BoxRec

Looking Out For Number One

Walking around in Tijuana,I've spoken to some people regarding the upcoming exhibition November 22 with former champion Julio Cesar Chavez against Jorge "Travieso" Arce at Tijuana's Municipal Auditorium.. The match is to help raise money for former champion Jose Luis Castillo's son,Christian,who was badly injured in a sparring session and taken to the hospital for emergency surgery. Castillo will also be in a exhibition match that night.

The concern with some of the aficianados is that they don't want to see their idol,Chavez,who's considered the greatest boxing product to ever have emerged from Mexico,wind up hurt. Arce ,also a former champion,is not that far removed from fighting.He hung up his gloves in 2014. Granted, he was a bantamweight,but like most retired pugs,he's gained a "few" pounds, so when both men step into the ring it won't look like David and Goliath. But if you think of "Travieso" as David,the fans down South don't want to see their pride and joy Julio get wounded,let alone get killed. The worry surprised me a little.

When Oscar De La Hoya was hot as a firecracker on his way up the ladder,he defeated Chavez twice,both fights ending early. Chavez got bloodied.He took a lot of punishment. The Mexican fans didn't like what they saw. Instead of De La Hoya winning them over ,he drove a wedge between himself and Mexico's boxing following. De La Hoya never fought in Mexico,and although he stumbled in big fights against non Mexicans like Trinidad,Hopkins,Pacquiao,and Mayweather,he never lost a fight to a Mexican national or a Chicano for that matter.

Most of the fights on the card on the 22nd will be exhibition matches.I've never been one for those types of shows:old timer games,old timer fights,old timer anything,etc. I want to remember those greats when they were razor sharp and on top of their game.

I guess all of us,who wade into their 70's,remember when our bodies were in prime shape;when we thought we were industructable;could come back after all night partying and pick up where we left off the next day. Or the times when I could drink a fifth of tequila and still have plenty left in me to f--k my brains out all night long. I'm glad Julio Cesar Chavez isn't going to try to screw Jorge Arce.I wouldn't want to see him on life support.



Julio Cesar Chavez

40 Fights And A Career

I always saw Denny Moyer in the gym. He was either working out inside the San Diego Coliseum or he was at his manager's,Sid Flaherty's, training camp in the foothills of east San Diego County. Flaherty had a small stable of fighters in town.San Diego was kind of an intermediary between Los Angeles and Tijuana.Fighters were either on their way up,or on their way down.San Diego was the fulcrum. Moyer arrived from Portland in the late 1980's. He'd had over a hundred fights by then. He'd faced them all in the welterweight and junior middleweight divisions during a time in the 50's and 60's when those categories were teeming with talent. In 1959 he lost his first fight and a bid to dethrone welterweight champion Don Jordan.Moyer experienced what it was like to fight the likes of Benny Paret,Emile Griffith,Jorge Fernandez,Charley Scott,Joey Archer,Jorge Fernandez,Tony DeMarco,Ralph Dupas,and the great Sugar Ray Robinson. He won the junior middleweight crown from Joey Giambra in 1962,and again the same crown against Stan Harrington when the title was up for grabs.I heard him say one time that Luis Rodriguez was the best fighter he ever fought.

Flaherty sent for Moyer not only to book him matches in the Southland,but for him to keep an eye on another one of Sid's fighter's ,Ronnie Wilson.He was showing a lot of promise at the time. Sid thought that Moyer would be like a big brother mentor and take him under his wing. One of the grounds for the move was also that Ronnie was beginning to grow fond of the grape. Maybe Denny would have some good words of advice to straighten out Denny's ship.But it was like pouring gasoline on the fire. Moyer just found another drinking buddy that's all.

Flaherty never handled Wilson the right way. He fought him too much.He was in there just about every week fighting the same old stiffs he had already beaten before.Ronnie was also prone to cuts.Flaherty wouldn't let him have enough time to heal the wounds properly. He'd fight too soon,it was only a matter of a round or two when he'd be bleeding all over the canvas. But Ronnie wanted to fight.Fighting was his meal ticket. The more fights,the easier he could pay the bills. Moyer was on the same path.His championship aspirations we long gone by the time he landed in San Diego.. He did most of his fighting at the Silver Slipper in Vegas.
"I always know I can clear fifteen hundred at the Slipper,"he'd always say.

But though both these boys were stumbling along,they knew they wouldn't be able to continue if their boxing skills waned. That's why they were always in the gym. At times hungover,but they were in there none the less.I heard Moyer say once that if he missed a coupe of weeks going to the gym,his timing would e off.Moyer and Wilson used to spar together a lot. I always watched them mix it up when I had the chance. Both boys were beautiful boxers. They moved their feet,could pick off punches,knew how to work the jab,saw openings,and knew how to fight out of trouble. Neither was a great puncher. Both were bleeders.Their careers would have been more noteworthy if they weren't prone to those maladies,but that was something that they couldn't do anything about.You'e either blessed with a punch or you're cursed by having tissue paper skin.But anyway I loved to see them work out together. They weren't trying to knock each other's brains out. They wanted to stay sharp that's all. It was all business.And when the session ended few words were exchanged.

Danny Rodriguez was Denny's trainer,but I never heard Rodriguez give Moyer a lecture on the finer skills of fighting. Same with Wilson.There wasn't any teaching,mostly supervising.Boxing isn't like a team sport where you devise a game plan;you change your manner . A fighter has his style comprised of his strengths and weak points. He'll figure out how to utilize what he has to execute to try to win.Back then a good fighter had all the tools at his disposal. If he knew he had to go downstairs to be effective,then he would launch his hooks to the body. If his opponent led with his chin ,then he'd work upstairs.A fighter had to know how to adjust.

Moyer commented that time about Luis Rodriguez.I saw Luis train in San Diego for his fight with Rafa Gutierrez.When Luis sparred it was all on automatic,second nature. He was fluid,in command.He knew exactly what he wanted to work on and what he demanded from his sparring partners. Angelo Dundee arrived the last two weeks of camp,but all I saw Angelo do was talk to the reporters.

