BoxRec

scartissue wrote: ↑13 Nov 2019, 23:44 Sorry, guys, I couldn't even comment on the Monzon thing. I'm still trying to crawl my way through the irony that Al Capone's wife thought Rog's Dad was a bad influence on Sonny.

Dan
After Capone died the Outfit took care of his wife,but they turned a blind eye to his son. The FBI made sure there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was ever to get a foothold into organized crime. He asked for help from the Outfit to get something going in some business deals,but they turned their backs on him. Sonny married and I believe he had four daughters. His marriage ended in divorce. One of his daughters,Annette,lived in Oceanside that is about 30 miles north of San Diego.My father was constantly on the phone with her. My father could have written a book on all that Outfit stuff(Mario Puzo was a lightweight compared to my father),but my father would never get off the phone.


Al Capone

In early 1936 newspapers featured a Robert Ripley "Believe it or Not..." cartoon that claimed boxer Dynamite Jackson had a glass eye. Here's what Ripley wrote: "Dynamite Buddy Jackson, who has served as sparring partner for such fighters as Champion Jimmy Braddock, Primo Carnera, Jack Sharkey and Max Baer, surprising them all last fall when he under-went treatment and examination in a hospital. When doctors at King County Hospital examined Jackson, they found he had a glass eye, and were amazed when he told he had fought five years while wearing it. And all that time he had been passing regular physical examinations before various commissions." There is another boxer active during this period in Colorado named Buddy Jackson, but heavyweight Dynamite Jackson in LA sparred with Baer (and I believe I've seen articles re his sparring with Carnera), so I believe he is the correct person. Does anyone have more to add to this story? Dynamite had a successful boxing career, but he lost his final fight not long after news of his blind eye emerged. He then went on to a long and successful career as a ref. I haven't seen reference to his eye anywhere else.

I'm interested in Jackson because of his links to all-around athlete Sol Butler, who served as his trainer and later as manager (I'm writing a biography on Butler). I would also appreciate information on Butler as a boxer, trainer, or manager. Most of what I know about this part of his career comes from the pages of the Black Press (e.g. Baltimore Afro-American and California Eagle). Chuck Johnston has been very helpful and generous with information on boxing scene in 1930s LA (see "Sol Butler: Trainer, Manager... and Boxer? (1930s in LA)"). Thanks.

-Brian Hallstoos

Brian Hallstoos wrote: ↑20 Nov 2019, 11:39 In early 1936 newspapers featured a Robert Ripley "Believe it or Not..." cartoon that claimed boxer Dynamite Jackson had a glass eye. Here's what Ripley wrote: "Dynamite Buddy Jackson, who has served as sparring partner for such fighters as Champion Jimmy Braddock, Primo Carnera, Jack Sharkey and Max Baer, surprising them all last fall when he under-went treatment and examination in a hospital. When doctors at King County Hospital examined Jackson, they found he had a glass eye, and were amazed when he told he had fought five years while wearing it. And all that time he had been passing regular physical examinations before various commissions." There is another boxer active during this period in Colorado named Buddy Jackson, but heavyweight Dynamite Jackson in LA sparred with Baer (and I believe I've seen articles re his sparring with Carnera), so I believe he is the correct person. Does anyone have more to add to this story? Dynamite had a successful boxing career, but he lost his final fight not long after news of his blind eye emerged. He then went on to a long and successful career as a ref. I haven't seen reference to his eye anywhere else.

I'm interested in Jackson because of his links to all-around athlete Sol Butler, who served as his trainer and later as manager (I'm writing a biography on Butler). I would also appreciate information on Butler as a boxer, trainer, or manager. Most of what I know about this part of his career comes from the pages of the Black Press (e.g. Baltimore Afro-American and California Eagle). Chuck Johnston has been very helpful and generous with information on boxing scene in 1930s LA (see "Sol Butler: Trainer, Manager... and Boxer? (1930s in LA)"). Thanks.

-Brian Hallstoos

Brian, there was a highly publicized crackdown on boxers with eye trouble in California during the late 1930s. Pablo Dano, a very capable Filipino fighter, got banned in California at the time, but continued to box in the East.

- Chuck Johnston

Out Of Grasp

When I returned to the house I saw Panfilo sitting beside his wife Lupe at the dining room table in the sala.
"Rogelio",he said getting up from his chair."I don't know about Canelo."
We gave each other a sincere abrazo and then Panfilo stepped back and gave me his big warm smile.
"What don't you know amigo?"I asked him.
Panfilo is married to my wife's niece,Lupe, from Maria's oldest brother Pancho. Pancho got a stroke many years ago and never fully recovered.He couldn't work anymore and became kind of simple and happy. Pancho died several years ago. There weren't many people at his funeral.
"I wasn't impressed,"said Panfilo shaking his head."He got lucky."
I looked at Panfilo's short squatty body,his round chubby face stubbled with graying whiskers. His thick eyebrows , curly brown hair ,mutton chop sideburns,and a swarthy complexion emanated a kind of a bittersweet glow.His watery brown eyes and wide mouth opening revealing tobacco stained chipped teeth and a broad nose that twitched when he spoke in a high nasal voice made him seem harmless.
"I won some money on him when I went to Las Vegas with Maria,"I said."He's come into his own.When he fought Mayweather he wasn't ready. He was being fooled,but now he's very sharp."
Panfilo looked down at the floor sort of half smiling ,but still with a shake of the head.
"Rogelio,they have fights in Jiquilpan every Saturday night,"said Panfilo getting away from Canelo Alvsrez.
"Where? I'd like to go."
"In the estadio."
"How about this Saturday?"
Panfilo looked up squinting at the ceiling.
"This Saturday? I don't think so.It's the 20th of November. People are on vacation,"he said trying to put together his words..
"I'd sure like to go."
"When are you leaving?"he asked me.
"We're not going back to San Diego until after the weekend."
"Oh,that's too bad ,"said Panfilo with a wry expression on his face."If you were staying longer we could go the following Saturday."
I looked at Panfilo's wife Lupe.She was a year older than my daughter Patricia who is 43,but Lupe looked much much older.She had her iron gray hair pulled back and had a very soft facial expression. She had her hands folded on the dining room table.She was wearing a plain brown dress without any adornments. She was slightly corpulent and very pretty.She looked sad but seemed very relaxed.She could have passed for Panfilo's mother.
"Lupe,"I said."Are you taking care of Panfilo?"
Lupe unfolded her hands and looked at me pensively.
"I'm there,"she said softly.
"Since I've had my dizzy spells Lupe is my doctor,"said Panfilo. "I go to her."
Lupe smiled and refolded her hands.
"I take medicine for the diabetes but I don't follow any diet.Sometimes I can't get out of bed for two or three days."
I looked at Lupe .She had a straight face and tightened her clasp..
"Rogelio,"said Panfilo."We have to go but we'll be back before you and Maria leave. I promise you the next time you come back we'll go to the fights."

Sunday morning I went to the plaza to look at my emails at the internet café. As I was walking back to my car I saw a poster on the wall of the post office. I was a little surprised.

SABADO 23 De Noviembre
BOX en Jiquilpan
10 Peleas.Boxeradores de Jiquilpan,Sahuayo,Cotija y Zamora
El Estadio 16:30

So there were fights that Saturday.I never heard anything from Panfilo. He never came back to say "goodby" to me and Maria neither. Now I was shaking my head.

We got back to San Diego yesterday,Tuesday. This morning,Wednesday,I heard the phone ringing very early.I thought it might be something from Jiquilpan so I let my wife answer.I heard a noisy conversation that I couldn't put together because my wife was speaking frantically in Spanish. After she hung up she came into my room.
"Panfilo is dead,"she said numbly."He was climbing a membrillo tree and reached for the membrillo when he got a dizzy spell and fell and broke his neck."
I couldn't think of anything to say,at least nothing of value.
"That's horrible," is all I'd could mutter.
"He died yesterday.Tomorrow they will bury him."

One of these days I'll be back in Jiquilpan and I'll go to the boxing matches.I'll sure have Panfilo on my mind.


El Estadio.Jiquilpan,Michoacan

Traffic Jam

Flying to Guadalajara from Tijuana roundtrip saves me a few hundred dollars and is a direct flight that takes three hours. Flying from San Diego to Guadalajara there's a layover stop ,and depending where it is, the trip can take as long as ten hours. So it's a no brainer that I'll depart from TJ. I usually drive my car to my granddaughter's house in Canon Jhonson and park it in her garage.Then I'll go with her and she'll take me to the airport.When I come back I'll call her from the airport and she'll come and pick me up. When I returned to Tijuana I called my granddaughter and she said that her husband would pick me up in my car.

