses was dark.The rummy dives and the Chinese hole in the wall restaurants were going out of business. The old Coliseum was turned into a furniture warehouse.The winos and drug addicts were taking up residency on the streets. The trash,the smell of urine,the used needles gave the air and the view an atmosphere of decay. A cancer that was terminal. So the gentrification swooped in with the developers buying up the wreckage for pennies on the dollar.Up went the condos,the malls,and the glitzy bars and bistros. They named the area "The Gaslamp".The sheep with their credit cards in hand now pay 40 dollars to park their cars with the valet and drink up booze with exotic names and then throw up on the curb.. The bums have been relocated to shelters. Now you don't have to climb over them to get to the new baseball stadium,PetCo Park.

The used bookstore,that big gray monstrosity didn't fit in anymore.it was a wart that had to be burned off.I knew time was running out for that bookstore so I wanted to discover any old artifact that was still around on the shelves collecting dust. For such a big place I never saw more than a handful of people in the aisles The lack of business was the handwriting on the wall. Hardly anyone reads anyway unless it's something by Stephen King or John Grisham, Harry Potter,the latest by Michelle Obama,all the Star Wars books,whatever is on he New York Times best sellers list,the inside story from a disgruntled politician placing the blame on everyone but himself for 400 pages.But Hillary is a woman, so it's on herself.No that stuff wasn't collecting dust because that kind of wood pulp is under the bright lights inside Barnes and Noble. If I want to be entertained I don't read fiction anymore. If I want to get informed you can bet Random House doesn't get my money. A lot of the stuff I like is written by people who can't get one of the mainstream publishers to print their words,or if they did the CIA would start eliminating members of their family.I'm not saying that old gray monster on the corner of 6th and A harbored all the dirty secrets of the world,but it was refuge for the books,magazines,periodicals,and pamphlets that you wouldn't find on your local HMO's waiting room table. If I ever get the urge to read Time or Newsweek I'll make a doctor's appointment,but I don't trust doctors so I guess I'll stay away from the mainstream pundits. And that goes for television. If I want to know what's going on I won't click the remote to CNN or Fox news.

But this big old bookstore. I just knew there were treasures inside there that would make Captain Kidd's heart race. One day I asked the guy behind the counter with the horn rimmed glasses where I could find any material on sports.
"We have some in the basement back in the corner. If you want to go down there I'll switch on the light."
"Thanks,"I said. "That would be nice of you."
"Well watch your step,"he cautioned. "We don't have many inquiries about sports.It's pretty messy down there."
I slowly walked down the narrow flight of stairs to the basement. I saw a faded sign in the corner that said,"SPORTS" You know how you suddenly get a good feeling about something. Well,that mood just took over.There in in the corner on a shelf were a row of books and magazines.They looked like they'd been there since the store opened. Like a kid in a candy store forgetting to breathe I saw more than I expected.
!. Biography of Julio Cesar Chavez,autographed by Chavez
2.First editon of the Baseball Register 1941,hardcover.
3,Henry Armstriong's autobiography,Gloves ,Glory,And God,autographed by Armstrong.
4.Bob Considine's bio of Jack dempsey,Dempsey,autographed by Considine and Dempsey.
6.Under a pile of papers a cutout from a Police Gazette of Jack Johnson with his signature at the bottom.
The Johnson piece really hit me. I brought the five items to the counter wearing my best poker face. There were no price tags on anything so I was ready to bargain P.T. Barnum style.
"Find what you were looking for?"asked the clerk.
"Yeh,"I think I'll go with this for now."I said pretty indifferently."What's the damage?"
The clerk spread the five items on the counter in front of him like they were just any old things.
"How about 25 for everything?"he posed.
"That sounds fair,"I said like he just told me the sun was out outside.
"We'll be closing the store in a few months,"he said as he put my stuff in a black plastiv bag.
"I'll be sure to be back,"I said.
"Well we'll see you then.I'm sorry there was so much dust down there. Let me know when you're coming back. I'll have the place cleaned up real good."












The Baseball Register and the Chavez book I sold.

And Then It Was Over

When they began showing the fights on TV on a weekly basis at the Olympic Auditorium you could say they didn't hit the boards running.Dick Enberg and Mickey Davies did the broadcasts.Enberg ,when he was inducted in to West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame standing at the dais making his speech, said they seated the audience together in back of the ring facing the camera so it gave the appearance that the arena was full to capacity. However,things rapidly began to pick up. With promoter Aileen Eaton and matchmaker Don Chargin putting together the weekly cards and having the fortune to have a bundle of talented fighters in the Southland,boxing in the region didn't take a back seat to anywhere else on the globe. George Parnassus was the other big name promoter in town. Both Eaton and Parnassus knew by bringing the Mexican national fighters to the LA venues like the Olympic Auditorium,The LA Sports Arena,The Forum,and if needed for the reeeealy big shows,Dodger Stadium and the LA Coliseum would provide the seats.

When Ruben Olivares conquered Lionel Rose to when the bantamweight title in 1969 it began to set things in motion.Parnassus brought Jose Napoles up from Mexico and, also in 1969,demolished Curtis Cokes to win the welterweight championship. Vicente Saldivar had beaten Sugar Ramos for the featherweight title in 1965,but with the exception of a defense against Raul Rojas in Los Angeles,all of Saldivar's other defenses took place in Mexico.

The local fighters in the LA area began to make their presence felt. Mando Ramos,Bobby Chacon,Alberto Davila,the Quarry brothers Jerry and Mike, Frankie Duarte,Albert Sandoval,Armando Ramos,Carlos Palomino,Paul Gonzalez, Genaro Hernandez,Ernie Lopez,and bro Danny,and another brother combo Rafael and Gabriel Ruelas.There were some notable transplants too:Hedgemon Lewis and Oscar Alborado. I can't think of a longer list of fighters that carried a rep with them that could compare.anywhere else during the late 60's through the early 1980's. The national quality was now richly emanating from the Southland. Madison Square Garden,except for the heavyweights,couldn't match up with the scraps that were going on at The Olympic.

But with time the aforementioned fighters gave way to father time.They lost their titles.They fell from contention. The crowds at The Olympic were beginning to dwindle.Instead of the steady diet of weekly shows ,the promotions staged fights only when there was an interest. Aileen Eaton stepped down because of health issues .Her son Mike took over and had to supplement the bookings with wrestling and rock concerts. In the mid 80's the lights went out. There was a reprise in the early 90's,but boxing was basically on the pay no mind list. In 2005 The Olympic Auditorium was converted into The Glory Church Of Jesus Christ-a Korean American Christian Church.


Los Angeles still has some big fights. The Staples Center,the StubHub Center in Carson,and sometimes the Forum provide the settings. A few years ago I traveled up to The Forum to watch Roman Gonzalez fight the Mexican Carlos Cuadras It was a good fight,but something was lacking. The fans were different. They didn't seem to be the aficianados-the people who could name you every Mexican fighter whoever laced up the gloves and fought in every arena between Sacramento and Mexico City. Instead of electricity in the air,the Forum felt like prickly heat. No firecrackers,no dead snakes,no bloody women's underpants being slung around ringside.


Maybe the LA fans today only go back as far as De LaHoya. The Mexican fighter ,if he's worth the money,can be found throwing leather in Las Vegas today. Then there is The Staples Center or the StubHub to provide for the reeealy big fights.. But The Olympic, with its stucco walls,the wooden seats,the low rafters,the big mural of Bert Colima above the front door,now that has a ring to it-a boxing ring.



Aileen Eaton

The Clean Fighter

I remember when the "clean" fighter was a popular fighter. But today, in retrospect, we go back and dig up all we can about a fighter, who was condidered a role model of sorts,and reveal every little sordid event is his eventful past. Each flaw is like a gem of information that's communicated to the world to show that this guy isn't all that he was hyped up to be. He needs to be dropped by a composed left hook so that once on the mat we can hover over him like one of Jack Dempsey's victims and slug him again as he tries to arise.In this day and age the juiciest piece of gossip concerns who's sleeping with who .But these revelations often amplify his popularity. It's "good" publicity!