Jose Napoles was training at the police gym in Tijuana before his fight with Herbie Lee.A year later Jose would be the welterweight champion.The gym was between the jail and the fire station on 8th Street downtown. There was a big crowd to see Jose train that afternoon. It was only a week away from fight night so Jose was winding everything down. I recognized Jose's trainer, Kid Rapidez, wearing his butcher's cap,but the Cuban was mostly resting his arms on the top of the ring ropes appearing oblivious.But to see Napoles spar was enthralling. He never used more oomph than he had to.If he knew his shot was going to miss he'd pulled it back and calmly reset himself. He saw everything in front of him. His anticipation acute. Even at the very end of his career Jose could see everything his opponent wanted to offer.(even through his bloodied eyes).To add to his aura everything was presented with that stoic big tomcat mustached head. People were spellbound. However,when the workout was over,Jose would break out into a joyful embracing macho ambiance that made the Mexican public want him for one of their own.

I also saw Muhammad Ali train in San Diego for the Norton fight.Again Dundee was around. But who was going to tell Ali how to fight?Ali's sparring consisted of the other guy taking his swings at him unreturned while Muhammad just sagged against the ropes,his arms protecting his sides. The crowds came to see him floating and stinging,but all they got was a 101 lesson on how to implement the "rope a dope."

Moyer,Wilson,Rodriguez,Napoles,Ali-these guys had forgot more about boxing than half these fighters today ,with these "phantom" title belts, have stored between their ears.Today,it's 40 fights and call it a career. So be it. If a guy like Mayweather can fight twice a year and walk out with 50 million,more power to him.


Denny Moyer

An Inaccurate Comparision

Archie Moore could talk your ears off if he knew you were anxious to listen. He had a frame of reference about a multitude of subjects.You could ask him the time ,and then he'd tell you how they built the watch. He was well read,he liked to go to the movies,was a world traveler,observed history and politics,and most of all was an intense student of music. Jazz was his meat. He played the upright bass,and even traveled with the saxophonist Lucky Thompson's quartet. Ezzard Charles also fancied himself as a jazz bass player. Don't ask me who was better.I never heard Archie or Ezzard pluck the strings. Though Archie's alter ego wanted him to jump ship to the bandstand,he knew that playing till dawn in smoky clubs,drinking and doing drugs,and eating roadhouse food would be too much to risk if he wanted to continue being a fighter. Besides,what money black musicians made playing in front of white people was even less than fighting in front of them.

I've talked about the time I bumped into Archie Moore at Huffman's barbeque joint on Imperial Avenue in Logan Heights. I was yearning for some barbeque and in the hood,Huffman's was the "stick." There was Archie sitting alone messing up a stack of pork ribs. He caught me out of the corner of his eye and asked me to join him. I could tell he was keen to strike up a conversation with me because I knew what he wanted to talk about-jazz. Oh,he'd talk boxing with fighters,but I was no fighter. I'd helped him one summer at his ABC Boys Club after I got off work at the school.I knew He loved jazz so when I was wrapping a kid's hands one afternoon I brought up the jazz subject.

Like I said,Archie was a walking encyclopedia. To prick his balloon all I had to say was,"What's new in the jazz scene?" Now Archie had the charm,especially if you were a worthy listener,to let you offer an opinion or two,but then he'd retake the lead and homily you so your head was spinning. He wasn't necessarily arrogant. His buoyancy and enthusiasm made me think I was sitting across from the "burning bush."But I'll tell you this. Most fighters thought he talked too much,too self absorbed.

He talked that day of what he thought about jazz being ignored and not appreciated,and especially not given its proper due by black people. We were both nuts about the music of Charlie Parker. If you were today to ask a black person about Charlie Parker,you'd probably get a blank stare. Parker was a genius,who mostly was held in the highest esteem by fellow musicians. Even country western artists were aware of what Charlie Parker brought the listener's' ears.

You can hear a musician ,and though his playing may be sensational,you can trace what he was doing back to someone else. Parker was a genesis head whose sounds from his alto were connected somewhere in the cosmos. You couldn't talk jazz with Archie Moore without the name of Charlie Parker trumping all the other music makers.
"It was a shame he didn't get the recognition.when he was alive,"I said.
"Musicians know who he is,"said Moore.
"You put on one of his records in mixed company and they're turned off.They don't get it."
"You have to concentrate at first,but then it hits you and it never leaves.All the others are just aping."
"Too many musicians try to copy him but they don't have the genius.,"I said.
"It really hurts jazz when they scuffle like that."
"There's a lot of crap out there."
"I don't listen much to what the new cats are doing,"said Archie.
"It's kind of what you went through before you got shot at the title."
"Now hold on a minute.I left my mark,but I was no Charlie Parker."


Charlie Parker

The Last Fight

I want to clear something up I said yesterday about how some fighters thought Archie Moore "talked too much." I need to clarify some things. Whenever I saw Archie Moore(which wasn't too often)I loved to observe him. When I said that fighters thought he was a little long winded,it was mostly the black fighters who didn't want to be sermonized. But with that in mind,he didn't carry on like,preaching, with black fighters.When I'd see him out in public in the neighborhood he was more just himself.

Archie Moore liked attention and he knew what ilk was prone to gravitating to hear his discourses. Reporters were standing in line. We had a local scribe by the name of Jack Murphy who was the chief sportswriter for the San Diego Murphy had a pretty big following. Him and Archie were close. If you go on line you can find some very personal and inciteful articles about Moore. The syndicated writers Dick Schaap and Larry Merchant kept up a correspondence with the Mongoose. I remember one time watching a fight on TV ,Merchant brought up Archie Moore and some of the memories they shared.They wrote letters back and forth. Archie used to like to write letters to his followers. While Merchant was recalling some of the anecdotes of the letter writings,he began to break down. Here,Larry Merchant,who I always thought of as kind of insensitive and arrogant,was fighting back the tears.

A few years ago Archie Moore was inducted into the West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame. One of the presenters was former fighter John "The Ice Man" Scully.I was always under the impression that he was one of the young kids who worked out at Archie Moore's ABC Boys Club in South East San Diego. However,Scully related that his contact with Moore was with the letter writing. Scully said that he wrote to Moore about advice concerning boxing. Of course this query just opened the door about thoughts on other worldly topics.

When I'd see Archie Moore living his life in the neighborhood,there were no pretenses.Black folk looked at him as one of the regulars. Just about everyone in South East San Diego, during the time of Archie Moore, has an "Archie Moore Story." I've posted some of them here on the forum. When he wasn't philosophizing to a wanna be who just wanted to sit on his lap and gape, he was still personable and full of charm,just eliminating all the hype.