I've told you a little about my granddaughter's husband,the wrestling promoter. His name is Ivan and he's a pretty nice guy. He works a couple of jobs in San Diego at two of the big hotels down at the Embarcadero on the waterfront in the tourist section.A few years ago he came to me and said that at one of the hotels,The Marriott,they wanted to make him a superviser of a crew that set up the banquet rooms for various functions. He told me that he was going to turn the offer down because he was "comfortable" where was working in the regular crew. I got in his face a little and told him that he was married with three kids and he needed the money and if he turned the position down they'd put him on the back burner from then on and he'd never get any chance at another promotion.
"But I get along with everyone,"he said. "They are my friends."
"Look pal,"I said emphatically."First, they're not your friends or they'd say 'Congratulations' and go take the promotion.It's the old crabs in the bucket thing. They want to keep you down with them.F--k those 'friends ".
My granddaughter's husband was mute.
"They want you for the job because you're a hard worker ,smart,and speak Spanish."
I'm pretty sure he came to me wanting to hear that.He took the job and now he's happy as a clam and talks about moving up at The Marriott.

When he picked me up at the Tijuana Airport that night he told me that the traffic in town was packed. it was hard to move in the streets.
"What's going on in TJ.?,I asked."The holiday(20 de Noviembre) is over."
"Thursday is Thanksgiving,"he replied.
"Dias de las Gracias? Since when do Mexicans celebrate that day? They don't even eat turkey."
(I have never seen turkey in a butcher shop in Mexico or on a Mexican menu or at any taco stand)
"It's being close to the border,"he explained."The Mexicans that work across the border want to do the gringo thing here and show up all the others that they're above everybody. You won't believe it.All the big stores like IKEA and Costco are very busy. There's no room in the parking lots."
"So it's all a big show.Do the Mexicans know about the Pilgrims and the Mayflower and Plymouth Rock and why they came to America?"
"No."
"Thanksgiving is a unique American holiday. It doesn't make sense.It would be like America celebrating Fiesta Patrias(Mexican Independence Day)
"Like I said it's all a show. Besides, Mexicans are always looking for an excuse to have a party."
Like my granddaughter's husband had clued me in,the traffic was backed up everywhere. It took forever to get back to his house across town. While we were limping along the streets I was interested to know how "his" fighter was doing.He was bankrolling this guy.His charge had had a fight at the one of those cramped smoky bars in the outskirts of town while I was away.
"Oh,he lost,"he uttered meekly.
"Did he get knocked out?"
"The referee stopped the fight."
"I looked up his record.He's been knocked out 10 times in 14 fights. He's only won a couple ."
"Well,he won't be fighting for awhile,he mused." He got busted for selling drugs."
"Stay with the wrestling.At least you know who's going to win ahead of time,and then it doesn't really matter."

A wrestling poster of one of my granddaughter's husband's promotions

Good points about Monzon's title fight competition. The great Teddy Brenner was not high on Monzon at all; Brenner said Monzon was great in the 60's and 70's but he wasn't great by the standards of the 40's and 50's. Imo, Monzon would give anyone at 160 a very tough night.

Party Naked

"What The f--k you talkin' about?!"said the black dude pushing the baby carriage.
"I'm looking for Archie Moore's old house. I know it's somewhere around here,"I said from sitting behind the wheel of my car.
It had been some time since I had been to the Old Mongoose's house in South East when he had a block party for everyone Archie had gone over to C&M Meats in National City and purchased a slew of ribs,chops,and chickens.Now he was going to put on a feed for the neighborhood.
"Who da' f--k dat?!"howled the black dude.
He was decked out in a blue "Crip" ensemble:blue doo rag hanging out from his sagging denim hip pocket,blue LA Dodger baseball cap,blue T shirt,and a pair of blue Jordan's shoelaces untied. A fat chalky white woman with peroxide blond hair was standing beside him.The baby inside the carriage was asleep.
"You know.Archie Moore.He used to be the champ.,"I said trying to get through to this guy."It's a red brick house."
"You mean that house that has all those parties?I think it's around the next block,"he said calming down a little.
I saw a mail lady standing at the corner with her mail bag. I drove the car up to where she was standing.
"Excuse me,"I said."I'm looking for Archie Moore's old house.I know it's around here somewhere.It's a red brick house."
"I think you mean the big house at the end of this cul de sac,"she said in a sweet voice.
She was a big black woman with her hair all made up and wearing a short gray skirt that exposed her robust chocolate thighs.
"I can see it from here,"I said thankfully."Do you know who Archie Moore was?"
"Archie Moore?Sure...sure,I've heard of him,"she said hesitantly.
"What did he do?"I asked coyly.
"Well,I really never heard of the man,"she answered blushing a bit.
"He was the light heavyweight champion of the world."
"He was a wrestler?"
"No.He was a fighter.An all time legend. He lived with his family in that house.It has a swimming pool shaped like a boxing glove."
"Well,it's something different now."
"How's that?"
"It's a place where people go to have swingers parties."
I thanked her for her time and proceeded to the end of the cul de sac. I recognized the place right away.From the outside it looked the same. However ,the front yard was littered with junk;broken furniture,empty cardboard boxes,used clothes strewn around the dead lawn,a rusty tricycle.. It looked like a crummy yard sale.It didn't look like anyone lived there. There was a front gate with a padlock on it. I saw a sign in an upper window.

Party Naked
THADS
Info 237 8849

I had heard of this place-THADS. For 60 bucks you could come to the party in the buff and swerve through the flesh uninhibited like something out of a tale of Caligula. They said there was a six month waiting list to get in.

Now I'm no prude and to tell the truth I've been to a few of those kinds of romps.I was thinking of jotting down THAD'S number and get on the waiting list ,but I got to thinking.I'd pass. Maybe it was out of respect for Archie Moore.It probably had more to do with me being 70.I could just see myself ambling around butt naked with my arthritis and a limp pecker.I know I wouldn't want to f--k myself.





What A Party-Fats Domino

Fighting Ghosts

After getting back from Mexico after a couple of weeks in my wife's hometown I searched the BoxRec archives if there were any results from the card that took place in the local soccer stadium on the 23rd of November. it didn't surprise my that I came up zilch. That would have been ten pro fights that are lost in a vacuum to the boxing historians.

There's really no one to blame. The boxing commission that operates in that area probably doesn't even realize that an institution like BoxRec,that's the most reputable record keeper of the sport,should be notified of the results,or if there is anything named BoxRec.If any of the fighters that won their bouts that night can work their way up to bigger and better victories sooner or later they'll get some print in BoxRec.

It makes you wonder how many fights are "lost" every year due to the fact that they are unreported. Another factor is if the results are legit. BoxRec has been burned with lying information from unscrupulous commissions that "favor" a fighter over another. A lot of that bogus info is a result of a promoter that bribes the commission to feed the wrong news because he wants to keep any black marks off his boy's ledger.

I was rereading for the third time Charles Brandt's fascinating interviews with Frank Sheeran,who after many years finally confessed how he erased Jimmy Hoffa from the scene. Currently ,on Netflix there's a rendition of his account in a made for TV movie called The Irishman starring Robert DeZero,Al Pacino,and Joe Pesci. In one of Brandt's conversations with Sheeran the hitman talks about a teamster muscle guy named Dusty Wilkinson who could handle his fists pretty good. Sheeran related that this Wilkinson "even fought Joe Walcott and gave him a pretty good fight." So now I log on to BoxRec,go to the archives and type "Jersey Joe Walcott" to see if he ever fought a bruiser named Dusty Wilkinson. Zilch.Nada. I figure it couldn't have been the other Walcott,the welterweight champ,becuse that would have made this Wilkinson older than dirt.He would have had to do his rough stuff on some guy from an iron lung.

Gaspar Ortega would sit with me and tell me he had over 300 fights. BoxRec shows a list of around 170 of Ortega's bouts. I don't think Gaspar has ever gone to BoxRec to see which one of his fights have been lost to the ages. I wouldn't be surprised if Ortega even knows what BoxRec is.

I've had a few ex pugs call me up and want me to tell BoxRec that they've omitted some of their fights(all of these "fights" of course were to be noted in the "win" column).I've made the effort a few times but then the editors want some verification from an above board commission it all washes out. So when I get further requests to have some editing to their records I tell the wanting former fighters to log on to BoxRec,sign up,and go make your pleas to the editors.I don't want to get in the middle of this anymore.

There's probably more fight results that haven't been recorded than have been validated if you think of some of the remote boxing venues that are scattered all over the world.. I think it was Willie The Shake that said "there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies." Ol' Will knew how to write a good play. That's for certain.He probably would have made a pretty good boxing scribe too.

Jersey Joe Walcott

The Rank And File

I've never given much credence, if any, when the winning fighter is standing in the middle of the ring saying he "won it for all my fans out there" or " I won it for all the people in my hometown." A fighter has to win it for himself FIRST before he can say all those nice things about he did it for someone else besides himself. That "I did it for the other guy "rolls off the tongue pretty easily when the winner gets his hand raised by the referee at the end. If the victory takes place in front of the home crowd he becomes even more enamored by everyone,especially the phony press. The humble pie stuff goes over big with sports,but it's only a game(in more ways than one). There can't be anymore satisfaction in sports than when one men beats up another man mano a mano in a boxing ring. Forget civilization. I'm the number one bad ass. An ego can get inflated to the explosion point.

Now on the other hand,I can understand the disappointment the loser feels when he says,"I let my fans down."Sure ,he was in there doing it for himself in order to win,but when that didn't happen his mind ,afterwards, goes in a different direction than the guy that wupped him. Modesty is about the last thing he has on his mind. The loser begins thinking about all the people that are close to him that were feeling his pain.They had their hopes with him. If he had won instead of failing,their lives would have been ,let's say-happier if nothing else.