Jack Johnson:Now if he had behaved like Langford or Gans when interacting with the opposite sex maybe the public could have swallowed him without experiencing acid reflux. But Jack made no secrets about his trophies.
How about Joe Louis? His team told him to stay away from white women,but he certainly couldn't refuse Lana Turner's and Sonja Henie's advances.
Marciano had an appetite for women that made his mouth water more than his mother's marinara sauce.
Clay/Ali certainly had the girls in and out of his hotel room night after night while he was in training for a fight. Maybe that was part of building up his stamina,or diminishing it.
Mike Tyson's overactive hormones landed him a stint iin jail.

But all these escapades seem to add a certain macho flair to the image.Of course with The Women's Movement on their soapboxes non stop a fighter, or any man that strays, is no good. I can't deny how they feel as being unfair. A man doesn't want his wife cheating on him so why would a wife condone any hanky panky from her spouse?

Now if the philanderer applies his fists to the scenario that's a definite no no. But that's not only Gloria Steinhem's opinion and mine,but a belief shared by the majority. However, Ray Robinson and his foil Jake LaMotta practiced a few left hooks on their better halves.And we can't say enough good things about those two. Books,movies,documentaries,paying for autographs,standing next to them for a snapshot,,and Hall of Fame inductions comprise the package. That stuff like adultery and assault and battery is left to the wife if she wants to go to court. Oh,she'll win in a court of law,but strangely that often enhances the accused's appeal with other females. Because Iron Mike KO'd Robin Givins didn't make him a pariah with all the rest of the girls that asked him for something more than just his autograph.

For the multitudes of Walter Mitty's in the world,when it comes to dreaming about the epitome of the athlete,the boxer,especailly the pinnacle of being the heavyweight champion of the world, is the dream that spins inside most minds. So Walter,ask yourself. Would you want to be the heavyweight champ if the deal included various flings and an occasional smack in the face to a disgruntled wife?



A "Raging Bull"




I don't know Jake. Looking at this picture I think she could beat you up.

Shooting Fish In A Barrel

When I first logged on to BoxRec way back when, or it at least seemed so(almost 12 years go),I jumped around from thread to thread putting in my two cents.There was a lot of give and take.I didn't want to appear compulsive in the sense that my opinion was the one engraved in stone. But I wanted to come off as an unseen burning bush. I knew what I was posting was the truth and anyone who didn't see it my way...well I might try to defend myself backpeddling,but if that maneuver didn't turn the trick,I'd just jump to another thread and throw out my chest. Then Brian Higgins began a new thread titled Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez. The posts came coming in from pretty knowledgeable guys:Rick Farris,Frank Baltazar,Randy De La O,Dan Hanley,Chuck Johnston,Bennie,Rodolfo Gonzalez,Hap Navarro,Armando Muniz just to name a few. I felt that I had found a niche. I also felt I could bring something to the table. We pretty much were all on the same page with our views and similarities The life experiences that we shared about the boxing community in the Southland,I thought ,was very interesting and fresh. The comments were articulate,insightful,and often laced with levity and street style lingo that was reminiscent of a classic style of boxing script.

Eventually, the editors changed the topic from the Ernie Lopez heading to what it is now,Classic American West Coast Boxing. It was a good move because we were now bridging out from Indian Red(that began happening soon after Brian Higgins initial post)to sharing anecdotes about not only boxing,but what the Southland was all about when we were a lot younger kicking up our heels. Music,food,cars,barrios,and females would crop up from time to time as additional food for fodder on the thread. We pretty much stayed away from politics.The usual gang was bouncing stuff off each other on a daily basis. Rick Farris and Frank Baltazar were affiliated with several boxing organizations in Los Angeles and when they threw a shin dig,we'd rendezvous at old haunts like Steven' Steakhouse located in The City Of Industry outside LA. Then the fun and games would begin.The wives sometimes would come along and like good "boxing" better halves would let the men boast and brag and tell a sordid story or two.


But like anything that seemed so positive(at least from where I was sitting)a couple of negatives upset my applecart.A new poster popped up on the scene who after a short period began trying to play the regulars off on each other. It was a divide and conquer strategy that I think was his mantra. He was a lawyer who seemed to spend all day trying to get under everyone's skin on the internet instead of doing his Perry Mason thing in a courtroom. Well,when he got around to me he started sandbagging me pretty hard. He was chumming bait,but I wouldn't bite. I tried to stay away from him ,but because, I think ,I wouldn't get into a pissing contest just intensified his efforts. So after one of his sarcastic replies to one of my posts I left BoxRec.For two years I never banged out another word on the keyboard.Once in awhile I'd peek at the old thred. I could see he was pot- shotting at some of the other posters. They argued back. He seemed to relish that. I was glad that I didn't take that course.

After a few years though,I got the itch again. My nemesis had disappeared from the thread(and so had some of the old guard).I came back guns blazing. I'd get mostly good replies and a few not so good. I should have taken the "anti" criticisms more to heart. "They" couldn't be right and it was a one shot response anyway. Mostly to do with "the way" I wrote about something.I wasn't getting followed around so I sluffed it off. But then one day I saw that I had a couple of PM's waiting for me.I opened them up,and in turn it opened my mind to the errors of my ways.

Each message was from a son of two of two fighters I had often talked about on the thread. The sons said said that they felt I had taken liberties with their fathers. They weren't raging mad like they wanted to kill me,but because they were so rational,yet seriously concerened,I could sense they were hurt by what I had written. I immediately apologized. I didn't want to defend myself. i didn't do that because they were on solid footing. I was standing on feet of clay.

I went back to what I had written. I winced as read line by line. There were so many low blows that I would have been sent to my corner if it had been a sanctioned match. I thought of the guy that used to follow me around the thread and snipe at me with his glib sarcastic gibes. He thought he was clever,even funny. I couldn't stand him.I said to myself I'd never stoop so low. But then I got the wake up call from those sons.It was like Alec Guiness in that movie Bridge on The River Kwai when he's so cionvinced that building that railroad bridge for the Japanese is the right thing to do,and then when he sees William Holden scrambling through the river,dagger in hand wanting to kill him,in order to detonate the explosives to blow up the bridge the misguided colonel suddenly realizes the truth.
"What have I done?" are his final words as he collapses on the handle igniting the dynamite blowing up the bridge

After re reading back on the stuff I thought was so good,I began falling on my literary sword so to speak The slick fast talking rhetoric poured out without any forethought. it was just important to get attention with smugness. I guess I had it coming. Like they say,"I needed to hear that."Those fighters' sons provided the voice.


So now I rewrite those themes without the sarcasm. More important,there's no need to hurt anyone. Boxing can be cruel enough. The sport hasn't changed much. It's the synonym for the word "unforgiving." But if you think that fighters wind up in that barrel with all those fish that's an easy target for the guy holding the gun,don't pul the trigger.There's no sport in that.