People of color are different than white people. When Mexicans or blacks assemble and let their hair down,it turns into a
"black thing" or a Mexican"thing." for a moment or two.That's when I step back and let them do their "thing." So many white people were brought up to think that they have slighted people of color in this country that when they are with blacks or Mexicans they wind up acting superficial.
"Hey.I like eating collard greens" or "Jennifer Lopez is really hot."
Some whites even break into that "King's Brogue" of speaking to blacks like they're straight outta' Compton.Then on the other hand there are whites that hate blacks for any reason. I've always thought racism is based on sex. That is the male of the species doesn't want another race to screw his women.

When Cassius Clay stood over Archie Moore in Moore's last fight,it was kind of symbolic-the old school negro falling away to the young angry black man.Ex fighters like Moore,Robinson,and Joe Louis were perceived by the young blacks as being something out of a Gone With the Wind movie. Hattie McDaniel had given way to Angela Davis. Archie Moore stepped down from Cassius Clay. The Black Muslims were looking for blacks that wanted to denounce their pasts. Malcolm X was Muhammad Ali's pal.He wasn't looking for Archie Moore,and I don't think Moore wanted to find Malcolm.

So that's the way of the world I guess.The white man is now looked at as the bad guy. Al Sharpton wants to know if the presidential candidates are in favor of "reparations" to blacks because of slavery. I think sometimes about what Archie Moore's take would be on the matter. I'm sure he'd get on that soap box and give you an earful.



Archie Moore's old house today. It's a place for "swingers."

Archie Moore and Ray Huffman,owner of Huffman's Barbeque on Imperial Avenue in Logan Heights. Their doors closed around ten years ago after Ray passed away. The family took over but let things go.





My standard order-Hot links and peach cobbler

A Fat Chance

I was glancing through the thread about ex fighters that have stayed in shape. Interesting. But there was some conjecture. Some quotes from posters: "I bet","probably", Not a lot of names. Mayweather and some of the recent retirees were mentioned. Off the top of my head I can name two guys that joined the boxing gym just to take off weight-Willie Pastrano and Joe Frazier.However, they found a liking with the sport and continued with it to become world champions.

If the question were turned around,let's say,"Fighters who let themselves go after retirement",the thread would turn into a tome. I've been around enough fighters ,and I've never heard them say that they took up boxing for health purposes. Not to get in shape. Not to be the baddest ass. They fought because they wanted to be the champ,make a ton of money,and it was easier than working some job for bum pay. When it was all said and done,they didn't enter triathlons,

It's plain and simple.If you think you've got the goods ,you have to be in top condition to be a fighter.You might wind up being a wash,or you could be wearing the crown. But if you don't train like the devil,you might as well punch that pedestrian time clock.

I've known fighters that liked to go to the gym.I said "liked",not "loved." Most fighters know that the training comes with the territory. The ones that cut corners wind up in Palookaville.Archie Moore said that old fighters get lazy. They get tired of putting their bodies through the grind.They think the guile they've acquired with boxing over the years will make them prevail.I very seldom heard any fighter talk about proper nutrition. There was never any consideration to hire a nutritionist,personal strength trainers,a kinesiologist.You had a trainer who mostly made sure you stayed on task(which was an impossibility with a lot of the boys) and a manager who got you the fights.

Most fighters lived the double standard. They knew they had to get up in the morning and do their roadwork,go to the gym and do the drill, workout with their sparring partners,and get plenty of rest. On the other hand,there's truckloads of fighters that have a propensity for wine, women, and song;and the new ball breaker,drugs.If they joined these lifestyles when training you better go to your bookie and bet on the other guy.

Because of the Spartan life of being an honest fighter, he must endure the sacrifices.,Once a fight or the career is put behind, the sad truth is "now I'm going to go absolutely ape." The word "denial" is not in the vocabulary.When I read the other day about what happened to Errol Spence,I got to thinking that he couldn't wait to let go after his fight with porter. But like I said before,if we had to list the fighters who self destructed in the aftermath of their ring battles ,we'd run out of ink.

When I was coaching football at the local high school ,one of the coaches was a guy named George Dickson. He was an old salty cuss. He was the backfield coach under Vince Lombardi when he was with the Washington Redskins that one year. I heard Dickson say once about his take on fighters.
"Hell," he growled."If they didn't fight they'd all be in jail and have syphilis."
Perhaps an exaggeration ,but food for thought non the less.









Two of my favorite spots to put on the feed bag.Chicago Style Grill featuring Chicago style beef dipped sandwiches,and Kim's Barbeque (Texas Style) serving pork ribs that fall off the stick. If a fighter makes these two eateries places of habit,tell his opponent to work downstairs

A Hard Era

That's what Dan Hanley called it when he commented on my reply to his quote the other day. Boxing around mid century WAS a "Hard Era." Oh,boxing has always been tough,but a fighter back then was in it to put food on his table and live the upscale .He had to fight a lot,and fight good if he still looked forward to getting paid for his services. That isolated world title stood alone atop Mount Olympus.

When Jake LaMotta handed Ray Robinson his first defeat,the two were back at it three weeks later. That ain't happenin' today. The promoters play cat and mouse and don't listen to what the public demands. it took a good ten years before Pacquiao and Mayweather finally showed up in the same ring.Both boys had passed the point of no return. It was an interesting fight,but it was no LaMotta/ Robinson melee. They never faced each other again after that. Imagine Ali and Frazier fighting a rematch three weeks later after their Fight Of the Century?

I used to look at ex war horses like Denny Moyer and Gaspar Ortega(I'll offer these two battlers as examples)and wonder how they approached their steady diet of fighting every few weeks against stiff competition. I never tried to upstage them,step on their lines,second guess them.During the 50's any man worth his mettle weighing between 135 and the middleweight limit knew what it was like to trade leather with each other. Denny Moyer and Gaspar Ortega were familiar with each other. Go ahead and name a good fighter from that time period and it's like playing that game starting with Kevin Bacon and looking at all his movies and who he co starred with and you'll come up with every movie star's name in Hollywood during that time. Back then there was no ducking anyone. The fans expected it,and the managers and promoters put things in order.(Cus D'Amato played games with Patterson and their was public outcry)The fighters wanted to fight each other. They didn't think of trash talking for any hype. If a contender was Number 2,he had his sights on Number 1. Denny Moyer and Gaspar Ortega had more than 300 fights combined. They crisscrossed the world laying it on the line against anyone their managers put on the contract to sign on the dotted line. I never heard Moyer or Ortega name drop a Sugar Ray Robinson or a Luis Rodriguez baiting for a compliment.(And they did fight Ray and Louie).

