BoxRec

Pussy And Prizefighting

In this day and age the media wants to tell us everything every thing that can be construed as scandalous about any of the high profile people that are glowing in the limelight. Politicians and entertainers get the most scrutiny. If it's an extremist at one end like a religious figurehead,any indiscretion of keeping his pants on when the urge calls makes for a juicy story. The examiners exert exhausting research, even going back to someone's time spent in the womb if necessary, to extract any scintilla of smut.

Sex is the major element that the nosy scribes are digging the dirt in search of. Infidelity,rape,a pinch on the ass,an off color remark all spell gloom and doom for the now caught with his pants down defendant. However, with sports,the toy store of the news, hopping in and out of the sack may enhance an athlete's prowess and popularity in the minds of the fans. When Kobe Bryant died in that helicopter crash it was like the passing of a great national treasure. It came out again about his sexual assault charge that was dealt with handily in an out of court settlement,but that smudge didn't obscure the halo that swirled above Number 8's head.

There seems to be even more tolerance.or at least looking the other way, when it involves a fighter's ramifications from his overstimulated libido. When MikeTyson went to jail stemming from a rape conviction it seemed like a publicity stunt coup.Mike came out of lock up more popular than ever. When we hear about all the hotel rooms that Muhammad Ali snuck in and out of getting in his extracurricular workouts by way of the flesh,the Walter Mitty's of the world played with themselves under the sheets trying to imagine that they would like emulate The Greatest too.

It's hard to name a fighter that followed the 6th Commandment to the letter.Then again it's something about two practically naked men in the ring that beat on each other that drives women to lose their self control. Some fighters get more females thrown at them than punches.

When we fantasize about the most beautiful of the softer sex our minds usually drift to the starlets of the silver screen.. The Hollywood Legion Stadium was adjacent to LA's film studios. One of the favorite pastimes for the beautiful people was to take in one of the weekly cards at the now defunct arena. The one fighter I always think of that couldn't get enough of the feature film females was Art Aragon,the first Golden Boy of boxing's Southland. I remember when I was kid they had a celebrity softball game at Gilmore Field,the teams comprised of celebrities. Sure enough there was the Golden Boy schmoozing up to Marilyn Monroe. Flash bulbs were popping and both Art and Marilyn wouldn't be accused of being camera shy.

Art Aragon may not have won a world title.Maybe his focus was skewed beauties by the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Oh,it wasn't important that Art's wife might have got in a snit. I mean if Marilyn Monroe is willing and able to taste the fruits of victory why tell her she needs to go on a diet. Art could always say I may have not beaten Jimmy Carter for the title,but I scored a knockout of the biggest knockout in Tinsetown,Marilyn Monroe.



Isn't It Romantic?

He Made Things Ugly

After watching the local hero Memo Ayon decision the once great Sugar Ray Robinson in the Tijuana Bullring,Ayon's next fight was up in LA against the still great Luis Rodriguez. El Feo,as was called Rodriguez ,put a finisher on any aspirations that Memo might have had about maybe getting into the top ten rankings and possibly a title shot somewhere in the future. Rodriguez gave the Mexican such a working over that Memo,when hearing the bell to signal the start of the 4th round,decided to not get off his stool. He never won another fight after that loss.

I overheard Denny Moyer say once while working out at the San Diego Coliseum that Rodriguez was the best fighter he ever faced.I've seen that encounter on YouTube. Denny,as crafty as he was,was totally in a fog against the bouncy Rodriguez. Luis was catching Moyer coming in with uppercuts and hooks and had Denny bouncing up and down off the canvas like a rickety Jack In The Box. After that loss Moyer fell into the trial horse definition of a fighter.

Ruben "Hurricane" Carter after losing a close decision to Joey Giardello for the championship was still a feared opponent.His next fight was against Rodriguez to prove to the doubters that he was still a top rung fighter. Despite knocking down Luis in the 7th round,Carter could only muster winning 3 rounds out of 10 on the scorers' cards.Post Rodriguez,The Hurricane lost 6 of his last 14 fights.

Luis Rodriguez will always be remembered as getting the shaft against Emile Griffith and getting caught flush on the chin by Nino Benvenuti in the 11th round ,though Luis was ahead on the cards,failing to win the middleweight title.

Rodriguez is under appreciated by the peripheral followers of the sport.He wasn't inducted into the IBHOF until 1997 six years after the first group of fighters were honored by that body.

When Luis was training in Miami after leaving his native Cuba,a young Cassius Clay who was starting out training for his pro career at the now historically famous 5th Street Gym, was taken by Rodriguez's style of fighting.Look at Clay and you'll see the plagerism.

I've told about how I saw Rodriguez train in San Diego for his fight with the Mexican middleweight Rafael Gutierrez.The fight was a elimination match for Benvenuti's crown. Angelo Dundee made his late appearance,as usual a couple of weeks before the fight.(Dundee was more or less a figurehead.He didn't started out with a lot of the champions he worked with during their careers).Luis was his own boss. He dictated what his training regimen would consist of:the sparring,who would be his sparring partners,all calisthenics,bag work,road work,etc. Angelo's main purpose was to "grease" the scribes and lend his name for the publicity. During Luis's training Jose Napoles showed up at camp and at the fight giving support to his fellow emigrant. When Jose stepped up from the lightweight division to go at it at 145 pounds,Rodriguez vacated the welters and moved up a weight class to middleweight.

It worked out well for Jose.He beat Cokes and went on to defend his title 14 times.He was one of the first inductees into the IBHOF.Rodriguez on the other hand kept struggling to win a championship and wear a title belt for a long duration. Luis went on record as having the shortest reign as welterweight champion after finally getting the proper decision against Emile Griffth in Dodger Stadium in LA.Luis would bask in the aura for three months before getting jobbed again by the judges in Griffith's backyard in New York. Later,Luis rolled "snake eyes" in Las Vegas during the last of the four with Emile.