Boxing Authorities(after a few drinks)

Brian Higgins,Dan Hanley,Randy De La O,me,Ed Hernandez

World Boxing Hall Of Fame, Marriott Hotel ,Los Angeles 2010

It Could Be Worse

"So Renzo you like the fights? You know boxing."I asked the old Italian sitting at the table with my wife and I outside the Hotel Barbato in the Secondigliano neighborhood in Naples.
"The boxing?Yeh,I like the boxing but we don't have too much in Naples. Roma,Milan .More boxing there,"he answered after sipping his espresso.
Every morning my wife and I would walk downstairs from the hotel and sit at a table and have a nice slice of lemon cake and a coffee Americano. Renzo would come outside from the counter inside the hotel's cafe and sit with us while his daughter would take over inside waiting on customers. Renzo had that distinguished bravado look that most Italian men carry. He was thick chested.His hair had a whitish color thinning, but he kept it short now because there wasn't enough to comb it straight back like had done when he was younger. A cherubic face sporting a fleshy nose that showed confidence but veiled a blasé cynicism.,a glint in the eye. Those light blue eyes could look right through you so it was no good to try to put one by him. His hands were smooth and clean,the fingers looking like cannolis.Every thought ended with a wry observation.Though he saw the world as somrthing fatal there was always something that would make you laugh at it so you shouldn't take life too seriously.
"Were you a big fan of Benvenuti?"I asked him.
"Benvenuti.Sure.When he was champion all of Italy loved Benvenuti.But when Monzon beat him the first time we were praying that he would come back.But the second time it was even worse. I guess we didn't pray hard enough."
"His corner threw in the towel,"I said.
"They saw that he was scared of Monzon.After that we gave up on Benvenuti. You know when you are afraid of someone the only way you can beat him is with shotgun. I think that's against the rules."
"Benvenuti talks all the time of his fights with Emile Griffith,"I said.
"When he beat Griffith he had all of Italy at his feet. After Monzon...well we got up off our knees."
"You ever like the Italian /American fighters?"
"Marciano,LaMotta,Basilio. There were my favorites. We wanted them to come here but after the war nothing was happening.Italy didn't even have a stable government. We wanted to eat.Not watch boxing matches.Now that Italy is in better shape we have no fighters worth mentioning."
"How about Carnera?"
"I don't remember him. I was not born yet but he was the heavyweight champion."
"They say the mafia controlled him,"I said.
"You call it mafia.We have the camorra.Once they get their hooks in you have to go along or..."he said holding out his arms looking up at the sky.
"My grandfather was born in Acerra. He came to Chicago and ran things. He was number one in the mafia in Chicago.Al Caponi worked for him for awhile."
"And I bet Caponi killed your grandfather,"said Renzo with a sly grin.
"How did you know?"
"That's not too difficult. If you want to be on the top you kill the guy on top of you. That shows everyone that you're tough."
"I guess you get respect that way."
"Fear is more important than respect.You respect your mother and father but they aren't Dons."
"Yeh.I guess you're right."
"This neighborhood is controlled by the camorra. It's always been that way.It's something you live with."
"I like this neighborhood. It seams real."
"You've only been here a week. The people who live here don't see the charm anymore."
"Today we're going to Capri. Tomorrow we'll go on a tour of the Amalfi Coast."
"Enjoy. I haven't been to Capri in twenty years. I can't remember the last time I went to Amalfi.It was when my sister and her husband came from New York to visit."
Renzo finished his espresso with a quick swig.
"Signora,"he said to my wife."How did you choose this hotel?We don't see many tourists in this part of the city."
"My husband pick this place," answered my wife finishing the last forkful of her lemon cake.
"I saw it on line,"I cut in."It was close to the airport. I'm glad I picked this hotel. The people are friendly and the pizza is the best I've ever eaten."
"You can't find a restaurant in this neighborhood that has bad pizza,"said Enzo.
"They wouldn't last long if they did,"I said.
"They wouldn't worry about the camorra.They just wouldn't make any money. That's what the camorra looks at. If your business is good though you have to take them in as a partner.If you refuse...well they might burn the place down."
"That's too bad,"I said.
"It could be worse,"said Enzo."If the camorra has your back at least you don't have to worry about buying fire insurance."



Renzo


Segundigliano in Naples

Boxing And The King Of Rock N Roll

When President Donald Trump Awarded Elvis Presley The Medal Of Freedom,America's highest civilian honor, posthumously,there was some flap in the press that Elvis symbolized something racist. Washington Post culture critic Chris Richards called Trump's pick"a little nod to the good old days back when black visionaries could invent Rock N Roll,but only a white man could become king." Richards ranted on saying the hip hop generation had been slighted.He cited Public Enemy's anger in "Fight The Power" quoting Chuck D ,"Elvis was a hero to most but never meant s--t to me." If we're to take Richard's logic seriously then anyone awarded the Medal Of Freedom that is white before the era of hip hop was a veiled racist? Before the backlash of Trump picking Elvis,I never thought Elvis,his music nor his public life, ever connotated even a thread of racism.But if the rebukers are just talking about the "era" ,then any white person who was breathing back then was condoning,whether he knew it or not, racism.Sure there was plenty of that around,but to be found guilty of racism on that kind of circumstantial evidence I find ludicrousWhen Elvis finally finished his movie obligations and wanted to tour with his group,Elvis picked black women to be his backup singers.This Richards would probably find fault with that(."See,Elvis used black women as BACKUPS,Richards would most likely would have put the girls on the stage in front of Elvis )When Muhammad Ali came to San Diego to take on Ken Norton,Ali was wearing a robe designed by Presley that read on the back"Muhammad Ali-The Peoples Champion." Ali,the epitome of Black Power of his times,thought Elvis was cool.

But let's face it,the criticisms had nothing to do with Elvis nor the era when he sang his songs. Donald Trump picked Elvis so there's something inherently wrong. I remember when Jerry Quarry emulated Elvis .He combed his hair with that waterfall on the front of his forehead and grew the long sideburns like Presley.No one ever hinted that Quarry was a racist. So I've given you examples of two fighters:one a black man,the other a white man.They didn't politicize their embracing of Elvis,and neither did the public,black nor white.When I hear rhetoric spouting from a flannel mouth like a Chris Richards,I'll paraphrase Chuck D,"...don't mean s--t to me."

Now if you want to criticize Elvis' artistic attempt at being a fighter in the movie Kid Galahad,there' a lot of ground to attack. You know Elvis was a good looking heartthrob with the girls,but when he took his shirt off(and didn't look at his face)you would have thought that Charles Atlas would have kicked sand in his face,or maybe it was Chris Richards.



Elvis

Another thing that bothered Chris Richards was that Presley had been dead for 30 years.(whatever he meant by that is anyone's guess)But Chrissy boy you're lucky Elvis isn't alive, If he was and heard what you had to say about him he'd do more than just kick sand in your face.

No Gain With Pain

Gary Young,,the former amateur heavyweight that I used to workout with in the 70's,wanted to get together for lunch. Our paths recrossed several years ago when I discovered that he was working part time at the gym where I had just joined. This was a pleasant surprise to say the least. The gym is located at the public park run by the City Parks And Recreation Department in Ocean Beach. The facility is comprised of ballfields,tennis courts,and the gym. I hadn't seen Gary more than a few times in the last 40 years.Once in awhile I'd see him at the swap meet,sometimes at the beach riding his bike.But now that I knew he was working at the gym we could re establish our relationship. Gary and I had retired from the school district.He was keeping busy working at the gym.He didn't need the money. Gary was still lifing the weights at a good pace. I had slowed down a lot because of the pain in my hips. We used to workout together at Vic's Ocean Beach Gym on Newport Street.At one time Gary held the record for the deadlift.I think he had pulled up 760 pounds.


Gary wanted to get together for lunch at a local spot that was very popular in Ocean Beach named Nati's. It was a Mexican reataurant that had been in business since 1960. I remember when it opened.It immediately became very popular with the locals. The guy who bought the place out in the 80's was a classmate of mine from high school. He didn't change the menu or the décor.Nati's did a hell of a business,but the owner,my fellow classmate, was getting tired of overseeing everything. He wanted to retire to his winter home in Idaho and hunt animals.The insides were showing its wear and tear.The wallpaper was peeling.The countertops needed a good coat of varnish ,Some of the ceiling tiles were cracked.So he sold the place to some guy who has plans into tranforming the restaurant into one of these trendy bars that serve OK food but specialize in every craft beer imaginable and all the hard liquors that are laced with cough syrup. To tell the truth I never cared for Nati's as a Mexican restaurant. The food was made for the gringo taste buds.The salsa tasted like tomato soup. The beef tacos had ground meat inside. And instead of getting tortillas on the side,you got served crackers.If you wanted tortillas they gave you these paper thin wafers that you can buy packaged in cellophane that they sell at Vons. The irony was all the help in the kitchen were Mexicans. Some had worked at Nati's since the place opened,but I can count on one hand all the Mexicans I ever saw eating in the place.