It's sad to think of all the fighters back then who could have won titles today and raked in the money. But why would Canelo Alvarez fight every three weeks if he pulls in 20 million a fight? When the time comes when he gets a beating,he'll call it a career. He doesn't need to go on anymore. Sometimes they go on,but it's a travesty like what James Toney and Evander Holyfield did. But put that on the fans. They should have turned on an old movie that night instead of watching ghosts of the past. Canelo's last fight will be in Madison Square Garden or the Mandalay Bay. He'll be well off financially.Hopefully he won't get sick later.

When Dan Hanley was talking about that "Hard Era" it was an unforgiving time.Scorsese knew what he was doing when he filmed Raging Bull in black and white. If you lost that big fight in The Garden(and here's where I disagree with Dan some)you went on. But now it was fighting in places like Souix City,Iowa, or Tacoma ,Washington. Why?Because the fans knew those fighters long in the tooth would still turn in a good fight. They still had the rent to pay.After Gaspar Ortega lost in his title bid to Emile Griffith in Los Angeles,"Indio" went back to Mexico where he started and filled those cramped arenas with the locker rooms with the leaky shower heads, the mold crawling up the walls, the plugged up toilets,and those pungent odors.The aficianados went crazy.

But Dan brought up another point-who remembers?Like Dan alluded. Benny Paret? Didn't he get killed in the ring? Charley Scott?He lost a lot of fights didn't he? If you're of that unenlightened group, I'd like to sit down with you,if you have some time, and fill in the gaps.


Benny Paret

Did Huffman ever box? His fist looks huge.

goose 5 wrote: ↑16 Oct 2019, 21:22 Did Huffman ever box? His fist looks huge.

Goose
I don't know if he ever boxed,but I'm sure growing up in that neighborhood he had his share of street fights.

The Inkwell

I remember when I was a kid in the first grade in Catholic school. My desk had an inkwell. We were given fountain pens by the nuns.. I liked to dip the tip of the pen into the well and see the ink fill the nib. I'd press down heavily when writing making the ink splosh onto the paper. The nuns gave us one of those humped shaped blotters to blot what we wrote after finishing our papers. The results of my writing was always a mess. The words were smeared and there was excess ink all over the paper often soaking through the tablet. it was a compulsion I couldn't control. I had this urge to squeeze the ink out of the nib resulting in a messy trail of words. One time we were asked to write about a famous American. I chose Rocky Marciano. Hell,I knew the other kids were going to choose someone like George Washington,Abe Lincoln,or The Pope.(Even though Pope Pius XII wasn't an American he got a pass) I figured if I went with someone different the sisters would appreciate my uniqueness.

I started off writing and sploshing about how Rocky Marciano had just beaten the great Joe Louis and that he would soon become the heavyweight champion of the world.I also stated that Rocky Marciano was Italian and that I was Italian and that the whole Italian neighborhood was very proud of him. Though the Catholic school was in Little Italy,it was a private school and not many Italian families could afford to send their kids there. In fact if, I remember correctly, I was the only dago kid in my class.Most of the other kids were either Bohunks or Poles.

After time was up I passed my paper to the front confidant that the sisters were going to be awed by my effort. Our teacher,Sister Teresita,told us to open our catechism books and read while she graded our papers. After about a half an hour Sister Teresita stood at the front of the class and said she was very impressed with the classes' work with the exception of one. I looked around the room trying to figure who that dunce could have been. Sister Teresita then proceeded to pass back the graded papers. I'd say there were around 20 kids in the class. She called each kid's name to come up and get back their paper. She folded the papers when returning them so the other kids couldn't see anyone else's score. I waited anxiously.It was getting near the end of the roll and my name hadn't been called. I was sure she might be saving the best for last ,and that was me. She'd stop and make a speech telling the others that my paper was exemplary.Well,I was right when she saved my paper for last,but there were no accolades attached.However, there was a short little diatribe before she gave my paper back to me.
"Roger,"Sister Teresita scoffed."Why did you pick Rocky Marciano as being a famous American? He's a prizefighter. Prizefighters are nothing but good for nothing uneducated morons."
I could see the sweat beading on her forehead under her veil.
"My father says that Rocky Marciano is the best fighter in the world and everyone else thinks so too,"I argued.
"I don't care what your father thinks or anyone else,"shouted Sister Teresita."Fighting is anti Catholic.Only God can choose when to fight."
I didn't understand a word she was talking about. She then opened my paper and flung it back to me. It twirled to the floor and everyone could see the big red letter "F" on the front of it.
"And on top of it,"she ranted on,"How come there's ink smears all over your paper? Are you still a kindergartener?"

When I went home I took my paper on Rocky Marciano to show to my father. He looked at it and smiled.
"Well,what the hell do you expect from a woman who goes around saying she's saving her soul for Jesus. Next time write about Al Capone."


Rocky Marciano

Rog, that was hysterical. I think only someone who knew what you went through could laugh about that. And believe me, those repressed nuns gave me hell too.

scartissue wrote: ↑17 Oct 2019, 20:54 Rog, that was hysterical. I think only someone who knew what you went through could laugh about that. And believe me, those repressed nuns gave me hell too.

Dan
I remember in class one day all of a sudden there was this funny smell wafting through the classroom. It kept getting stronger and stronger..It was evident that someone did a poop in his pants. Well,the sister asked who pooped and of course the pooper was too embarrassed to admit it. So the sister made everyone get up and stand next to their desks as she went by bent over, putting her nose in everyone's ass.Well her compulsive detective work uncovered the guilty little lad and she took him to the bathroom and make him put his soiled underpants in his lunch pail. Praise the Lord

Teddy's Plea

Last night I watched on TV the light heavyweight unification bout between Artur Beterbiev and Oleksadr Gvozdyk. They billed the fight as a unification scrap,the first time the 175 title would have a single champion in decades,But then I was thinking where does Sergei Kovalev fit in the mix? Chalk it up to more boxing hype-a Bob Arum extravaganza with all the hyperboles.However,in this day of multitude titles of split poundages ,who cares?I just wanted to see a good fight.Both boys were undefeated.It would be my first time eyeing either one.