Contrast the actions of the victor,especially now a days,with the behavior of the vanquished. Perfect examples of the agony and the ecstasy. In that boxing business,especially now a days,winning is everything. An undefeated fighter who finally gets his comeuppance can have his career shattered if he can't pick himself off the mat. I don't know what it is.Maybe it's the media bombardment out there,but being "perfect" has no substitute. If a fighter for example loses, the same pundits that were showering him with accolades when he was winning will now write him off. They'll throw him under the bus. I'd like to throw some of those guys under the Grayhound sometimes.

When Muhammad Ali came back from retirement for the third time to fight Larry Holmes,it wasn't for the fans or the cause.He had enough money and people close him so he wouldn't have to worry about anything for the rest of his life. He did it because his enormous ego needed to be fed. He wanted to be the heavyweight champion again. He wanted to enlarge his entourage. He wanted Howard Cosell back in his life. So Ali took the beating of his life. His pride during the bout wouldn't let him flop to the canvas. If he had died that night they could have charged Angelo Dundee with a manslaughter . It was Herbert Muhammad that signaled Angelo to throw in the towel. After that fight Muhammad Ali certainly did need people around him to care for him the rest of his life.

The rank and file fan out there. Well,without them there is no boxing. Without them there would be no one to "win it for",maybe.

Taking A Little Off The Top


Just off the top of my head: James "The Heat" Kinchen told me the reason he got the fight with Tommy Hearns was the fact that James was beaten pretty badly by Juan Domingo Roldan(that fight was on the undercard of the Leonard/Hagler bout)Hearns had made short work of Roldan so he figured he'd have little problem with "The Heat." Kinchen told me before the Roldan fight he knew he was in trouble. James said he was running a temperature of over a hundred for over a week and that he couldn't train properly because of his medical state. James Kinchen was a "hard luck" fighter getting stiffed in three pivotal fights: losing to James Shuler on a split decision,coming up short via a split against Iran Barkley,and then the MD loss to Hearns.Not much is discussed about those fights. James Kinchen didn't have a big fan base even in San Diego.There wasn't much money to be made with him. The people in his corner I don't think had his best interests in mind. But James is not bitter about his fighting career. He's a minister at a small community Evangelical church in Southeast San Diego. There are only a few parishioners who are aware that he was a fighter. He never talks about it unless asked,and then he's very gracious.

Mickey Davies was not only one of the matchmakers at the Olympic Auditorium but was putting together fights at the San Diego Coliseum. I sat next to him once on a card at the Coliseum.He told me he never assembled a card that went off as scheduled. Always a fighter or two that wouldn't show up for a variety of reasons.There were a couple of times when I was attending the fights on the corner of 14th and E Streets that several of the bouts had to be canceled because of no shows. The California Boxing Commission at that time said there had to be minimum of a certain amount of rounds on a card,if not, the fans were entitled to get their money back. Howewer,the fans didn't rush back to the ticket window until all the rest of the fights were over.

Going up to LA to take in the fights at the Olympic Auditorium,I'd be standing in line outside waiting to get in and I'd ask somebody who the fighter was that had his image painted above the entrance. Only a few came across with the correct answer.That fighter was Bert Colima,the first big local Hispanic draw in the community. Born in Whittier,a veteran of over 200 fights,he was active in the 20's early 30's in Los Angeles and other venues in the Southland. The Whittier Bearcat also fought a lot in San Diego and below the border. A fan favorite,he never got a shot at a title,but helped set the stage later for Henry Armstrong,Baby Arizmendi,and Chalky Wright who came along shortly after Colima retired in 1933.

The Whittier Bearcat, Bert Colima.

I Knew A Fighter

I once knew an ex fighter who was a "muscle guy" for the Mob. Sounds like something in a Mickey Spillane novel,but I don't know any better way to describe it. I never saw him fight.They say he was a fighter somewhere in the Midwest.He was a big guy,probably a heavyweight.I didn't know his real name.Everyone called him Nunzio.He was pure grease ball They said he even worked as one of Sinatra's bodyguards from time to time.

I'd see Nunzio at the fights sometimes accompanying some of the gamblers and low ranking racketeers . One time I saw him entering the back office at Charlie Johnston's Sports Palace Bar that was next to Charlie's burlesque house,the Hollywood Theater on lower Market Street. They could have cast Nunzio in that movie On The Waterfront with Marlon Brando. He was built like a stevedore on steroids and had a pan that was a cross between Abe Simon and Rondo Hatton.His neck was as wide as his shoulders. He didn't have to make a face to scare anybody.Just being natural was enough for anyone near him to be on their guard.I would look at his hands.They were like two massive ham hocks. I often wondered how many guys he strangled with those powerful mitts.They said that was his M.O. You can trace a gun and have to get rid of it afterwards.He didn't talk much.Didn't offer anything. He only spoke when asked something,but you had to be the right guy to do the asking if you wanted an answer.

There was certainly nothing pretentious about Nunzio. He acted like nothing bothered him. He didn't show much emotion.I don't think he gave much thought about doing what he was asked to do-whatever that was. He lived in a small studio at the old Pickwick Hotel on Broadway. He didn't have a car and when he wasn't with his the guy he had to keep an eye on he liked to go on the city bus to the Caliente Racetrack across the border and bet the ponies.After the ponies were done he stayed for the greyhound races. He was a bartender off and on for one of Frank Bompensiero's joints downtown. Once in a awhile I'd have to go down to the bar and get an envelope from Nunzio to take over to Bompensiero who was usually taking a steam bath at the Stardust Hotel in Mission Valley. I never asked what was in those envelopes.By the way,my father got me that assignment.

One time I went to the bar to get the envelope from Nunzio and he told me to wait.So I sat at the bar nursing a beer while I waited for Nunzio give me the envelope. As I was sitting there I worked up enough nerve to ask Nunzio something I was always curious about.
"How was it being Sinatra's bodyguard?"I forced out of my mouth.
Nunzio looked a little surprised but came through with a response.
"I don't do that anymore,"he grumbled.
I thought that was the end of the conversation when he went on a little more.
"Sinatra would always walk into a joint and shoot off his mouth wanting to start a beef.But he knew that before he'd get his sss kicked he knew I would intercede before there was any bloodshed.I didn't want to work for him anymore."

I would often think about what Nunzio said that time in Bompensiero's joint. Shortly after, Bompensiero was strangled to death in a phone booth in Pacific Beach a block from his house.He was making a call to the FBI.He was a snitch.I'm sure the Feds had their suspicions.I'm sure Nunzio was called into the office.The Feds wound up with egg on their faces for not protecting their snitch,but then again maybe they threw Bompensiero under the bus. Anyway, Nunzio didn't go away to school. He was always around somewhere.You couldn't miss him.


Frank Sinatra

The Room At The End Of The Hallway

I really thought Burke was going to go before his girlfriend Shirley even though she was eight years older than him. Burke was slipping pretty fast.The dementia was keeping him from operating his and Shirley's bar,Champs, anymore. Shirley had to do all the bookkeeping and ordering.Every week she'd make the schedules for the bartenders and post them in the office. Burke would show up with her in the mornings and go over to the dart board and start tossing darts while Shirley took stock of the bar from the previous day. But one day Shirley slipped and fell at home breaking her hip. I guess she was already suffering from osteoporosis and her hip wasn't healing very well. Shirley was a model once and was always trying to stay slim.I think that's why her bones were brittle.She then caught pneumonia and passed away. Everything happened very suddenly. I remember they had a tribute for her in Champs and Burke kept walking around asking if anyone had seen Shirley.Shortly afterwards, Burke was sent to a home to live out the rest of his life. Shirley's grandson,Mark, took over Champs.He was a nice enough fellow.He didn't know very much about Burke's life as a fighter or a trainer .I'd ask him how Burke was doing in the home and he'd say that Burke was beginning to become uncontrollable, especially around family. I asked the grandson if he thought it would be okay to visit Burke.
"Go ahead.I don't visit him anymore.The last time I visited him he took a swing at me."

I drove out to the care facility that was located near the state college. The building was starting to show its wear.it was a two story structure painted a drab green. The parking lot in the back was small and filled to capacity so I had to park my car several blocks down the street. When I walked through the door I noticed that some of the brown linoleum was peeling up from the floor. The reception room was dimly lit,the ceiling was low and I noticed cobwebs in the corners. There was a threadbare rug in front of the reception desk .The place smelled like it needed the windows opened.An ashen frail girl was behind the desk hunched over doing some paperwork. She had on thick glasses and her mousy hair hung straight down to her shoulders. She wasn't wearing any makeup. She looked up at me as I approached having a vacant look on her face.
"I'm here to see Burke Emory ,"I said quietly.
"Are you a family member?"
"No.Just a friend."
"Then you can see him.Family members aren't allowed to see him anymore,"she said curtly.
"Could you tell me his room number?"
"It's the room at the end of the hall.We need you to sign in before you see him."
I signed in and began walking down the hallway. Some of the doors to the rooms on either side were ajar. I could see the patients asleep.Most of them looked like dusty mummies.I couldn't tell if they were alive or dead.Sometimes there would be someone at the bedside reading or working their I Phones while the person in the bed was sleeping. I saw a young caretaker talking to one of her male counterparts in front of a storage room. They were talking excitedly about going out to some bar nearby after their shifts were over. I could see piles of dirty linen stacked in big hampers. The smell of urine and PineSol permeated the hallway.