I arrived at Nati's before Gary . I told the waitress that I was expecting a friend and to come back a little later. When Gary walked in I saw he was with someone.
"Roger,I want you to meet my friend Dr. Ross Muller. You don't mind if he eats with us?"
"Of course not,"I answered as I got up to shake his hand.
Gary's friend looked around 20 years younger than Gary and I.He looked in good shape.
"Roger," said Gary continuing,"Ross is treating me for that skin condition."I just left his office and invited him to have lunch with us."
The waitress saw that the others had arrived and came over to take our orders. I played it safe and ordered a crispy quesadilla and an iced tea.Gary and his friend went with the rolled tacos and a Coke.
"Gary tells me that you used to workout together at the old 32nd Street Naval Gym."
"That's right. When Gary was still in the amateurs I'd try to give him a good sparring session."
"Gary says you had a good right hand."
"Yeh,the only problem was I never landed it too often."
Gary smiled at me after I said that.
"I knew that I wasn't going to be no fighter,"I said. "Besides,I get headaches afterwards."
"I'm treating an ex fighter now that's going through dementia,"said the doctor."He's only 40 years old."
"I'm seeing more fighters getting dementia earlier and more often than I did when I was fighting,"commented Gary.
"I've got the same impression,"I added."What do you think doc?"
"Well,I don't know. He's the first fighter that is one of my patients."
"Anything particular about him?"I asked.
"He told me that he used a lot of painkillers legal and not legal when fighting."
"You think that had something to do with it?"
"Put it this way ,"said the doc. "If you're numb to pain and get punched in the head you don't feel the blow, I want to say normally.The threshold is very high because of the painkiller. But just the same the brain is getting slammed into the back of the skull."
"Just before I quit fighting I started to see a lot of fighters getting juiced up before a match,"interceded Gary.
"The guy I'm treating is going down pretty fast."
"I'm on a boxing forum,"I said."There's a topic about a fighter who has been in over 200 fights and lost all but a handful. He's been KO'd over thirty times."
"They let these guys fight every week and he goes out there and takes a beating."said Gary.
"They fight all over the states and in other countries. They get these fighters on drugs that the commissions in these far away places don't check on.It's like doping horses ,but worse."I said.
"All the shots and pills they give these guys is the only way they can keep pushing them out there,"said Gary.
"Sounds like boxing needs some stricter controls,"said the doc.
"Anyone involved handling a fighter who gets beat like a drum fight after fight is got to be the lowest,"I said.
"It sounds pretty sad,"said the doc."To tell the truth I've never been a fan of boxing."
Me and Gary said nothng.
"Well,I see waitress is coming over with our food,"said the doc.
I was beginning to lose my appetite.
"Gary says the food here is great,"said the doc lo king at the waitress juggling the plates in her arms.
"I wouldn't know how to describe it,"I said.

A Game Of Chess

To say that Muhammad Ali wasn't very popular in Mexico during his fighting career,or even looking today at his legacy,would be at most a moot point. While in San Diego finishing his training for his fight with Ken Norton in San Diego there was a scheduled exhibition in Tijuana,I believe at the Municipal Auditorium.There were posters in Spanish and English nailed on street posts all over the city announcing Ali to spar with his coterie of stablemates Alonzo Johnson.Billy Daniels,and Sonny Banks. I grabbed a few of those posters as keepsakes,but for some reason I never kept them in my possession. One I know I gave to one of the kids that was on the CETYs football team that I was coaching down there.When the memorabilia craze took off I wished that I hadn't lost track of those posters. And there were others. When Napoles,Olivares,Davey Moore,Saldivar,Chavez,and Ray Robinson ,to name just a few, went to battle in Tijuana I remember seeing posters strewn around one end of the city to the other. I never had the foresight to think that a fight poster would have any monetary value later. But maybe that's why I drive a Hyundai instead of a Rolls Royce.

I used to dabble playing chess. With the group I played chess with I'd say I was a fair piece mover. To become really good playing chess you have that foresight I was talking about,a vision to plan ahead.But the fellas I played chess with were more or less on a par with the mediocre like myself. The opening moves are basic enough,then in the middle game your mettle is tested,and then when the endgame arrives the men are separated from the boys. But after the opening moves our peer group didn't exhibit any flair in the middle game and when the endgame was reached it was usually the guy who still had his queen who make the other give up.

I couldn't find those places now. It was so long ago. I'd go to Tijuana and play chess with the old men in some of the bars that were off in the side streets downtown.They were obscure places. Local hangouts.Hole in the wall joints,small and uncrowded. No whores or loud music. There'd be a table always in the back where a game of chess was being played.The boards were old and beat up. Sometimes pieces would be missing so a bottle cap or a matchbook cover would serve as a substitute. I never got the brush off when I wanted a game. The old guys that played chess in those bars with the painted signs outside on the wall and the cement floors inside were players of no remarkable skill. In fact I was a better player,at least on paper. Their opening moves were unconventional,but they thought that perhaps their unorthodox playing displayed a certain cleverness. Seeing the weakness I'd rush to a strong start winning more pieces than my opponent.But I'd always fall into a mood of overconfidence. I'd move a piece too fast thinking a victory was just around the corner,instead making a bonehead play that would cost me my queen and eventually I'd tip over my king and concede.Maybe their rashness in the beginning was a ruse to lure me into a state of foolhardiness.I never won a game playing with those old men in those bars in Tijuana.

One time I remember I was in the midst of a chess game with this old fellow,I think it was in the Venus Bar,when he brought up the scheduled workout of Muhammad Ali at the Municipal Auditorium.
"I see Muhammad Ali is coming to Tijuana to show off,"he said studying the board. It was my move,but when he made the remark about Ali,I lost my concentration.
"Yeah,isn't that something. I've been watching him train in San Diego."
The old man was still looking at the board when he went on about Ali.
"Well if he brags down here he'll get what's coming to him,"
The old guy was missing a few teeth in front. His dirty corduroy coat was too big for his scrawny frame. Iron gray hairs hung out from his nose and ears like a badge of honor. His cheeks were sunken and his dark eyes receded below his bushy brows. When he talked his voice was all gargly.He was wearing a hat that looked like he found it in the street.
"I take it that you don't like Ali."
"He's in for a surprise if he comes down here with all his talk about how pretty he is."
"Most of that is an act ",I said wanting to placate things.
"Not going into the army.Who does he think he is? I hope they throw him in jail."
"That's over with,"I said."He won his case in court."
"That's because those n----r Muslims had the money.I don't see why you gringos think he's such a big deal."
"He's very popular with Americans. He's going to fight Norton who's from San Diego,but the crowd will be for Ali."
"I'll wait when he comes down to Tijuana.They'll have him running out of town."
I didn't feel like continuing with a back and forth about Ali.
"Who's move is it?"I asked the old man still studying the board.
"It's yours,"he answered.
I took a look at the board and moved out my last pawn. Then just as quickly he swooped in with his bishop and took my queen.
" I wasn't paying attention ," I said."Looks like the game is over."
"You want to play another?"asked the old man."I'll buy you a beer."
"Thanks but I've got to get across the border."
"The I'll see you next time,"said the old man as he stood up.

I left the bar thinking about what the old guy had said about Muhammad Ali. Ali pulled out of that exhibition in Tijuana. Maybe he sensed it would backfire in his face. it wasn't because he was black. Joe Louis was very popular in Mexico. He fought an exhibition with Godoy in Mexico City. Marciano had refereed a championship fight in Mexicali.And then there was the time I saw Archie Moore get a standing ovation at the bullring before the Olivares fight. Ruben got a good hand when introduced but everyone was sitting down applauding.. But those guys never went around saying they were pretty and they served their country. I went back to San Diego thinking that I better concentrate more the next time I played a game off chess in Tijuana


It was probably a good idea that Ali didn't go down to Tijuana to fight that exhibition

The End Of Prime Time

Muhammad Ali's last fight, before his forced hiatus from the sport because of his problems with the Selective Service, was his title defense against Zora Folley at Madison Square Garden in 1967. The fight was televised live.it was one sided .Ali was at his peak then. We didn't know what was in store for him after that fight.The Vietnam War was reaching the boiling point. If you think that the country is divided now,take a look back then(if you were around) and it was either the camp of "No Viet Cong Ever Called Me N----R" or "America-Love It Or Leave It." Ali was not going to Vietnam to fire a gun in anger against no Viet Cong..He could have done what Joe Louis did:enlist in the army when he got his draft notice and fight exhibition matches stateside,even defend his title like Joe did against Buddy Baer and Abe Simon.But Ali was caught up with the Nation Of Islam espousing their rhetoric of black men having to fight a war for their country only to return to America and have to use a public restroom and sit on a toilet seat that no white man's rear end had ever touched. By defying the draft and going to court,Ali lost out on a lot of money. There was a good chance of him winding up in Leavenworth.I don't know how strong his principles were at that time,but living in jail might have given him second thoughts about sparring some platoon's gunny sergeant at Fort Bragg.Besides Ali's income dwindling,his physical talents were also ebbing,but I don't think he sensed it. He was The Greatest even when he was orating at college campuses..