The fight was in Philly.Judging the crowd reaction to the ring introduction it seemed that Gvozdyk had most of the crowd behind him. He was the WBC champ. His last defense was in the City Of Brotherly Love so I guess the fans chose him to be the good guy. Beterbiev,who resides in Canada, got most of the boos when Jimmy Lennon called his name. I also was quick to notice that Teddy Atlas was going to work Gvozdyk's corner.

I'd say it was a good fight.Both boys weren't shy to step into each other. Early,Gvozdyk was the better boxer landing more often setting a good pace. Beterbiev looked like he was cut from a limestone quarry. His chiseled hairy frame ambled and stalked Gvozdyk,but seldom could Beterviev land anything telling with his clubbing hacks. It was apparant from the outset though that Beterbiev was the stronger of the two. He kept coming forward robotically hoping to eventually break down Gvozdyk. And as the fight progressed that scenario was beginning to unfold.

After each round Gvozdyk returned to his corner , sat on his stool heaving looking more and more drained,forming a face of dismay. It didn't look like he was going to last,let alone rally a comeback.With that aura emanating,that's when Teddy Atlas began to rev up his patented adrenaline diatribes. I sensed a Teddy Atlas patented pep talk. Until Gvozdyk started to fade,Atlas was mostly professing boxing strategy. But all the advice meant little because Gvozfyk was tiring and Beterbiev,discerning the near swoon,kept plodding and clubbing like a pissed off Godzilla. All of Beterbiev's wins were of the KO variety. If this kid can ever learn the basics of balance in order to get more leverage on his punches,he might be up there for a very long time. Anyway,by this time Gvozdyk's mindset was looking for a way out. The announcers,the crowd,and Teddy Atlas you could tell shared this eerie feeling. So hear comes Teddy opening up with all his Freudian ranting.

Atlas's passion was focused on the subjective-namely what do you have inside your soul that you can bring to the table to suppress the tidal wave. Your manhood is on the line. Your worth as a human being is being tested. Teddy was wound up like a George Patton on steroids. Arms flailing,gyrating up and down on his toes,,spit slobbering from his mouth,Teddy was firing on all cylinders. But the more he raved,Gvozdyk just slumped down on his stool,eyes watering, responding with a weak "Yes sir". I was just hoping nothing bad was going to happen to this kid like what happened to Patrick Day last week.

I was hoping that Atlas would tell the referee his charge had had enough. No.Teddy still was Lord Nelson at Trafalgar,but instead of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat,Gvozdyk's mast was below the waterline.The gusts from Beterbiev's misses were enough to send Gvozdyk to the canvas enough times that the referee waved off the onslaught

Teddy Atlas's dramatics reminded me of the time he was in Michael Moorer's corner the night Moorer was stopped by Evander Holyfield. That night Moorer looked like he didn't want to be in there. He was listless.He quickly put himself out of any contention. Teddy was going crazy. He stole the show in what was a lackluster fight. it was again more of the gut check test of are you a man kind of rhetoric.At one time increasing the rpm's Atlas wouldn't let Moore back to his corner because he wasn't responding to his Charge Of The Light Brigade. I was thinking maybe that Teddy and Moorer would get into it.I think Moorer wanted to fight Teddy more than his desire to engage Evander.

The bottom line is if two fighters are trading shots in of those ebb and flow knockdown drag out wars(ala Ward/Gatti)then the excitement in the corner is apropos and could tip it in a fighter's favor.But if one guy is getting punched around like a pinata ,or has made up his mind that there's no way he wants challenge himself in there tonight,then all the Sermons On The Mount fall on deaf ears.

Think of all the great ones that didn't need the rah rah from their corners. Basilio,Duran,Marciano to name only three. But fighting is as tricky between the ears more than any other sport. After Duran had Leonard's legs shaking in Montreal,the rematch figured to be an echo. But the haunting "No Mas" showed the world Roberto was a different fighter the second time with Sugar Ray. No.It wasn't a stomach ache that did Roberto in. It was a headache. He was licked before he climbed through the ropes.All the Teddy Atlases in the world couldn't have helped him that night


Teddy Atlas

d

What Was Best

"Well,how'd things go in Phoenix?" I asked Gary.
"Pretty good,but I decided not to take their offer. Have you started your workout yet?"
"I'm just starting now."
"Well,I'll join you and tell you about it."
Me and Gary were the only ones in the gym that evening in back of Vic's health food store on Newport Street in Ocean Beach. The gym used to be a garage that Vic had converted into a gym. it was small and crude,nothing fancy. A set of heavy dumbbells,an Olympic bar,,some regular exercise bars,a pulley machine,a few exercise benches,a squat rack,and a long mirror that had a crack in it.On the wall was tacked a sketch drawn on butcher paper by Vic using colored pencils of the actor Steve Reeves as Hercules,the roll he played in the movies. A hundred watt light bulb hung down on a cord from the ceiling to cast light on the place.
"What do you want to work?"I asked him.
"I'm going to do mostly legs."
"Good.I'll work chest and arms.That way we won't get into each other's way."
Gary told me the week previously that he was invited to go to Phoenix to see if he was interested in joining a stable of fighters.Zora Folley had a piece of the action.He was more or less an enticement to get fighters interested in joining.Gary was still fighting in the amateurs,mostly in San Diego. He was unbeaten,but hadn't fought anyone of any significance.
"Are you going to take them up on their offer?"I asked him.
"I decided not too. I sat down with them for lunch.Zora Folley was there."
Gary was kind of just cruising along in San Diego. He was put together;muscled.over six foot,had enough skills to handle anybody San Diego had to offer. He didn't train like fighter.He sparred in the gym,but he didn't do any running.I never saw him skip rope or hit the speed bag when I used to workout with him at the 32nd Street Naval Gym in National City.. He was very good with the iron though. I think at the time he was the world record holder in the dead lift.
"We talked things over. I sparred with Folley.Met the other fighters. Nice group of people."
Gary began loading plates onto the Olympic bar.
"Did you want to use this?"he asked me.
"No.Go ahead.I'm going to use the incline bench and do some dumbbell presses."
"I thought it over,"said Gary."I'm 23.I should have turned pro years ago,but I was having it easy here in San Diego.I don't know how much longer I want to keep on fighting anyway. My teaching job is what brings in the money. My wife could care less."
"What did Zora Folley have to say.?"
"Not too much. He's kind of a quiet guy."
"Did he talk about his fight with Ali?"
"He mentioned it. He said Ali was the fastest fighter he ever saw. Faster even than Willie Pep."
"That was the last time we saw Ali at his prime,"I said."We didn't know it then,but that was his last fight before the banishment. When he came back he'd lost a lot."
"Folley said that after a round or two he knew he couldn't beat him. He said if he tried to last with Ali he was going to get seriously hurt so in one of the middle rounds he decided that when he got tagged he'd just go down and call it a night."
"Can't blame him for that."
"He said he was thinking not only about his health,but his family.He didn't want them taking care of him."
I grabbed a couple of 90 pound dumbbells and ambled over to the incline bench.
"You hear all this talk about fighters being warriors fighting to the death,"said Gary looking in the mirror preparing to do his lift."It's all a bunch of crap.The guys that want to see fighters fight to the death were never fighters."
"Yeah.They get drunk and sit on the couch in front of the TV drinking beer and imagine what they'd do if they were in there."
"Folley got it right. Can't take anything away from him.He had a great career. Not many did what he did. He did what was best for him."