I got to the end of the hallway and snuck my head inside the door. I saw Burke wearing an old robe and sitting on the edge of the bed starring down at the floor.He was wearing an old pair of slippers. The blinds at the window were drawn together.There was a nightstand beside his bed that had on it the leftovers of a barely eaten breakfast from that morning.A sign in back of his bed written in grease pen said"CAREFUL! BITER!THROWS HIS TRAY!"He was the only person I could see who lived in the room.I walked towards him slowly not wanting to startle him. When I just about got close enough to touch him he jerked his head up and smiled broadly at me. It was like someone had flipped a switch and he became alive all of a sudden.
"Well look what the cat drug in,"he chortled."Where have you been keeping yourself?"
"Mark said that you were here now so I came to give you a visit."
Burke gave me a puzzled look as his smile began to waver.
"You haven't seen Shirley have you?he asked."She told me she'd be here today."
"No.I haven't seen her Burke but she should be coming soon,"I said really not knowing what to say.
"You said the last time you were here that you'd bring me some cigars.You have them on you?"
"Oh,I forgot them .They're at the house.I'll bring them the next time."
I began studying Burke's face:the sad droopy eyes and the old scar tissue in his brows and lids.His skin had lost its color and his hair was iron gray.
"Did you ever know Gus Mells?"he said beginning to spark up again.
"No.Who's he?"
"Well,he fought a lot in Montreal. Everyone called him 'Gus Smells'"Burke said sticking out his chest. "Doesn't that get all?"
"I read the other day that Jose Torres had passed away,"I interjected.
Torres then was up and coming and fought Burke in Madison Square Garden. Burke was kind of a stepping stone. Torres broke his ribs with some powerful body shots and they halted the fight.After that fight Burke was never the same. I waited for a response about Torres,but Burke went in another direction.
"When I was tending bar in Montreal near closing time the Frogs would come in and make trouble. I'd lock the doors and we'd take on the Frogs and fight till the last man standing,"
He was getting pretty worked now.
"Then we got together with them Frogs and said why don't we charge admission and let everyone watch us fight every night?They agreed.Hell.We'd make an extra 50 dollars a night fighting them Frogs."
I could see that Burke was on a roll. Then an aide walked in to take away the leftover breakfast. Burke gave her an angry stare.
"Who told you to take that away,"he snarled."I didn't ask you to take that away."
The aide turned on her heel and walked back out the door without taking the half eaten food.I then saw Burke looking down at the floor again. When he looked up his facial expression had turned dark.
"Are you still here?"he grumbled."Where are those cigars you brought me?I bet you stole them back.You're an Indian giver and a liar.You can't con me.What do you mean coming to my room and stealing my cigars?"
He got up from the edge of his bed and began making a fist and putting it in my face.
"Now I'm going to teach you a lesson you no good thief and give you a beating."
I thought for sure he was going to take a swing at me. Just then the aide came walking back in.
"Mr. Emory,"she said."Shirley is waiting outside to see you."
Burke put his hand down and began to break up.
"I knew Shirley would come.She told me she was coming.Please ,you'll have to leave.You can come back tomorrow,"he continued now sobbing openly.
I turned to walk out and saw the aide,her eyes were fixed on Burke. In her hand I saw a hypodermic needle on a towel. She never looked at me as I walked out into the hallway. As I walked I heard Burke talking faintly.There was a slight echo.
"Tell Shirley I'm waiting for her,"said Burke crying.
"Mr. Emory I need to give you your shot before she comes in,"said the aide in a calming voice."You'll feel better when she comes."
"Yes.I know.We're going out to dinner tonight.I want to take her to someplace nice."

I walked to the front desk. The same girl was sitting there. She didn't look up from her paperwork.She acted like I wasn't there.I signed out and took a short look over my shoulder back down the hallway. When I got outside the glare of the sun made me put on my sunglasses. I knew I would never be going back there again.


Burke and me at his bar,Champs

The Border Psycho

It was a cold drizzly day yesterday. I wanted to see the rematch between Andy Ruiz and Anthony Joshua,but I didn't feel like paying the 60 dollars to watch it on cable TV up here in San Diego..I figured they'd telecast the fight for free down in Tijuana,but I wasn't up for going down there at night,and besides the weather was cold and drizzly. But then I looked it up and found out that the fight would be broadcast at 1 o'clock pm.I could handle that so I got in the car and drove down to Tijuana.

When it's raining in Tijuana the traffic gets worse. The streets flood,cars get backed up,they don't get the cops out to direct traffic to alleviate the mess. I finally struggled to get into the parking lot on Revolution Street in back of the super mercado Soriana. It's better than parking on the street because you never know what's going to happen.Your car could get broken into or sideswiped.Inside the parking lot there's a security guard who rides around on a bicycle.

I wasn't sure where I wanted to watch the fight. My first attempt was to go to the Agua Caliente off track betting casino located between 3rd and 4th Streets on Revolution,but I saw a ,line forming outside the door and noticed that they were funneling in people through a metal detector. I said screw that. I wasn't in any panic though because I figured just about all the bars would be showing the fight.

I had about a half hour grace period before the fight started so before continuing my search I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up some 800 milligram bottles of Ibuprofen. There's like three or four pharmacies on every block in Tijuana. They do a hell of a business.For one reason a lot of Americans go there because a lot of the drugs you don't need to have a doctor's prescription like you have to have in the U.S. Another reason is that very few Mexicans have health insurance so they go to the pharmacy to self medicate. However,if a drug necessitates a prescription there's usually a clinic attached to the pharmacy and for three bucks U.S. you can plea your need to a doctor and he'll write you a prescription. That's was why I was buying the 800 milligram ibuprofen. In San Diego you have to have a doctor's prescription to buy 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen.

Before I made my exit I asked the pharmacist if he was going to watch the fight.
"Oh yes.I'll probably go next door to the casino,have a sandwich and a beer,and watch it,"he said.
"Who do you think will win?"
"I don't know. Ruiz is heavier this time. He might not be ready."
"Do you know where he was born?"
"Where?"
"Imperial,California.That's right across the border from Mexicali.That makes him an American."
"I know."
"Imagine if he would have been born in Mexicali?He could have been elected president of Mexico."
The pharmacist let out a hearty laugh.
"He would be more macho than Pancho Villa,"I said.
The pharmacist couldn't stop laughing.

I walked out with the ibuprofen and started walking up the street. I passed a bar and looked inside. It was pretty empty.Three guys sitting together at the end of the bar,a couple at a booth,and a kid behind the bar. I noticed a big flat screen TV behind the bar. I saw Joshua start to enter the ring. I thought "why not?" This is as good a place as any. The neon sign above the entrance read "The Border Psycho."I could tell that it was one of the newer joints that were popping up along Revolution Street. It was all a combination of trying to cater to the tourist crowd and the Mexican kids that were always following the lifestyles of the United States. As far as the tourists go the gringos were staying away from Tijuana pretty much. All the news about the murders and the cartels were enough to keep the white faces partying on the U.S. side of the border. However,the millennium Mexicans where buying into all the glitz spending their money keeping the lights on in these joints.

There was plenty of room at the bar so I planted my rear on one of the wooden bar stools. The seat was hard and there was no backrest. The kid behind the bar asked what I wanted to drink. I looked at the shelf behind the bar. I didn't want any hard stuff.
"What kind of beer do you have?"I asked.
"What kind do you like?"
"You have a dark beer?"
The kid went over to a side wall where there were a lot of spigots sticking out.He put a small plastic cup under one of the spigots and drew a little beer.
"Here.See if you like this,"he said.
I took a sip.
"Why this is very good,"I said.
"It is a craft beer brewed with chocolate and is 8 percent alcohol."
"I'll have this.It's very good."

The three guys at the end of the bar must have been friends with the kid behind the bar. Each one had a plate in front of them filled high with carne asada,refried beens,and a stack of tortillas.
"You see that guy that's introducing the fighters?" I said."He gets 5 million dollars for saying 'Let's get ready to rumble' ".
Everyone stopped eating.
"And he's got a patent on that expression.No one else can say that."
The eaters looked at each other.