Ali in his glory days, before he left us for more than three years,was the fastest heavyweight that ever stepped into the ring.He was a 200 pound Willie Pep. After Zora Folley succumbed to Ali's ring wizardry Zora was more than willing to describe what had happened to him in the Garden in 1967.

"The right hands that Ali hit me with had no business landing-but they did.They came from nowhere.Many times he was in the wrong position but he hit me anyway...I've never seen anyone that could do that.The knockdown punch was so fast I never saw it...He's smart.The trickiest fighter I've ever seen.He had 29 fights and fought like he had a hundred.He could write a book on boxing and everyone should be made to read it first...There's no way to train yourself for what he does.,The speed,the punches .Just when you think you've got him figured out he changes his style.."

It's the Ali who was in the ring with Zora folley that we always wanted to see in those hypothetical matchups that are bounced around boxing forums. What would have happened if that dude Ali ala 1967 would have fought the Fraziers,Nortons,Holmeses,and all the other big men that he labored with after the comeback? And then all the past all time greats from Johnson through what we have out there today.Joshua,Wilder,Kiltschko. Getting back to Zora Folley.Let him tell it.

"...how could Dempsey,Tunney ,any of them kept up?Louis wouldn't have a chance. He was too slow.Marciano would never get past his jab...And Patterson the guy with superspeed hands couldn't match Ali and stood there getting punched to pieces."


That's why when I see the give and take about Ali's fights with the men he met on the rebound,all the controversial decisions thrown in,I think to myself how differently those outcomes would have turned out against the Ali that dazzled Zora Foley in the Garden.


Zora Folley

The Oldest Ruse In The Book

Sam Cooke was friends with Muhammad Ali.Sam Cooke was friends with Malcolm X. I just finished watching on Netflix "The Two Killings Of Sam Cooke".I liked it and I didn't. The producers wanted to slant the conspiracy theory that Sam Cooke was set up and the government, involving the LA cops and the FBI, were behind his killing.

The documentary expresses the thought that Sam Cooke wanted to be more than a ballad and soul singer.He also wished to send a message in his songs about inequality and injustices Black people were experiencing during the early 60's,especially in the South where The Klan and Jim Crow weren't going to concede without a bloody battle. The Civil War was not over. The South was going to rise again.

Well,Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali belonged to a sect,The Nation Of Islam,that certainly had middle class White America staying awake at night. Sam Cooke didn't join the club. If the shadow government wanted someone out of the way-especially a Black person that upset the status quo and pointed the finger at Whitey as the reason for their disenfranchisement,Sam Cooke wouldn't have made the spin doctors' Top 40 chart.

Martin Luther King,Malcolm X,and Medgar Evers were prominent Civil Rights activists of the day that were killed by assassins bullets. They were very influential men in the Black community,and their ideas were also being embraced in college campuses.The media,musicians,writers,,Hollywood,and White politicians like Bobby Kennedy and George McGovern were locking arms with The Cause.And the heavyweight champ ,after making Sonny Liston spit out his mouthpiece sitting on his stool,changed his name the next day to something unChristian.

But like any new movement,eventually there's a division in the ranks-a power struggle. Who's going to be the leader? Stokley?Eldridge?Malcolm?Martin?Elijah Muhammad?Or Muhammad Ali? I don't see Sam Cooke with those people.He didn't speak at rallies and protest marches. The cops never beat him up and threw him in jail.His song "A Change Is Gonna' Come"is valid,but the words aren't angry words. After Cooke's death Muhammad Ali was coerced to turn his back on his pal Malcolm X who had parted ways with Elijah Muhammad and the Nation Of Islam forming a new sect named the Muslim Mosque.

I liked "The Two Killings Of Sam Cooke" when they traveled through Sam Cooke's upbringing,his introduction to popular music,and his fast rise with the music loving public. He was Ali's favorite singer.After the first Liston fight, while Clay is being interviewed in the ring,Cassius asks Cooke,who was at ringside, to come up and join him in the celebration.

The ending of "The Two Killings Of Sam Cooke" was edited to make it look like there was a plot to kill him. Watch this documentary and decide for yourself,but i ain't buying this conspiracy theory.First of all it's admitted by Cooke's wife that he was a womanizer.Second,the night of his death,he's with his pals drinking it up in a bar that let's anyone in and he's flashing a roll of 5 grand..He hooks up with some doll who's by herself,and later it's determined that she's a hooker. This is nothing out of the ordinary.She doesn't have to ask him twice to go to a place where these kinds of romantic encounters have a happy ending..Turned out this Garden Of Eden was a 3 dollar a night motel in Watts. Ok. Miss Hips For Sale calls up her pimp and the gal working the desk at the motel to alert them that she'll be there with Mr. 5 g's.They get in the room and do what comes first -she lets him take his pants off,but instead of taking off her clothes she grabs his pants and throws them out the window with the 5 thousand dollars in the pocket to her boyfriend.They probably rehearsed that routine more than Abbot and Costello practiced "Who's On First?" Now Cooke sees that he's been set up and he's gonna' make sure a change is gonna' come.He wants his money back. He storms out to the front desk where the desk clerk, who's also in on everything,and attacks her figuring she is going to split the 5 thousand with the other two..But this crew was prepared for everything .The desk clerk just happens to have a friend by the name of Smith and Wesson in the top drawer.So gets off three rounds into Sam Cooke.That's what the inquiry decided what happened that night and I agree. What happened to Sam Cooke that night has been going on since Eve told Adam that an apple a day will keep the doctor away. It's one of the oldest ruses in the book. I should know. It happened to me that way once except I didn't have 6 thousand dollars in my pants pocket and I'm alive to tell you about it.


Malcolm X

A Change Is Gonna' Come(When You Make It Happen)

Sometimes i wonder if the people who have left their mark on the world reflect,pause,and think that maybe it wasn't such a big deal after all. I've never taken much stock with the "markers" that in their twilght pronounce that they have "no regrets" or "If I had to do it all over again I wouldn't change a thing." Yesterday, I made some comments about the Netflix documentary "The Two Killings Of Sam Cooke." There's an interesting piece of Muhammad Ali and Sam Cooke in a recording studio singing a song together. It's very endearing to see the two friends ,who had great admiration for each other ,go through their little number. I could see how women would see that clip and lose their hearts with those two. I'm sure Ali would have never traded those moments for anything.It wasn't a big fight.it wasn't his day in court. He wasn't holding the Olympic torch on the pedastal in Los Angeles. He was singing a song with his pal.Both were absorbed with each other sharing an impromptu good time.


Muhammad Ali tried to keep it going for as long as possible until the night Larry Holmes almost killed him in the ring. I think Holmes was more afraid than Ali that night.arry kept motioning to the ref to stop the massacre. Holmes later said that he threw every5thing he had behind his punches in order to knock Ali out or make him quit. Muhammad did neither,and to not lose face,joked with Holmes waving his glove at him to bring it on and shaking his head like "is that as hard as you can hit?"Everyone in Ali's corner was looking at each other,then the Muslims in the audience told Angelo to not push him out there again.Bundini Brown was upset,I think the rest of the world was relieved.