Zora Folley

Freedom

Sometimes I need to check myself before I cross the border into Mexico. A lot of the paradigms are different. So where I'm coming from(not necessarily a logistical matter)and where Mexicans are coming from, opinions can shoot by each other like greased lightning.The commonalities aren't there. What's an issue on one side of the border is a nonentity across the line.

Anywhere you go you can talk about race. It's the dynamics that vary. I remember one day I went to the CREA Gym in the Rio district in TJ to catch up on what was going on. I arrived a little early. The fighters were beginning to trickle in.Romulo Quirarte hadn't shown up yet with his sons who assist him working with the fighters. To my surprise I saw this kid I used to coach American football at that private school CETYs up the hill in the Otay area of the city. He was a hard nosed player,a linebacker .He could have easily played on any team in San Diego and probably earned a scholarship. But football wasn't his only sport.He also was a fighter. His name is Segio.Because he went to school,his boxing nickname was "El Estudiante." That didn't help him garnishing fan support. The aficianados down there kind of associate students,teachers,principals as being "soft." Anyway, he was pretty good,but he got married and went to work. His family was doing all right.His father owned a string of drug stores and his wife's kinfolk owned a big olive grove outside the city. Sergio ran one of the drugstores and his wife stayed home having babies and being a socialite.. They lived in a nice area of the city near the racetrack called Hipodomo ,which means "racetrack." Sergio spotted me as I walked into the gym.
"Roger.How are you doing amigo?"he beamed.
Sergio was a good looking kid.Always was.Had the smile that could win you over. Wavy black hair,bronze skin,a flash in the eye.Everything was positive with Sergio,never taking nothing too serious.We gave each other a good honest abrazo.He still looked fit and energetic as I watched him then put out the headgears and gloves on the ledge next to the ring.
"I'm doing fine. Came by to check up on things.Say,how are the wife and kids?"
"Dory is going to have another baby. Another son,"he said with an ear to ear smile.
"How many is that for you ?"
"That's number three. We wanted a girl,but now I'll have three sons."
"Going to go for the girl?"
"I think that's going to be it. Dory doesn't want to be the barefoot and pregnant stereotype if you know what I mean,"he said trying to hold back a laugh.
"So what are you doing here?"
"Giving my compadre Romulo a hand."
"How's the farmacia?"
"Good.I slip the cops a little money so I can operate more freely if you know what I mean,"he said not losing his smile.
"I see there's going to be another election. You think this Obrador will win?"
"I think so."
"He's promoising a lot."
"They all do. The PRI used to have a lock on everything.The elections were rigged,but that doesn't happen anymore."
"You think he'll make a difference?"
"What do you think?"he said with a wink,smile still present.
"I know what you mean."
"It has nothing to do with what party is in there.It all comes out the same in the end."
"Me being Italian I can empathize. If you put 10 Italian men in a room and told them to pick a leader and come back in an hour there would be a big argument and they wouldn't be able to decide."
"Italians,Mexicans,all of Latin America. It's in our blood. No Latino wants to take orders from another man.let alone another Latino."
"It's an affront to their machismo,"I said.
"Yeah.Machismo.We Latinos think we're the ,how you say it,the cock of the walk."
"White guys don't have a problem taking orders from another man."
"Unless he's a n----r,"laughed Sergio.
"Or a Mexican,"
"Say.What's the deal with all these black football players that don't want to stand up for your national anthem?"
"I quit watching the games because of that."
"As bad as things are down here we don't do that.You could get killed for disrespecting the national anthem."
"There's nothing much that can be done about it,"I said.
"It's your guys' faults. You let them get away with too much."
With that said I helped Sergio put out the headgears and boxing gloves on the ledge.

40 Seconds

It was a few years ago I was sitting outside the banquet room of the Garland Hotel in North Hollywood waiting for the doors to open for the annual West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame ceremony. A crowd was beginning to build around outside.I recognized some of the former fighters;Danny Lopez,Armando Muniz,Carlos Palomino,Rodolfo Gonzalez,Mike Weaver.They're standard fare at these events. Rick Farris ,who works his tail off getting things ready for his event,was scrambling inside making last minute adjustmants. Dan Hanley,Rick's right hand man from the Windy City ,was close by checking and double checking.It would be rush rush to the last moment.

I was sitting a little ways from the entrance on a bench that was next to a small flower garden. I was watching a yellow butterfly dance amongst the medley of flower petals. The murmurs of the gathering crowd almost induced me to nod off when I heard some footsteps off to my side. I looked up and noticed it was Thell Torrence,a long time trainer and fighter in Los Angeles area. Very popular,amiable,approachable in the community,he was wearing a Panama hat and a white silk shirt open at the collar. His brushy mustache stretched wide when he smiled as he approached . I felt that I knew him,yet we had never met formally.