After the introductions I noticed that the sparse crowd inside the bar wasn't paying much attention to the TV.The carne asada eaters were putting it away and talking to each other. The other three guys at the bar were playing on their phones.The couple sitting in the booth were engrossed with each other.The camera panned the arena. There was Canelo Alvarez with a gal who was wearing a scarf on her head. The bar was cold. I recalled when this bar 60 years ago was once the Boom Boom Club where Johnny Hot Nuts would come on stage after the girls would do their striptease and he would insult any fool who was stupid enough to bring a date with him.The date would leave crying and everyone would get a good laugh.Next door was the Long Bar that used to be across the street where the Soriana is now. The bar was the whole block long. That's why they named it the Long Bar.You could buy a giant thick glass pitcher of Mexicali beer for 75 cents.At the corner of 1st and Revolution was The Convoy Club where a young Carlos Santana and his band would play rock n' roll music for the American kids to dance to. Across the corner on 2nd was the Blue Fox where the girls would come on stage and dance and take everything off and guys would be leaning back over the rail to "eat" their pussies.Sometimes the girls would even let you f--k them on the stage..Every block had a torta stand where the guy would make you a hot ham or beef torta for a quarter.Up the street was the Jai Alai Palace where you could gamble the rest of your money away that you hadn't spent in the cantinas. In the alleys off to the side and in the back the fat old whores would be waiting in the dark so you couldn't see them and you'd hear them whistle. They'd try to hustle you to f--k them in a cardboard box for a couple of bucks.The drugstores sold amphetamines and downers in big candy jars on the counter for a dime apiece. You could buy a kilo of marijuana from a cabbie for 20 bucks that was hard as a brick. The taxistas also could sell you a 8 millimeter black and white pornographic movie for 10 dollars. "The Nun" was the most popular seller. Every type of music was blaring from all the bars.Street musicians would walk in and out of the bars banging away on the tambura drums to let you know that they were ready to perform. There wasn't song they didn't know.It was 50 cents a song.

That's all gone now. Now it's bars like the Border Psycho.-wind and smoke inside a façade.That fight with Ruiz and Joshua?It was kind of like what Revolution Street has turned into-an overblown hyped up fake inside a smoky windy façade.. The world heavyweight championship in Arabia. And what was the deal playing the Mexican national anthem?Ruiz is an American.The worst heavyweight fight I've ever seen. Fat Andy with a stomach that resembled a stuffed piñata. And Joshua with all his cut up muscles pawing with his left staying away like a sissy worrying that Ruiz might hit him again. But Fat Andy had no more desire to hunt Joshua down than a lazy burro. When it was over both looked relieved. And they're talking about a rematch. They'll get the suckers to buy into it like moths to a porchlight.

I liked Revolution Street when it was raunchy and nasty. it was fun.It had a pulse.It had a honky tonk in its bloodstream. Maybe I'm too old for all that today,but you can't forget it.Today,the Revolution Street is like that fight the other night-something you would like to put out of your mind.


The Long Bar

"

The Donkey Show

"I read what you wrote about that fight the other day,"said Jeff the bartender as he was opening up a case of beer and putting the bottles in the cooler underneath the bar.
Jeff is the day bartender at Champs,Burke Emory's old bar. After Burke was put away in the home,Jeff was hired on by Shirley's grandson Mark who was left the place after Shirley died. Burke was in the home by then and lost power of attorney.
"What did you think?"I asked him as he set a glass of draft in front of me on the counter.
"Yeah.It was a pretty bad fight,"he answered.
"The state boxing is in pretty bad shape as it is. They don't need to have a championship fight like that.Especially the heavyweight championship."
"A heavyweight championship fight is like the Super Bowl."
"It's bigger than any Super Bowl. You've got all these players in the Super Bowl on both teams and you can have a sh---y game or sit your ass on the bench and if your team wins you still get a ring."
"You're right about that,"said Jeff as he cut open another case of beer with a boxcutter.
"With all this MMA and wrestling crap going on boxing needs a shot in the arm.That fight the other night isn't going to get any new blood to buy into boxing."
"Yeah.The kids today aren't interested in watching anything like went on the other night."
"I wasn't exactly captivated."
Jeff was finished putting the bottles inside the cooler.He brought up a towel and began wiping the counter top.
"Tell me,"he said."Was Tijuana really like that back then?"
"Yeah.I could write a book about it."
"It sounded like a lot of fun."
"Figure it this way. You could drink down there when you were 18.If you weren't 18 and looked older you still got away with it."
"I haven't been to Tijuana in 20 years,"he said as he stopped wiping the counter.
"It hasn't changed much since then. It's become more tourist oriented but with all the bad news you hear the tourist trade has dropped off dramatically."
"Tell me,"said Jeff leaning towards me over the counter."Did you ever f--k any of those girls on the stage that danced in those bars?."
"I can't remember,"I said smiling."That was a long time ago and besides I was pretty drunk."
"You must have had some good times down there."
"I did but let me tell you something,if you made that kind of life your steady diet it all catches up with you. And that includes everybody involved. The girls,the guys in the band,the hustlers,the pushers,the bartenders,the cab drivers. If you can't let go of it it will eat you alive."
"You do that kind of stuff anymore?"
"Not in a long time.Besides Revolution Street has changed. It hasn't been that way for over 40 years at least."
Jeff put his hand to his chin and looked up at the ceiling.
"The last time I went to Tijuana I saw the Donkey Show,"he exclaimed.
"Where did you see that?"
"Oh.In one of those bars."
"You never saw any Donkey Show,"I said sarcastically."There wasn't any Donkey Show when I was going down there back in my day."
Jeff gave me a blank look.
"That's all mostly a legend,"I said. "There used to be a Donkey Show in Tijuana during World War II but it ain't there anymore. People like to brag that they seen the Donkey Show in Tijuana but it's all bull s--t."
Jeff knew he was defeated with his Donkey Show tale.
"The only town in Mexico that I know of that has a Donkey Show is in Nuevo Laredo on the other side of the Texas border."
"Have you ever seen it?"he asked.
"You wouldn't want me to bull s--t you,"I said."Besides I ain't into seeing a woman f--king an animal.I do have some morals left"

In a way, Andy Ruiz reminds me of Buster Douglas. In addition to winning at least one version of the world heavyweight title in astounding upsets and losing with very subpar performances in their first title defenses, both weighed much more in their title defenses than when they won their titles.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑10 Dec 2019, 18:10 In a way, Andy Ruiz reminds me of Buster Douglas. In addition to winning at least one version of the world heavyweight title in astounding upsets and losing with very subpar performances in their first title defenses, both weighed much more in their title defenses than when they won their titles.

- Chuck Johnston

I agree with you Chuck. However,Douglas went on to fight Evander Holyfield,a man who was a much better fighter than what Anthony Joshua has shown so far. Holyfield crushed an out of shape Douglas. Joshusa pitter pattered his way to outpointing Ruiz.He never had Ruiz in trouble mainly because Joshua never pressed the action.I have thought since then if that fight had taken place in Mexico(even though Ruiz is a Chicano),the way Mexicans look at a fight ,Ruiz would have gotten that decision. Let me ask you this:why didn't Joshua go downstairs? Any semblance of a body attack on Ruiz's soft belly would have taken him down,but Joshua was content to flick his jab and seldom follow with the right.I remember only one time Joshua hooked a left to Ruiz's body.Joshua didn't want to get in any exchanges with Ruiz.Joshua was afraid his jaw would betray him again.Ruiz wanted Joshua to trade with him,but Joshua knew he could win by just doing what he did and stay away.I thought for sure that Ruiz in the final rounds(what was his corner telling him?)would throw caution to the wind and come out blazing,but Fat Andy just kept loping along.Who would pay to see those two again?

The Fisherman

I don't know how it is in your neck of the woods but the county fair in San Diego County, named the Del Mar Fair, is more and more like a merchandise mart than an event featuring horse and cattle shows,floral exhibits,and apple pie bakeoffs. I remember when the 4 H kids tended to their animals and stayed with them during the night in the big barns making sure their four footed friends had everything they needed before they went to the slaughterhouse.,The rodeos, the different types of homemade meals that was cooked up by the rural community,and the square dance contests were something us city slickers looked forward to indulging with every summer.The fair is held during the month of June and ends on the 4th of July with the biggest fireworks display in California.. The venue is the Del Mar Racetrack that's 20 miles north of San Diego.

But like I was getting at, the Del Mar Fair is becoming more commercial. Big time enterprises hawking their wares is eating up the good ol' boys pastureland. The midway is turning into something that rivals Magic Mountain. Every night there's big entertainment at the track featuring everything from hip hop,country,to Mexican music. I don't think hardly anyone pays their hard earned money to see the three legged relay races.

This transformation has been going on for the last 30 years or so. I don't hear any complaints.The younger generation is content sitting going on the parachute ride, dropping a hundred feet for the sum of 75 bucks. Unusual repasts like fried Snicker Bars wrapped in bacon(just about all the foods are spiked with bacon) I guess satisfy the taste buds. Morsels like these gut bombs don't come cheap. In fact nothing at the Del Mar Fair is priced economically. You can drop a C note before you can say "Old McDonald had a farm."

My wife and I have taken the grandkids when they were little to the fair throughout the years. I usually found a spot to sit and watch the throng wind their way through this menagerie. Now we have great grandkids and it's up to their parents to show them around the Del Mar Fair. But for the time being I'd like to share an interesting experience I had at San Diego's annual event.I was with my wife and my newest granddaughter Cruz.I think it was somewhere in the mid 1980's. We were strolling along passing all the vendors working their booths when I saw a big sign that read"Sears Roebuck Fishing Gear .Fly Fishing Exhibition By San Diego Native Ted Williams."Well that stopped me in my tracks. Since retiring from baseball Williams had taken up a love for sports fishing. His permanent residence was Florida. He very seldom returned San Diego.