But Ali's ego wasn't beat out of him that night against Larry Holmes.He would have died on his feet ,but his heart would have still been beating.He didn't want to go out a loser so he had another fight.I was glad when Trevor Berbick beat him. I think if Ali had won,he would have taken another pause,and gone in there again. In fact even after the Berbick fight,Muhammad was talking about making a comeback and being a four time heavyweight champ. But his body was disintegrating. His brain was too,but that was the part of the brain that controlled his motor skills. His thought processes were intact. In fact he was as intuitive as ever.

With his physical ailments began wane there began to emerge a wisdom,a sagacity that was humble,embracing,yet private. When Bundini Brown used to refer to Ali as a prophet when he was beating up everybody in the ring,finally in the championship rounds we focused in Ali something more than boxing titles.
I think back about Ali's greatest ring accomplishment when he beat Foreman in Zaire. An Ali who was the underdog,past his prime, his camp fearing for his safety. But Ali didn't bring a mask with him like Floyd did when he fought Liston. Ali stepped off the plane in Africa and wondered if the massive crowd was there to welcome him or cast him to the lions. The bigness of the multitude should have tipped him off.They were shouting something that he didn't understand.When he realized that that the words had to do with him dispatching Foreman into finality,he understood that there was something greater than being a great boxer. When Foreman flew into town with his angry dogs on chains,the ground crew was about all there was in attendance.

When Ali's muscles and bones were fragmenting to the point that we ,who had remebered how he was in his prime,a perfectly tuned fighting machine unlike any big man that had ever stepped into the ring,wanted to turn our heads.But Ali looked at us with an unwavering eye. What was in his heart was stronger than ever. He was at peace. His wife,Lonnie,said that her husband had come to terms with his past.His past had taken him to this point in his life. He was looking forward to going to heaven. He wasn't afraid.


There was no more anger.There was no more name calling.There was no more White and Black. What stayed were the songs he sang with Sam Cooke,the babies he held up and kissed in Zaire in those villages that he ran through doing his roadwork with all the little kids trailing behind.The time he came home to Louisville and said to a freckled face little girl that she was "pretty." Many years later when his prime time was over they married. Lonnie,that little girl,didn't care about championships. That was the first time anyone had said she was "pretty."Ali could live that way of life now.He didn't worry about winning fights in the ring anymore.. He had put the trophies in storage and brought out his heart.






Sam Cooke
A Change Is Gonna' Come.

My painting of a fighter with his hand on the top rope won 1st place at the San Diego Art Institute amateur competition last night. Hurrah for me

Pictures At An Exhibition

"I like your painting,"said the little old lady wearing the spectacles gazing up at my painting that was hung on the wall."What is it?"
"Thank you .It's a fighter's hand on the top ring rope."
The little old lady gave me a puzzled look. She was very small with her shoulders bent forward and had a round compact face underlining pale green eyes. A dollop of a nose stood out above her purple painted thin mouth, her iron gray hair long and straight down her back.There was nothing ringing in her voice.She had on one of those granny dresses that reminded me of what the hippie generation wore during the culture revolution.Clumsy gaudy rings were on each of her fingers.
"What kind of fighter?" She asked still with a queried look.
"A boxer.A man that fights professionally,"I answered.
"How interesting,"she said."I'm fond of black and white images."
"I like to use colors but sometimes I can express more with just black and white especially if the subject is more suitable. It's kind of like film noir."
"That's very interesting,"she said now smiling."Do you belong to the art institute?"
"Off and on,"I answered."I just rejoined a month ago.This is my third time.How about yourself?"
"Oh ,I've been a member for over 30 years."
"Did you enter a painting?"
"Yes.It's over on that wall,"she answered pointing to the wall just to the left as you walked down the stairs entering the gallery."I'll show it to you."
"That would be very nice,"I said.
The little old lady walked to where her picture was on the wall.Then she pointed it out.
"You did that?"I asked taken aback.
"Why yes. I finished it a month ago.The painting was of a big white shark with a bloody seal in its mouth. The shark had thrashed out of the water with the ravaged seal in its jaws. The seal's blood was mixed with the spray of the water.The shark's eyes were rolled in the back of his head.
"That's amazing,"I said."Is it oil?"
"Oil and acrylic.",she said gaping at her painting.
"You're very good," i honestly said."I think your painting deserved an award too."
"Oh,I won last month. I've won many times,"she said settling down and turning towards me.
"I won a ribbon two years ago,"I said. "It's the only other time I won anything."
"What was your painting about?"
"Another fighter,"I answered."Ever hear of Joe Louis?"
"No.No,I haven't. I don't follow the sport."
"I used to enter all the time,but when I thought I had a good painting I never won. I got discouraged after awhile."
"I'll let you in on something,"said the old lady drawing nearer to me."If you volunteer here a lot they'll recognize your works.I'm here almost everyday.If they don't award me ribbons they'll think I'll quit.If you want ribbons volunteer a lot."
"Thanks for the heads up,"I said.
The old lady then put her hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye.
"I remember Joe Louis,"she said. He was the fella'that beat Schmeling. We were all were sitting around the radio listening that night.I was just a little girl. Louis beat him in the first round."
"I thought yiou said you didn't like boxing?"
"I didn't say that I didn't 'like' boxing.I just don't keep up with it."
We began walking back to where my painting was on the wall.
"Are you going to try again next month?"she asked.
"No.I don't have anything worthwhile. How about you?"
"I think I'll enter my painting of Jack The Ripper dissecting one of his victims.I'll be sure to do a lot of volunteering next month."
"I'll be here to see that one for sure."


Joe Louis
The first time I won a ribbon around two years ago

Behind The Wheel And In Front Of The Spotlight

When Burke Emery was alive and had his bar,he didn't talk much about boxing. Hardly nothing about his career nor the vocations of other fighters. Often a customer ,usually after imbibing more than he could handle to stay sober,would come up wearing a smug glow on his face to Burke,usually when he was engrossed in his favorite pastime of dart throwing, and ask him a question that he had no intention of recognizing,but only to interject his mundane two cents worth. It would go something like this...
"Burke, Who do you think was the best fighter who ever lived?"
"Sugar Ray Robinson was pretty good,"Burke would answer without giving it much thought as he tossed a dart at the target.
"Well,I think Rocky Marciano was the best blah blah blah and so on."
Everyone in the bar would then have to listen to this ersatz expert go on and on why he definitely had the answer to his own question.No one in the bar would care what the blowhard had to say,least of all Burke.When this genius would finally finish Burke would smile at him and throw another missile.

One afternoon I was sitting at the end of the bar when I overheard Burke talking to a customer.
"I'll never ride in a car again when Archie Moore is at the wheel,"said Burke has he pulled his darts from the target. "I went with him up to Los Angeles and I don't think he went slower than 90 miles per hour and tailgating everybody in the fast lane and honking the horn.. If he had been driving a better car he would have been going over a hundred all the way."

I remember others that had been passengers with in a car with Archie at the helm say similar things about his driving..They all said that they'd never ride with him again.

I heard Moore once talk about his "alleged" heart murmur that was diagnosed in the 1940's.He was at a banquet as a guest speaker honoring local high school coaches in San Diego. This was in the early 90's. He told the audience that before one of his fights that the doctor detected a bad valve in his heart. The commission pulled his license.. He said he went to another rwo doctors that concurred with the diagnonsis. But Moore told the us that night that he was convinced that the doctors who had examined him were wrong. He said he finally found a doctor that told him that his electrolytes weren't balanced properly and were making his heart skip around erratically. Moore went on to say that the doctor put him on a special diet that in time got his ticker syncopated perfectly again. Archie didn't go into the what was in that special diet,but after he got the OK from the commission to fight again he was back on his way to a future title.