I remembered Torrence's fight with Denny Moyer at the Olympic Auditorium.In the last round Moyer salvaged a draw when he got one over dropping Torrence on the seat of his britches. Eddie Futch was in Torrence's corner that night. Futch was like a father figure to Torrence.After starting to learn how to box at the Colored Boys Club in Camden,Arkansas.Torrence enlisted in the Navy.It was when Torrence was fighting in California in the Golden Gloves that Eddie Futch noticed Torrence's potential and stepped in to handle his career.Sitting on that bench,my head swirling with questions,Torrence beat me to the punch.
"Looks like it's going to be a nice affair this afternoon,"he said in a warm tone of voice."Rick has really done a nice job.Where will you be sitting?"
"Rick Farris does a hell of a job putting this together,"I said."I usually am at his table."
"Rick called me earlier this year and said that he wanted to induct me into the West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame."
"You're Thell Torrence,"I remarked.
"Why yes.And who do I have the pleasure?"
"My name is Roger Esty. I always attend Rick's ceremony."
"That's fine.I have a couple of tables with my people,mostly my family will be with me."
"Rick usually sits me at his table,but I'll be sitting with Louie Burke's group today. He's also being honored.His cousin Randy De La O invited me."
"Sounds like it's going to be a wonderful afternoon."
"You still look in pretty good shape,"I said."Do you miss fighting?"
"I had a good run.I still have my senses.My family. I'm happy."
"I see a lot of the old fighters here."
"You're only as old as you feel,"he said flashing a great smile."Changing the subject,I'll still take boxing over this MMA stuff they have today."
"I don't care to watch it."
"It's a 40 second fight and it's over."
"It's funny.It's a no holds barred thing,but they stop it if the other guy shows the first signs of getting into trouble."
"The other guy can even ,what they call it,tap out."
"That happens a lot,"I said.
They opened the doors and I saw the crowd trickle into the banquet room.
"I see things are ready to begin.Well,I'm glad to have met you Roger.I'll see you inside."
"This is your day.Enjoy it to the hilt."

Maybe it was the way I was brought up;watching the fights on TV three nights a week;going to those loud smoky crowded arenas;working out and getting to know some of those guys.It was an era where pomp and circumstance was left for the wrestlers or the circus. The strobe lights,the heavy metal music,the mad dogging has seeped into boxing.This fight is for the title of "The Baddest Mother F---er" On Earth." Even Ali didn't go that way.Boxing and this MMA cage fighting is getting similar in feel.But strip away the façade and boxing is still the purer form,not as sparkling as it once was,but still requiring higher workmanship.

I can still recall bits and pieces of the time Thell Torrence and Denny Moyer played a fistic chess match at The Olympic Auditorium. The farthest thing from one of those 40 second fights.



Randy De La O,Louie Burke,and me. Louie holding his image of when he was back in his prime.

GOAT

I don't understand how an athlete can claim to be the greatest of all time when he hasn't finished his career.With sports,when the career has gone bye bye,it becomes past tense. So and so WAS the greatest.Shakespeare has been dead for a million years,but he Is still The Greatest playwright. Muhammad Ali let the world know in a very loud voice that"I am The Greatest."However,his performances towards the end were pale imitations of what he had put on display when he beat Zora Folley, his last fight before he ran afoul with Uncle Sam. LeBron James doesn't have any doubt that he's the greatest to ever play "Roundball." When someone questions his personal ranking it gets him riled .He doesn't like anyone questioning his status as "The King" in whatever the latest city and the most recent team showers his needy ego with adoration.

Then there are the "experts":the scribes,broadcasters, the armchair quarterbacks,the drunk bellied up to the bar ,and the rest of the various pundits that won't give an inch on who they think is the greatest. You're wrong.I'm right. You might say that all the evaluating is just fun and games,part of sports mantra. But how many of these discussions turn into arguments,ensuing into insults,that sink down the road of character assassination?

Boxing devotees are often on a quest to put a certain fighter riding the crest of Mount Olympus. The first fighter in my day, who was cried out as the GOAT(though that acronym was just a twinkle in the sports writers eye), was Sonny Liston. To his credit I never heard him beat his drum. But then Sonny turned blue after he lost those two in a row to the Butterfly Floater who had no qualms about pounding away on his set of tom toms. In Jamaica when Big George Foreman tried to lift Joe Frazier into orbit ,he looked like a fighter that would never show a cipher in his loss column. Then the Bee Stinger came back to life making all the cheerleaders in Big George's corner eat a big turd sandwich. There was a pause after Larry sent Ol' Muhammad to perpetual visits to the doctor's office,but no one was going to place Larry atop Mount Olympus. He couldn't even get an invite on the Johnny Carson Show. Next ,a kid from Brownsville gave Holmes the beating of his life and now we began hearing the murmurings again. After Michael Spinks was finally coaxed out of his dressing room he couldn't work his jinx on the fighter the world was now calling "you guessed it." But a 42 to 1 underdog almost separated Iron Mike' head from his shoulders leaving him groping on the ring apron for his mouthpiece. He was the last of the butt cheek resters otop the house of the Olympic gods.

Being the champ is tough enough. To be called "The Greatest" puts even more weight on the shoulders. But about this pursuit of"Greatest" . Who's making those statements? You? Me?The United States is obsessed with who that "Greatest" is. They're also on a jag about who is the worst of the lot. What is even more incredulous is that people take these claims to heart.Anymore,I could care less about who wins or loses,unless that someone is paying off my mortgage.



I wonder what he's shouting

Short Notice

I first got to know gilbert Baptist when I was working as a teacher at Juvenile Hall. Gilbert was with the Department Of Corrections.He was a probation officer.He'd come around to my classroom checking up on the kids he had in his caseload. Gilbert was raised in a tough neighborhood in Newark,New Jersey. He told me that everyday was a fight for survival.There were the common temptations with the drugs,alcohol,and gangs. Some of the kids let themselves be taken in by the devil.James Scott,one of the neighborhood toughs and a lightheavyweight contender,had to fight within the gates of Rahway State prison because he fell in with the wrong crowd.. Others,like Marvin Hagler and Bobby Czyz stepped around the pitfalls to become title holders.

Gilbert was always soft spoken and clean cut, But those character traits won't get you through the life in the ghetto unscathed. He had his share of street fights that eventually put him on the wrong side of the law. Gilbert's mom,who was a pastor at the local Baptist Church,bought him a pair of boxing gloves when he was nine years old. He was a regular at the local YMCA,but that didn't mean he wasn't a "mark" with the gangbangers who tried to break him down. That's when he decided the best way to keep from winding up in jail or the morgue was to join the Marines. Stationed in California at Camp Pendleton, Gilbert discovered the boxing team. He made his mark with the Corps fighting "all over the world."