Ted Williams was born and raised in San Diego. He led the Hoover High School baseball team to the city championship in 1934,went on to sign with the Boston Red Sox,played and tore up the Pacific Coast League hitting for the local San Diego Padres,and after that went to the bigs and was rookie of the year.A first ballot Hall Of Famer. On top of all that Ted Williams was my hero.

I stopped my party at the Sears Roebuck booth in lieu of the complaints I was hearing from my wife and granddaughter. They couldn't see any fun in this venture. However,I did have some concerns. There was no one around. Maybe Ted was hiding in the dugout. There was one of those big plastic swimming pools behind the booth and a display of various fishing gear:rods and reels,fishing lures,tackle boxes,and assorted outdoor apparel. I poked my head around looking for Ted Williams or someone I could ask if "Teddy Baseball" was in the vicinity. Finally,this old codger comes sauntering up from behind outfitted in a pair of dungarees and rubber hip boots. He had on a floppy hat with a bunch of fly fishing lures attached to the brim. He was a big fair complected guy with a half shaven face and a hook for a nose. His hands were big and gnarly. There was no doubt that he was up in years but didn't show any cautions.
"Do you know when Ted Williams is going to show up?"I asked him.
I could see that my wife and granddaughter were getting antsy.
"He's not here today.He'll be here tomorrow,"he snorted.
"Gee," I said a half heartedly."I wanted to see Ted Williams."
"I'm taking his place today.You like to fish?"
"I've done some fishing."
"You like fly fishing?"he asked giving me a penetrating look.
"No just from the shore and a boat."
"That's a lazy way to fish. Fly fishing is an art.It's real fishing."
I didn't want to rebuke him. Besides,he looked like he was looking for a gripe.
"Me and Williams are pals.We've been fly fishing for years,"he went on.
"Did you play baeball with him?"
"No.I was a fighter."
"A boxer?"
"You could say that."
Then it struck me. I saw the fighter's nose,the scar tissue around his eyes. I was talking to Jack Sharkey. I had read that he was one of the best fly fishermen in the world.
"Are you Jack Sharkey?"I asked him like a big dummy.
"Well I ain't Shirley Temple,"he grumbled."If you wait I'm going to get set up and then I'll cast a few lines in this swimming pool."
I could see my wife and granddaughter starting to make their move.
"Look.I'll be back later.My wife and granddaughter want to go to the midway."
The old fighter gave me a hard look.
"Yeah.I know you came to see Ted Williams."
"No.It's not that at all."
"It don't bother me.It happens all the time."

I walked back to my wife and granddaughter before I lost them.
"Who s that man?"asked my wife.
"Oh,he used to be a fighter."
"You and your fighters,"she said."I don't see what you see in them."


Jack Sharkey

For Whom The Count Tolls

Getting back to Jack Sharkey after noting him yesterday in my post. He was the referee for the unforgettably famous Archie Moore/Yvon Durelle go in Montreal when the Canadian had The Mongoose on the deck three times in the 1st round. The last knockdown had the back of Archie's bouncing up from the canvas like an over inflated basketball. I thought that was going to be it,but there was Sharkey standing over the dazed champ administering a count. Moore staggered to his feet,Sharkey looked into his eyes,and motioned him forward to continue. How Moore got through all that was a tribute to the champion's heart. For the next few rounds Moore was still on queer street,but in the end it was Durelle who couldn't beat Jack Sharkey's final toll. I think if you took a survey of guys around my age and asked them what fight turned them on to the boxing,the first Moore/Durelle fight would get the most votes. (BTW:Sharkey was also the man in the middle for the rematch,also held in Durelle's backyard.)

Jack Sharkey was kind of a forgotten ex heavyweight title holder.The ex champs that were still alive then: Dempsey,Tunney,Baer,Carnera,Joe Louis,Jersey Joe,Charles,and of course Marciano were more in the public eye.TV appearances,some movies and TV shows,articles in the various sports rags kept their names alive with the fans. Sharkey though was kind of like former president Herbert Hoover. They were still breathing,but only their friends and relatives were aware of it so it seemed.

The reason I'm bringing back Sharkey's name and his connection with saving Archie Moore from being stopped via TKO was the attitude the Irishman had towards blacks when he was a fighter. Sharkey was pretty much done before he tried to redeem himself against Joe Louis who was coming back after tasting defeat for the first time against Herr Max. Sharkey was telling everyone that he had had his way with black fighters and Louis would need more than a 4 leaf clover to work any magic. The surly Sharkey was tearing numro uno contender Harry Wills apart in 1926 when Wills used a pivot punch to try to make something happen and was DQ'd.George Godfrey,another top notch black heavyweight, also came up short with Jack. I'm not implying that Jack Sharkey had anything against blacks,but I don't think he ever attended a Martin Luther King rally unless he was tossing rotten tomatoes.I'm sure Moore ,after that first fight with Durelle,would have never associated Jack Sharkey wearing a white hood. Jack saved Archie's bacon that night.


Joe Louis's comeback against Sharkey erased any doubts that Joe had turned gun shy. Later,Louis would have to show the world again that he didn't need psychotherapy before his rematch with Hitler's favorite fighter.As for Jack Sharkey,he never fought again after losing to Joe Louis.

Today,unless the fight is in some tank town in the middle of nowhere,I don't think a ref would let a battered fighter like Archie Moore ,who was resembling a Jack In The Box in that 1st round in Montreal, continue to let Yvon Durelle make hamburger out of him.But think if Sharkey would have waived that first fight off? It would have just been a footnote instead of a Pulitzer Prize.


Archie Moore

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑12 Dec 2019, 19:33 For Whom The Count Tolls

Getting back to Jack Sharkey after noting him yesterday in my post. He was the referee for the unforgettably famous Archie Moore/Yvon Durelle go in Montreal when the Canadian had The Mongoose on the deck three times in the 1st round. The last knockdown had the back of Archie's bouncing up from the canvas like an over inflated basketball. I thought that was going to be it,but there was Sharkey standing over the dazed champ administering a count. Moore staggered to his feet,Sharkey looked into his eyes,and motioned him forward to continue. How Moore got through all that was a tribute to the champion's heart. For the next few rounds Moore was still on queer street,but in the end it was Durelle who couldn't beat Jack Sharkey's final toll. I think if you took a survey of guys around my age and asked them what fight turned them on to the boxing,the first Moore/Durelle fight would get the most votes. (BTW:Sharkey was also the man in the middle for the rematch,also held in Durelle's backyard.)

Jack Sharkey was kind of a forgotten ex heavyweight title holder.The ex champs that were still alive then: Dempsey,Tunney,Baer,Carnera,Joe Louis,Jersey Joe,Charles,and of course Marciano were more in the public eye.TV appearances,some movies and TV shows,articles in the various sports rags kept their names alive with the fans. Sharkey though was kind of like former president Herbert Hoover. They were still breathing,but only their friends and relatives were aware of it so it seemed.

The reason I'm bringing back Sharkey's name and his connection with saving Archie Moore from being stopped via TKO was the attitude the Irishman had towards blacks when he was a fighter. Sharkey was pretty much done before he tried to redeem himself against Joe Louis who was coming back after tasting defeat for the first time against Herr Max. Sharkey was telling everyone that he had had his way with black fighters and Louis would need more than a 4 leaf clover to work any magic. The surly Sharkey was tearing numro uno contender Harry Wills apart in 1926 when Wills used a pivot punch to try to make something happen and was DQ'd.George Godfrey,another top notch black heavyweight, also came up short with Jack. I'm not implying that Jack Sharkey had anything against blacks,but I don't think he ever attended a Martin Luther King rally unless he was tossing rotten tomatoes.I'm sure Moore ,after that first fight with Durelle,would have never associated Jack Sharkey wearing a white hood. Jack saved Archie's bacon that night.


Joe Louis's comeback against Sharkey erased any doubts that Joe had turned gun shy. Later,Louis would have to show the world again that he didn't need psychotherapy before his rematch with Hitler's favorite fighter.As for Jack Sharkey,he never fought again after losing to Joe Louis.

Today,unless the fight is in some tank town in the middle of nowhere,I don't think a ref would let a battered fighter like Archie Moore ,who was resembling a Jack In The Box in that 1st round in Montreal, continue to let Yvon Durelle make hamburger out of him.But think if Sharkey would have waived that first fight off? It would have just been a footnote instead of a Pulitzer Prize.


Archie Moore

Roger, Jack Sharkey was of Lithuanian descent, not Irish. His real name was Joseph Paul Zukauskas.

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑13 Dec 2019, 09:10

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑12 Dec 2019, 19:33 For Whom The Count Tolls

Getting back to Jack Sharkey after noting him yesterday in my post. He was the referee for the unforgettably famous Archie Moore/Yvon Durelle go in Montreal when the Canadian had The Mongoose on the deck three times in the 1st round. The last knockdown had the back of Archie's bouncing up from the canvas like an over inflated basketball. I thought that was going to be it,but there was Sharkey standing over the dazed champ administering a count. Moore staggered to his feet,Sharkey looked into his eyes,and motioned him forward to continue. How Moore got through all that was a tribute to the champion's heart. For the next few rounds Moore was still on queer street,but in the end it was Durelle who couldn't beat Jack Sharkey's final toll. I think if you took a survey of guys around my age and asked them what fight turned them on to the boxing,the first Moore/Durelle fight would get the most votes. (BTW:Sharkey was also the man in the middle for the rematch,also held in Durelle's backyard.)