Let me say that Archie Moore was noted for accommodating someone who posed a question to him. if he thought someone was asking a rhetorical question he had enough stored in his brain to offer an enchanting reply that would leave the asker believing that he had just sat down with Aristotle. While Archie was on his quest for a title shot he shared company with the other great Black Murderers Row combatants. Having the gift of being a pugilistic Mark Twain didn't sit well that peer group. They someimes thought that Moore was too wrapped up with the role of fighter/entertainer/philosopher. Later,after he retired from boxing and had his Any Boy Can Club that past image faded with those old Black fighters and was embraced as a sincere patron for underdog youth. But he was still the foremost showman considered by the boxing world. - the personification of wit and charm. But then came along a guy who had just won the Gold in Rome. When Moore brought Cassius Clay to his training facility in Ramona ,California The Mongoose had met his match. Not only would Cassius Clay have no tolerance to wash Moore's dirty dishes,later he would stand over him in the ring in Los Angeles.

Archie Moore was always hoping that some day Cassius Clay(now Muhammad Ali) would face someone that would take him down a peg. Frazier was that fighter.But neither Joe Frazier,Ken Norton,nor Larry Holmes,who had won in the ring over Ali ever overshadowed him in the eyes of the world.

It surprised me to hear Archie Moore say once in an interview that Ali had done more for putting boxing in an international perspective than any other fighter who had ever lived. But then Moore had to get in a last shot...
"Before our fight in LA when the referee brought us to center ribng to give instructions I wanted to slap his face."

OK Arch. I don't think that quip will go down in history with the paragons of philosophy.


Archie Moore

The Belle Of The Ball

I sometimes could never figure out my friend Dennis.In high school we used to run around together a lot.He was a tough kid.I think he was German extraction. He was born in Chicago like me ,but he grew up on the northside while I was in the dago neighborhood. that was centered around Taylor Street.Dennis was always game to try anything. He didn't shy away from a fight,but he didn't go around with a chip on his shoulder either. He didn't say much .I'd say he was kind of a below average student only because school never interested him much. He had a medium build and height and was solid,fair skin,light brown hair that he combed straight back.His hazel eyes didn't betray anything unless he was going to duke it out with someone or if somebody slipped on a banana peel and then he'd burst out laughing.Dennis would be standing alone not saying nothing but would be shrugging his shoulders and squinching his mouth like he was going through something in his mind.But what I couldn't figure out about Dennis was that he had a girlfriend named Rita that I would describe as looking like the proverbial bombshell. I mean she was booming everywhere.She was put together like a Marilyn Monroe but didn't have that floozy,dumb blond aura about her. She was quiet and I'd say even a bit shy. She wasn't the social climbing cheerleader type. She didn't belong to any social clubs. She was a good student and wanted to go to secretarial school after graduating.She was totally devoted to Dennis and didn't seem to have many friends,at least not in high school. She seemed older than the other girls. The other girls were mostly bratty and cute. Rita was beautiful.She was always worried about Dennis because she was hoping to marry him some day,but was concerned that Dennis wasn't focused on anything particular. He didn't show any interests in anything. He wasn't a jock. Like I said he was a fair student.He had no hobbies. He palled around the guys that were like him-they didn't care about what came next.

Here's the thing that always got me about Dennis. He knew he always had a date with Rita every weekend,but if me or some of the guys would go over to his house and ask him if he wanted to go with us to Tijuana,let's say,to kick up our heels,Dennis would pick up the phone and break his date wit Rita. It wasn't that Rita wasn't putting out for Dennis.If she wasn't putting out for Dennis he would have dumped her in the beginning. Sometimes I'd hear him on the phone breaking the date with Rita. The conversation was short,no emotion,no hysterics on her part. He never told her that we were all going down to Tijuana,but she had an inkling. She never had a showdown with him ,at least he never told me about any problems with the relationship. I think Rita saw his indifference as part of his larger view of the world as being kind of hum drum. He had that attitude like the song,"is That All There Is(To The Circus)?"

Well it was a Saturday night I believe. Dennis was waiting for me to pick him up at his house to go to Tijuana. Dennis lived with his father His mother got rheumatic fever shortly after he was born and the disease had weakened her heart so that the doctors told her she would be at risk to have anymore children.. I remember when Dennis's mother died during his freshman year in high school. Her weak heart gave out suddenly.She was gone like that.Dennis's father was taken aback by that. He never shied away from a drink or two,but since his wife's death he became more fond of the bottle. Dennis's old man was a crusty sort. He told me that he had worked in Gary,Indiana in the steel mills instead of finishing school. He said that Tony Zale and him were pals and it was Zale who he had met in the mills that got him interested in becoming a fighter.Dennis's dad said that he was an amateur fighter and had won a Golden Gloves title in Chicago. He said he fought Fritzie Zivic once. He didn't say if he won or lost. I presume if he'd beaten Zivic he would have told me about it.When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor he married his sweetheart from the neighborhood right away and then went off to join the Navy. He was at Okinawa on a cruiser when the Kamikazes started aiming their planes at every ship floating on the water.After the war he got his discharge in San Diego and settled here with his wife and went to work at one of the defense plants.

When Dennis came to the door that night he said that he needed to go back to his room .He had forgotten his wallet. He asked me inside to wait in the living room.
"Look,my old man has got a snootfull going so don't get him started,"he said.
"Why would I want to get him started?"
"He's watching Lawrence Welk. That's his favorite program. Don't kid him about it."
Dennis went to his room.I slowly walked into the living room where I saw Dennis's old man sitting in an old cloth chair watching the TV. A iron floor lamp with a tobacco stained lampshade cast a feeble glow on where he was sitting. An ashtray full of crushed butts that needed to be emptied was on a small wooden table next to him.Also on the table was a fifth of Old Taylor bourbon. The bottle was half empty.A water tumbler half full of bourbon was next to the fifth.
"You gonna' sit down or just stand there?" he asked, his eyes glued to the TV, one of those big box Sylvania's with all the gas tubes inside the back.
Dennis's old man was wearing a frayed white T shirt and a pair of wrinkled denim pants .He was in his stocking feet. His scuffed up work shoes were next to the chair.
"Dennis just went back to his room to get his wallet,"I said.
The old guy looked like an ex pug,square jawed,the fighter's nose.coarse hair unkempt.I could see he had a few teeth missing in front. His skin was rough and he showed a bristly cauliflower ear,
"So where are you two off to tonight?"he asked in rough voice.
"Just around,"I meekly replied.
"I bet you two wind up in Tijuana. Well,don't let those girls pick your pockets with one hand while they play with your dicks with the other."
I just dummied up. I looked at the TV. There was Lawrence Welk. His show was still in black and white. He started to say what his band was going to play next in his thick German accent.
"Now a ladies and a gentlemen we are going to play next for you a very nice number by the composer Leroy Anderson.The name is"The Belle Of The Ball".
He then turned to the orchestra holding his baton. and began tapping his foot.
"A one and a two a..."
And then the upbeat and the orchestra kicked off the song.
"Hey,I'm ready to go ,"shouted Dennis as he popped into the living room.
"Shut up!Can't you see I'm watching this,"scolded Dennis's old man.
Dennis gave me a nod to walk towards the door. As we were walking I heard his old man mumbling.
"The belle of the ball. That's what she was.The prettiest thing that ever lived."
I turned my head before leaving. I saw Dennis's father pour more bourbon into the water tumbler.



Fritzie Zivic


The Belle Of The Ball by Leroy Anderson

Fast Exit

When the discussion of the best of the featherweight fighters crops up,the usual fighters are brought to mind:Pep,Saddler,Sanchez,McGovern,Jofre,Saldivar,and Kid Chocolate.Floyd and Manny dabbled in the division leaving their marks before adding weight to snare bigger game. One guy that I think should get more lip service when the feathers are bantered around is Davey Moore. My father took me down to Tijuana to see Moore fight a very popular Mexican,Kid Irapuato,in the old downtown bullring. Actually, my father wanted to see the fight because he was taking an interest in Irapuato. My father had said to me that he wanted to manage Irapuato.