Gilbert began his pro career in the Southland,but was having problems finding a dependable manager.Finally,Archie Moore's son ,Billy,took over the nuts and bolts of teaching and doing the paperwork that helped settle down Gilbert. The first time I saw Gilbert fight was at the El Cortez Hotel in San Diego against Terry Norris. They could have put the fight in a phone booth.The Union Tribune called it the "Fight Of The Year" in San Diego. Later,Gilbert worked with Norris when he was preparing to fight Ray Leonard.I'd watch the two train at Spud Murphy's Gym on Broadway.

If you scan Gilbert's record you'll see it's respectable. He went the route with Bernard Hopkins.He was the NABF super welterweight champ.(He was very proud of that belt) .He won more than he lost. What held him back was that he didn't have that big sock that gave him that puncher's chance when he got behind.

The last time I saw Gilbert was when I was in the classroom with the "at risk" kids at Point Loma High School. Walking through the door one day was Gilbert. He was with his young son who I used to call "Little Champ." After checking up on a couple of kids we got to talking. He told me he had a fight lined up with Gerald McClellan. Gilbert took the fight on short notice when McClellan's opponent sustained an injury in camp.. I think the fight was only a couple of weeks away. Gilbert said he had been in the gym everyday.But the guy he was going to face was the best middleweight in the world.

McClellan overwhelmed Gilbert. McClellan hit him so hard that Gilbert broke his ankle as he fell to the canvas. It was over in less than three minutes. It was also Gilbert's last fight. I was glad he made that decision. Gilbert stayed with the Department Of Corrections and joined the California National Guard. As an attender at the Helping Hands of God Church in Southeast San Diego,the Reverand and middleweight contender James "The Heat" Kinchen told me that Gilbert would drop by to take in a service from time to time. Sounds like Gilbert got away from those tough streets of Newark winning something more valuable than any title.

James "The Heat" Kinchen

Taking A Little Off The Top

Just off the top of my head:Julio Cesar Chavez,the son,is training for a comeback. People have told me he's never looked more determined and is in the best shape of his life.After losing badly against Canelo Alvarez for Mexican bragging rights in 2017,Junior has had only one fight,that against an opponent who had lost 4 out of his last 6. The fight took place in some out of the way arena in Jalisco. Junior will now be facing Daniel Jacobs ,who's lost decisions to Canelo and Triple G,at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas in December. I'm sure dad will be there. There's a father/son relationship that has had more ups and downs than the Space Mountain rollercoaster ride at Disneyland. If Junior can win convincingly I'm sure the aficianados will be demanding a second go around with Alvarez and the son of the most popular fighter to come out of Mexico. Big footsteps to follow.

Speaking of Chavez,pops is going to don the gloves with "Travieso" Arce in TJ in an exhibition bout to raise money for the son of Jose Luis Castillo to help pay for his medical bills. The kid has been fighting a tough foe,the Big C,and hopefully the charity match will offset some of the Castillo's expenses. Originally,Erik Morales,who also resides in Tijuana, offered to play make believe with the father Chavez. But I guess Chavez has laid out the ground rules.No punching to the face was a condition. Morales laughed it off saying that if he couldn't aim one at Chavez's chin he could find another inert object. But Chavez should be on his guard with Arce.He's not that far removed from fighting and the kid always had a short fuse. Keep in mind,no Mexican national has ever wupped the old man,Mexico's most cherished legend. Don't think a carnal like Arce would swell with pride if he could dump J.C. on the seat of his trunks.

I asked around the other day south of the border if they ever caught the crew that home invaded the brother of Julio Cesar Chavez,Rafael,in the act of a robbery,and then when the brother didn't come across with enough dough they shot him in front of his wife and kids. Chavez's brother ran a rehab clinic, in the family's hometown of Culiacan,Sinaloa, for alcohol and drug addicts.If the authorities got their cut for this act of murder(which is often the case)they'll never nab the killers.Oh,they might put in front of the news cameras a patsy,but like the 43 students who "vanished" in the state of Guerrero a few years back,never making one arrest, It just goes to show you nothing is off limit in Mexico.


J.C. "Don't Hit Me In The Face" Chavez

Hi guys, I was wondering if anyone can help me with the whereabouts of the following boxers. I put their age in brackets and where they live. I believe I have a good lead for Harada but not the others. Legra I think is in a bad way so it may be hard to talk to him. I am trying to get a Q & A out to as many of Eder Jofre's old opponents as possible. I am putting together a lot of information in the hopes of releasing a book on him. I have two books that were written on him and with his words (in 1962 and 1976) that I will be personally translating page by page in the hopes of gaining even further information.

Here's the list.

Octavio Gomez (75), Mexico
Jose Antonio Jiminez (67), Spain (Asturias)
Pasqualino Morbidelli (71), Italy
Michel Lefevbre (69), France
Godfrey Stevens (81), Australia (or Chile)
Jose Legra, Spain (76) (in a nursing home in Madrid)
Shig Fukuyama (69), Los Angeles (or Japan)
Djiemai Belhadri (75), Germany
Jose Bisbal (78), Spain (Andalusia)
Felix Figureoa, Puerto Rico
Jerry Stokes, Los Angeles
Nevio Carbi (79), Italy
Bernardo Caraballo, Colombia
Fighting Harada, Japan
Johnny Jamito (80), Philippines
Katsutoshi Aoki (76), Japan
Sadao Yaoita, (84), Japan
Ernesto Miranda (83), Spain

It appears that Don Fraser, a longtime Los Angeles boxing promoter, has passed away.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑01 Nov 2019, 17:04 It appears that Don Fraser, a longtime Los Angeles boxing promoter, has passed away.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck, I heard Roy DeFilippis passed away the other day too.

scartissue wrote: ↑02 Nov 2019, 09:41

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑01 Nov 2019, 17:04 It appears that Don Fraser, a longtime Los Angeles boxing promoter, has passed away.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck, I heard Roy DeFilippis passed away the other day too.

As someone who started following boxing during the early 1970s, I had never heard of Roy DeFilippis. Sure enough, DeFilippis had his last known bout during 1970. But I did find that there was a Roy DeFilippis who passed away in Idaho during September.

- Chuck Johnston