Jack Sharkey was kind of a forgotten ex heavyweight title holder.The ex champs that were still alive then: Dempsey,Tunney,Baer,Carnera,Joe Louis,Jersey Joe,Charles,and of course Marciano were more in the public eye.TV appearances,some movies and TV shows,articles in the various sports rags kept their names alive with the fans. Sharkey though was kind of like former president Herbert Hoover. They were still breathing,but only their friends and relatives were aware of it so it seemed.

The reason I'm bringing back Sharkey's name and his connection with saving Archie Moore from being stopped via TKO was the attitude the Irishman had towards blacks when he was a fighter. Sharkey was pretty much done before he tried to redeem himself against Joe Louis who was coming back after tasting defeat for the first time against Herr Max. Sharkey was telling everyone that he had had his way with black fighters and Louis would need more than a 4 leaf clover to work any magic. The surly Sharkey was tearing numro uno contender Harry Wills apart in 1926 when Wills used a pivot punch to try to make something happen and was DQ'd.George Godfrey,another top notch black heavyweight, also came up short with Jack. I'm not implying that Jack Sharkey had anything against blacks,but I don't think he ever attended a Martin Luther King rally unless he was tossing rotten tomatoes.I'm sure Moore ,after that first fight with Durelle,would have never associated Jack Sharkey wearing a white hood. Jack saved Archie's bacon that night.


Joe Louis's comeback against Sharkey erased any doubts that Joe had turned gun shy. Later,Louis would have to show the world again that he didn't need psychotherapy before his rematch with Hitler's favorite fighter.As for Jack Sharkey,he never fought again after losing to Joe Louis.

Today,unless the fight is in some tank town in the middle of nowhere,I don't think a ref would let a battered fighter like Archie Moore ,who was resembling a Jack In The Box in that 1st round in Montreal, continue to let Yvon Durelle make hamburger out of him.But think if Sharkey would have waived that first fight off? It would have just been a footnote instead of a Pulitzer Prize.


Archie Moore

Roger, Jack Sharkey was of Lithuanian descent, not Irish. His real name was Joseph Paul Zukauskas.

- Chuck Johnston

I stand corrected Chuck.What got me off track was his fight with Jimmy Maloney for Boston bragging rights. Thanks for catching that.

A Standing Ovation

Reading where former champ Leon Spinks is having some physical problems. We all hope he comes through OK.. Several years ago Leon's nephew, Leon III,was fighting on Bobby DiFilippi's card at the 4 Points Sheraton Hotel in San Diego. Uncle Leon was there to watch his nephew show his stuff. The kid won a majority decision.He didn't really impress. He didn't look like his uncle. He was a lightweight then.He hasn't fought in awhile. But when it was announced that Leon Spinks was in the audience,the crowd came alive.He got a standing ovation.

Leon Spinks,a former Marine and Olympic Light heavyweight champ,got a chance to fight an aging Muhammad Ali for the heavyweight title. Spinks was undefeated at that time.. His bro Mike,was also an Olympic Gold Medalist.Both brothers were undefeated as pros. They hyped up the Ali fight pretty good.Leon had only 8 fights under his belt. No one took him too seriously including Muhammad Ali. Well,at this point Ali wasn't fond of busting his ass in the gym.After the bell rang for the final round in Las Vegas Ali left the ring without his crown on his head. Leon had outworked and outfought him. Of course the world wouldn't stand for that.Ali was iconic by then. The most recognizable face on the planet. A champion of the oppressed.The conqueror of Liston,Frazier,and Foreman couldn't be upset by a guy like Leon Spinks who had only 8 fights on his resume.Besides,Leon seemed a little off center. He didn't articulate like Ali.He had a tough time putting words together. He didn't possess Ali's wit. He lacked celebrity magnetism. He wasn't a "killer" like a Liston or a Foreman.And what also hurt his personae was he often posed before the camera smiling exposing that gap of missing front teeth. It made him look like a dummy.

In the rematch the cards were stacked against Leon.He would have had to knockout Ali to keep the championship,but he lost a decision and the crown.The scribes wrote it tp like it was a one sided win.Ali was in shape now.It was a no brainer. Hell, Ali got away with murder in that fight:holding behind the head,making the clinches,stalling. On my scorecard Ali lost AGAIN. But who's to rebuke The Greatest?

After losing the championship Leon Spink's career was a train wreck.I don't need to kick a dog when he's down.

But I'll never forget that night at the 4 Points Sheraton Hotel.The main reason I attended was to see Prince Smalls,Tiger Smalls' son,fight in one of semi mains. My grandson Adam I took along with me because he was taking boxing lessons in Tiger's gym.We went to back up Prince. However, when it was announced that Leon Spinks was in the crowd,the arena took on a different aura. Bobby D got in the ring and said tat Leon was more than happy to pose with fans to take pictures before the main event. When Leon stepped up into the ring the crowd went hysterical. Another standing ovation.I told my grandson Adam about how Leon Spinks had beaten the great Muhammad Ali in a big upset.

The boxing crowd is fickle. Often former champs fade away like a General MacArthur. But when brought back into the public view they become resurrected,at least for the time being. I saw that reaction that night at that obscure hotel that was featuring a bunch of little known fighters. It took Leon Spinks to elevate the status of the event to something regal. He put a class signature on things.

When it was over Leon returned to the back pages. A distant memory of a fighter who upset The Greatest who wasn't supposed to. Now he's fighting for his life. Now the public is wanting to make amends. Christ,the guy was the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world. Let's hope there's another upset left in him.

My grandson Adam with THE CHAMP

They Got It Right

As you know by now I'm not a list maker for good or bad. but I was looking at the BoxRec list for the best P4P ers and I concur with the top two-Saul Alvarez and Terence Crawford. I'm looking forward to Crawford's fight tonight with a fella I'll just refer to as "EK". I get tongue tied just trying looking at his name. Anyway I hope this fighter is worth his mettle.I don't know anything about him. I want to see a good fight. I want to see Crawford extend himself. I think he's got it all. He's composed in the ring.You don't see that much these days. Today's fighters are all wound up tighter than a drum.Opponents stand in front of each other stationary with feet wide apart and load up their swings with everything they've got. This practice lends itself to telegraphing their punches. Counterpunching and body punching become lost arts.Terence Crawford reminds me of the old school fighters that have practiced footwork in combination with punching. It's like coordinating air support with ground troops. Crawford looks like he has not only a Plan A attack,but a B,C,and D in reserve. You have to be smart and work hard in the gym to these acquire skills. When it then becomes second nature then you've got the real article. Crawford is that.

Too bad Alvarez looks comfortable fighting above 165. I don't think Crawford could get to that weight without losing speed and reflexes. It's also a shame that Errol Spence is on the IR. We'll have to wait to see how he recovers from his injuries. But even before the car crash I wouldn't have put my money on Spence if he had signed to fight Crawford.

It's also regrettable that these two boys are heads and tails above most of their opposition. Put them in a time machine and turn the clock back 40 or 50 years and see these two get in the mix with complete fighters ranked in divisions steeped with quality.

Both Alvarez and Crawford are in their primes. I'm looking forward to tonight's fight. Besides,it's on ESPN.I won't have to go to Tijuana to watch it for free.


Saul Alvarez

The Influence Play

Prior to Terence Crawford's fight the other night I was shoutin' from the mountain top about how I thought he was the best fighter out there today(P4P).I was happy to know that the fight was to be broadcast live on ESPN. I'll apologize again for referring to Crawford's opponent as EK(his initials).If I try to type his name I'll keep on making so many mistakes I'll never get to the end of this. I guess I should apologize to E also. This man is a very good fighter.A worthy opponent.

In my preview I was hoping that Crawford would "extend" himself. Often a very successful fighter is primarily one dimensional.George Foreman was a good example of the one dimensional fighter. Everyone knew what he was going to do, including his terrified opponent. Big George would came out swinging for the fences and the finales would usually conclude before the sound of the bell ending the 2nd round.When Big George signed to fight Ali he wasn't gonna' change nothin'.He thought he'd come storming out of his corner looking for the homerun as usual. It would all be said and done under six minutes. But Big George and Dick Saddler were only playing their ace card because that's all Big George had up his sleeve. He didn't know how to fight any other way. Ali knew that. The night before the fight he had the ring ropes loosened preparing to rope a big dope. George came out for the opening frame wanting to tear Ali in two. Ali thought maybe George was going to flop to the canvas like Sonny in Lewistown when Ali's "the Anchor punch" sunk Sonny's ship. Ali threw a dozen "anchor punches" in round number one but George was still afloat. But as time wore on Big George had no more wind in his sails and eventually collapsed in the ring because of fighting like a dope .He was a victim of not only Ali,but he hadn't prepared for adjusting his game plan if swinging for the fences were three strikes and you're out.He knew nothing else.Ali wanted George to keep throwing his bombs,What Foreman had always relied upon to bring him victory was his undoing. Instead of pacing himself,he ran out of gas.