Irapuato was a very talented fighter,a slick boxer with a fluid style,knew a lot of tricks. The thing that worked against him though was that he wasn't the most dedicated of pugilists. He was a good looking guy and liked the ladies as much as he did frequenting the cantinas-a bad mix to throw in with a training regimen. The part of being that macho man was embraced by the kid born in Irapuato,Mexico. He adopted the name of his hometown. His real name was Pazuengo. Let's face it.Irapuato has a better ring to it than Pazuengo.besides Irapuato sounds more macho.My father and I were attending a fight at the Fronton Palacio one night and Irapuato was there at the bar. My father introduced me to him and his senorita. He was a good looker like I said and he ran with it.Wavy black hair,dark looks,and a smile that could melt hearts.

The night Irapuato fought Moore in Tijuana was the first of two encounters. Irapuato had just scored two in a row over Ricardo Moreno and Don Johnson.The Tijuaneros were keeping their fingers crossed. But Moore was no slouch. Since winning the freatherweight title from Hogan Kid Bassey the previous year he was on a roll except for a bump in the road when he was stopped by a hot Carlos Hernandez in Carlos's backyard in Venezuela. That was one of the things that always imressed me about Davey Moore. He didn't really have a home base. He was always in some other guy's hometown in front of a hostile crowd.But that didn't deter him. He had put a lot of good notches on his gun fighting in places far away from where he grew up in Springfield,Ohio. Lauro Salas,Bassey for a second time,Moreno,Kazuo Takayama,and Danny Valdez to name some had tasted Moore's leather.


The fight with Moore was a non title go,but that didn't keep the aficianados away. There wasn't an empty seat in the bleachers. Before I go on, when you think of a bullring you might think of a large round stucco or concrete structure.Tijuana's downtown bullring was constructed with metal pipes crisscrossing back and forth,bleachers like you'd see at an antiquated high school football field.. Sometimes the crowd would work itself into a frenzy during a fight. The whole structure would begin to sway side to side. It was a miracle the thing never collapsed onto itself. Finally,in the 90's they tore the bullring down because they thought it was a safety hazard. They should have put the place to rest a lot sooner.I have to say that I'd never gotten a taste of what a real worked up Mexican fight crowd was like until my first presence at the plaza de toros. My father acted like he was in his element. I stayed close to him. I was 12 years old and felt I was in a Mexican jail except that all the prisoners had been given a pass to attend the fights that night. Snakes were being thrown around ringside(that's where my and my dad were sitting.He never wanted to sit in the nosebleed seats).A size 42 woman's underpants with a big blood stained crotch was unfurled and could be seen being flung from one side of the ring to the other. Those little strings of firecrackers were going off repeatedly like it was the signal for Pancho Villa to charge,All the while the Tijuana cops are taking it in stride like it was another day in the park. The dust on the bullring's floor was being stirred up slowly wafting through the ringside seats like an eerie cloud. The smell of Mexican beer was a reminder that senses were being dulled and accentuated simultaneously.


Kid Irapuato entered the ring first.The crowd and the mariachis ,everything erupted ,cheering and whistling,the music like their local hero would finally put an end to this gringo negrito who had been cutting a swath through the Mexican featherweight division.Then Moore walked down to the ring with his cornermen. I swear,if I saw ten other Americans in that arena that night I think they tried their damnedest to try to blend in and look like a Mexican. The Mexicans certainly didn't shy away from yelling out to Moore and his team what they thought,"Pinchi n----r!.Chinga tu pinchi madre!" They really hated the guy. No respect whatsoever.Davey Moore was sort of a surly guy. It wasn't that he had anything against Mexicans(I don't know.Maybe he did) but he would always be in there with the local hero with a crowd that wanted to crucify him. I have to say this about him.Being black and fighting in front of a Mexican crowd,especially in Mexico,was practically putting your life in their hands.

When the opening bell rang Moore bolted out of his corner. He knew he had to establish something strong with The Kid. Show the playboy who was boss.Irapuato wanted to box,but Moore was all over him.Irapuato couldn't keep him off with his jab.Moore would wade in throwing hard shots through Irapuato's gloves.. You could tell after the mid way point Irapuato wanted no more of Moore. The only thing that kept it from being a stoppage was that Irapuato made the clinches. That just fired the crowd up even more. Clinching is against Mexican boxing rules. Clinching,in the eyes of the crowd signifies cowardness,and their guy was doing the holding.When the final bell rang,I knew even with Mexico having the bad rap for hometown decisions,that Moore would have his hand raised. If Irapuato had fought him toe to toe he probably would have looked up watching the ref count ten over him .It would have sat better with the crowd.

Well the scoring was moot to say the least.The referee went over to Moore and grabbed his glove. Then all hell broke loose. Bottles ,chairs,snakes,underpants, cherry bombs,and small drunk people were being hurled into the ring. Moore went to his corner and tried to cover up with his people. Then a couple of big Mexicans surged through the ropes.I think I saw a knife. The Mexican cops were reading the papers. Moore then jumped out of the ring with his entourage close behind and sprinted through the melee towards the exit. He still had on his gloves and his robe that was covering his head. As he bolted for the exit the incoming missiles crashed all around him.,some crashing on his robe. The next day I read in the paper that Moore and his corner had flagged a taxi and made a straight run to the U.S. border.

My father and I ,after checking for any personal injuries,got up and started for the exit. I was hoping that we had enough Latino blood in us not to draw the wrath of the Mexicans. We got in the car unscathed. I then turned to my dad.
"Well,what did you think about all that?"I asked ,my heart still pounding.
"I don't think I want to manage Irapuato any,"he said casually. "He doesn't train hard enough."


Davey Moore

So Easy To Remember,So Hard To Forget

"That fight was in the LA Coliseum,"I said to Burke.
"No it wasn't.It was at Dodger Stadium. I know cause I was there that night."
This was before Burke Emery had bought the bar with his girlfriend Shirley. The bar wasn't called Champs then.Burke re named the place after he and Shirley bought it.The bar had an Irish name,I can't recall right now. Something like O'Rileys or O'Leary's.I know there was a "O" at the beginning of the name. Burke was a bartender then. He had the day shift.At five when his shift was over he'd swing himself over to the other side of the bar and join the rest of the gang.When I was discussing the Davey Moore/Sugar Ramos fight with him,Burke had about an hour to go before he'd switch sides.
"I remember watching the replay on TV."I said.
"The gal I took to the fights that night said she'd never watch another boxing match again when she found out later that Moore died."
Burke was training fighters at the time when he tending bar. He had had his own gym in North Park but couldn't make a go of it. The fighters that were coming in were stealing all his equipment.But it was funny. He didn't hold any grudges when he talked about it.Said he couldn't blame them.That most of the fighters were poor Mexican kids that didn't have any money to buy there own gear so they walked out with Burke's stuff. I figured Burke had probably had swiped a headgear or two when he was scuffling in the gyms in Montreal starting out.
"Wasn't Carlos Ortiz on the card that night?"I asked.
"No,but Emile Griffith and Luis Rodriguez fought.I hadn't been in San Diego long. I was keeping my eye open for something."
"That fight took a mental toll on Ramos."
"He had killed a fighter earlier in his career,"said Burke.
"Where was this?"
"When he was still in Cuba."
"Sugar Ramos was the favorite in that one,"I said.
"No.It was the other way around. I should know I had a hundred dollars on Moore at 2 to 1."
"I remember Dick Young didn't have to work too hard that night.Both those guys slugged it out pretty good."
"Georgie Latka was the ref that night."
"One thing I'll never forget was watching the interview with Moore after the fight on the television when I saw the replay."
"What did he say?"
"Well he was naturally disappointed.Dissapointed mostly with himself."
"He was all right?"
"Yeah. You couldn't tell anything out of the ordinary was wrong. He looked tired,nothing unusual, but said he would get him the next time in the rematch."
"Isn't that somethin'?"
"When I was looking at that replay no one knew that he'd collapse a little later in the dressing room and never wake up."
"That's somethin' alright."
"Even today I think of that interview with Moore in the ring talking about getting him in the rematch.Gives me the creeps."
"Well,"said Burke as he grabbed a towel and began wiping the counter,"You shouldn't think of it then."

Sugar Ramos