The other night in the Garden Terence Crawford worked on some stuff. He knew what EK was about. A tough undefeated fighter who had a solid stance,a solid right hand,and a solid chin. So now Crawford has everyone scratching their heads and he comes out in the first southpaw and wants to exchange with the hard nosed Lithuanian.The way to get to a southpaw is with the right hand and Crawford is OK with that. And then Crawford wants to trade rights with a guy whose best weapon is the right. What was he smoking?Even the ring announcers are perplexed. In one of the trade offs EK struck pay dirt and dropped Crawford to his knees with that right hand(and the help of a shove).The ref called it no knockdown but there wouldn't have been any protest if he would have ruled it the Real McCoy. Crawford figured it was now time to get to business and switched to orthodox. He let out all in his armory and showed EK just about everything in the pages of the Boxing 101 book:hooks to body followed by an overhand right,combinations coming off the jab.lead rights.The first knockdown was very pretty. Crawford saw the opening for a right hand uppercut.But he instantly shifted his feet so the right foot was in front. By doing this he could shorten the range of the punch and could put more power behind it. Bingo.EK could see it all unraveling.

So Crawford did "extend" himself. He not only won,but brought out just about everything in his toolbox. We saw the southpaw first. He could do execute everything in his repertoire from both sides. He's beautiful and captivating to watch. But I want to emphasize the point that instead of Crawford coming out orthodox and wanting to get it over as quickly as possible,he played into EK's strength. If you can't beat me with when I give you an opportunity, how are you going to beat me when I take that chance away? When the ref stopped it you could see EK shaking his head.He knew he was beaten by a better man.

They once asked Green Bay Packer coach and immortal Vince Lombardi if he had a certain credo going into a game. He answered by saying that he wanted to attack an opponent's strength. By succeeding against the other team's strong point everywhere else will be a piece of cake. It also shakens the confidence if you do that. Remember that famous championship game in 1967 they called "The Ice Bowl?"It was Lombardi's Green Bay Packers against the Cowboys played on a frozen field in Green Bay. It was late in the 4th quarter. The Packers were behind by a few points. They were driving to the Cowboy's goal. It was do or die time. The Packers needed to pick up a 1st down to keep their drive going. it was 4th down and a couple of yards. The best defensive man on the Cowboys was their big defensive tackle Bob Lilly. Lombardi sent in what he called his "Influence Play."The Packer's left guard Gale Gillingham was lined up opposite Bob Lilly. At the snap Gillingham pulled to his right like it was going to be a sweep around the right end. Lilly, reading Gillingam's move,ran with him down the line. Then on a delayed handoff Bart Starr handed the ball to the fullback Chuck Mercien. Mercien had a hole left vacant by Lilly that you could have driven a dog sled team through.The "Pack" picked up the 1st down that eventually led to the score on the last play of the game(Star's QB sneak) that won the championship for the Packers.

Lombardi went for all the marbles by attacking the Cowboy's best defender. Terence Crawford gave EK the chance in the early going just like he would have wanted. You know you got beat fair and square when someone will gave you a head start and you still can't win.

Terence Crawford

Without The Greatest

If those kids hadn't stolen Cassius Clay's bicycle when he was 12 back in Louisville,Kentucky then he wouldn't have gone crying into the police gym wanting Joe Martin to teach him how to box. Imagine boxing having no Muhammad Ali?Think of the world not knowing him?

Boxing doesn't get much print or the air time anymore. But if you were to amass all the athletes in the world and the fans,non fans included,and asked everybody who the largest of the large is when it comes to fame and reputation in the world of sports, hands down the answer would be Muhammad Ali. Even ego maniacs like LeBron James and Jim Brown who consider themselves ,without batting an eye, that they were the GOATs in their respective sports,they would concede to Ali. The only icon I can think of that might get mentioned is Babe Ruth,but Ruth didn't leave any imprints outside of baseball.

Ali was part of the perfect storm of the youth culture taking over,Civil Rights,the Vietnam War,and drugs. In the short span of a couple of years the Pied Piper of the world, the United States, was breaking new ground and taking the rest of the world with it shovel in hand.Ali wasn't Joe Louis.Ali wasn't what white folk wanted the black man to be like-another Joe Louis.A negro who knew his place. When Ali got on his Muslim black power platform the rest of the negro hinters of what's right for blacks became interested in this sudden sensation who swept past them and left them eating dust. The wannabies like Jim Brown and Bill Russell,the black old guard of the civil rights movement, were upstaged by the new heavyweight champion.Ali didn't put on airs that he was some sort of intellectual. After Ali told you he was ""The Greatest" you didn't wind up hating his guts. He had that boyish charm.There was nothing stuck up or standoffish about his rhetoric. When he said "No Viet Cong ever called me n----r"it caught the common man's ear,black and white. But what Ali also had was a sense of humor. A wit.He could see through the facades that his adversaries held in front of him. He could stab into their hypocrisy with a sarcastic sword that brought these phonies down to earth with all their hoity toity .

Think of all the athletes that have come and gone, and they are at the most a pale imitation of what Ali was. Having the best stats is not enough. You can argue all you want about P4P,who could have beaten who,and compile all the lists you want, and you can't come up with a bigger name than Muhammad Ali. Travel to the extremes of the planet, wander into some remote village,and ask the question:who was the greatest athlete of all time? Well,if you get an answer that isn't "Muhammad Ali" then I'd say to you "What is it like on Mars?"


Muhammad Ali.More than stats or ability

Happy To Be Here

I haven't been to Big john Haedrich's Tip Top Meats in awhile.He opened its doors over 50 years ago and its been going strong ever since. Big John is from Germany. I'd say he might have hit 90 years by now. He'd be in his deli/restaurant everyday organizing the business making sure everything was hitting on all cylinders. His place is located on the coast just off Highway 8 up in Carlsbad,California that's 30 miles north of San Diego. Big John keeps "his" table near the front door of the restaurant.The table is big,strong , and round. John enjoys holding court every morning with some of his customers.. He'll talk your ear off about anything.

Big John has a constant wide smile from ear to ear,a round fleshy face with thin light hair atop his pinkish head,clear blue eyes,he's well over 6 feet with shoulders and arms that are still robust.His huge hands imply that underneath his warmth is still a man that could take of himself if pressed.His gait is sprightly and he stands erect not showing signs of the aches and pains common to men of his years.

I was introduced to Big John by my son in law who was driving a Coca Cola rig that once a week would make a stop at Tip Top Meats. One morning I found an empty seat at John's table and slid in. John is the kind of guy that even when after a first introduction you think you've known him since childhood. Like I said,John came across the pond from Germany around ten years after the war. His accent is still thick like many Germans who've made the trek to the U.S.
"Germany was still occupied by the allies and the Russians,"he said."the black market was sometimes the only way to buy something you wanted, There was the airlift but they only provided the essentials."
John went on about once having aspirations of becoming a fighter.
"I was in my early 20's and began to box in the gym. I tried qualifying for the '52 Olympic squad but didn't make it. Howver,I trained with the German fighters.Max Schmeling who was trying to make comeback was working with the squad. I got to know him and even sparred with him quite often."
"They say that after he lost to Louis in the rematch that Hitler disowned him,"I said wanting to add something of worth.
"Of course everyone in Germany wanted Schmeling to win but when he didn't the country wasn't that moved. Hitler was having ideas about starting a war in the east and boxing wasn't that important a subject. Hitler admired German athletes but he never identified with them.He had too many other things on his mind.Besides,he was very weak looking."
"Hitler didn't like Joe Jacobs Schmeling's manager."
"No.But like I said Hitler had much more important things on his mind."
"Schmeling wasn't a Nazi."
"Back then you didn't know who was a Nazi and who wasn't. After the war everyone denied they were Nazis,"said Big John laughing.
"Didn't Hitler banish Schmeling to fight in Greece and be a paratrooper?"
"Schmeling fought in the war because Germany was fighting on two fronts and every man was called up by then. "
"Didn't Schmeling get wounded?"
"He did but then he was sent home not to fight again."
It was just an A B conversation between me and John at his round table with everyone else entranced by the back and forth subject of Max Schmeling.
"Didn't Schmeling land a pretty good job with Coca Cola after the war?"
"He was a regional director.He became a very rich man."
"Did you ever see him again after he left Germany?"
"We used to talk on the phone. Once he took his wife to California on a vacation and we reunited.We all spent a week together."
"Did he ever talk about boxing or Joe Louis or Hitler?"
"He talked about his boxing career but left Hitler and that past alone.Often in front of strangers they want us to explain things. They ask a lot of questions.But Schmeling and me didn't have to talk about it. We had new lives now."
The conversation seemed to be dying down. Big John scanned the dining room.Every booth was filled with hungry eaters.. There was a long line at the deli counter with customers ordering various cuts and types of sausages and meats.
On the wall above John's table was a plaque that read:
"To Big John Heidrich from the city of Carlsbad Citizen Of The Year"
"Looks like you're doing a heck of a business this morning,"I said.
"You can't imagine how happy I am to be here,"he said still smiling.



Big John making sure the customer is always right