El Feo,meaning "ugly", is what they called him.Those would be fighting words to anyone else,but Rodriguez was a happy go lucky sort unless you happened to mention Emile Griffith..


"El Feo"-Luis Rodriguez

An Old Home Remedy

Fighters go through their careers having to deal with the everyday aches and pains that come with the territory. Throughout the years trainers have come up with personal concoctions to rub into the achy muscles of their charges. In Mexico one of the most common potions used for the tired and sore is a combination of marijuana soaked in 196 proof cane alcohol. This strong brew can also be found on the bed stands inside many households especially in the rural areas of the country.It all started with the Indians way back when before the times of Hernando Cortes and his Conquistadors sailed over from Hispanola and vanquished the natives of Tenochtitlan, more commonly known today as Mexico. In societies where medicine was mainly a combination of herbs and superstition,the Indians used this hearty mixture to help relieve pain.Rubbing the concoction into the areas where there is discomfort will produce a warm soothing effect. I've seen bottles of cane alcohol with marijuana crammed inside the locker rooms of gyms and arenas in Tijuana.

Though marijuana is against the law to smoke or sell in Mexico.there are plenty of nooks and crannies that harbor this tried and true remedy. Botanicas(herb stores )have plenty of salves in jars that contain arnica,peyote,and marijuana that you can buy legally for just a few dollars. Similar mixtures can be purchased in California now that the voters passed the law stating that marijuana ain't so bad after all. You can go to these marijuana distribution centers or the neighborhood CVS and find jars of marijuana creams.But unlike the stuff they have in Mexico you pay through the nose for those products in California. But here's the bottom line-the marijuana creams(and that goes for the peyote and arnica combos across the border)don't really work unless you're taken in by the placebo effect.

The first time in Mexico I saw any evidence of marijuana soaked in alcohol was when I watched Jose Napoles train at the gym that was located upstairs between the fire station and the Tijuana jail. After a brisk workout I heard Luis Sarria,Napoles's trainer, say to Jose that he wanted to give him a good rubdown after showering. Sarria then broke out a bottle of the marijuana soaking in the alcohol from his bag.

The elixir doesn't come ready made.You have to combine the marijuana and the cane alcohol together letting it soak for a good three weeks. Even though the cane alcohol is a super potent rum you can't buy it in California. The 196 proof rum is literally a poison. They used to sell it in the liquor stores but there were so many alcoholics killing themselves drinking this liquid venom that the government said that it could only be purchased in the pharmacies. Of course that didn't deter the determined from abstaining so they frequented the drug stores. So then the government said if they want to drink this stuff lets put it back in the liquor stores.

My wife likes to go out looking for bottles and cans to recycle. She also finds a lot of marijuana that for some reason is discarded in the trash. She brings the marijuana back to the condo and then starts the process of submerging the weed inside the bottles of cane alcohol. Believe me it really helps. I've got the arthritis real bad so I' make sure I always have a bottle close at hand. The secret is, unlike the salves,the alcohol gets the marijuana into the skin down inside the muscles.I can feel the ease right away.

So instead of going to the doctor to get a prescription for some pharmaceutical chemical or go the marijuana kiosk in the neighborhood or the local CVS around the corner and spend a small fortune,I'll rely on my wife's homemade remedy. One thing though.If you're full of aches and pains don't ask your doctor about marijuana and cane alcohol for relief.Doctors just don't study about those things in med school.

https://imgur.com/3vS8Det
A Tijuana Botanica


https://imgur.com/vn2eAfX
196 proof alcohol

Gotta Dance

When Ray Robinson lost his bid for the light heavyweight title to the heat and Joey Maxim.(Joey always got a little irked when they talked about the heat being the key factor for Robinson's failure),Ray hung up the gloves and set his eyes on a second career in showbusiness. When Robby went to training camp people would stand in awe watching Sugar Ray skip rope. it was almost as good as watching him fight. Then when he stepped inside the ring he'd put those fancy feet to work setting himself up to attack and defend with only a Willie Pep as a noteworthy comparision. Ray Robinson was an athletic artist inside the ring.So it figured to Ray that if he could dance in the ring ala Fred Astaire why couldn't he trade in his boxing shoes for a pair of dancing leathers?

I remember Robinson performing on one of those 1950's variety shows. It might have been Milton Berle,but that's not important. It was announced that Robinson was going to do a tap dance number with a few hoofers as backdrop. I couldn't wait to see Robinson,the master rope skipper and general ring master ,put his feet on display entertaining the TV audience. Well,what I saw was a big letdown. Instead of a constant barrage of twirls,turns,and staccatos, Robinson moved around the stage like he had a piano tied to his back. He was clumsy and slow,though you could tell by the big s--t eating smile on his face that his huge ego thought he was the second coming of Fred Astaire.Gene Kelly wouldn't inherit the throne from Astaire.Sugar Ray and his dancing entourage would sell out Rockefeller Center and The Palladium.

Watching Ray Robinson dance made one blush with embarrassment. It wasn't even a short lived novelty anymore. Get the hook on this guy. Robinson also thought he could sing,but that's not even worth mentioning. When we saw Ray's footwork in the ring we thought he had something there when he said he was going to strike up the band and tap dance his way to stardom.

Robinson's act went over like getting heat stroke that night against Maxim in Yankee Stadium.He fell flat on his face.Then we saw Ray make his comeback after a few years of performing on entertainment's undercard. There was no business like showbusiness not to mention no money in Robinson's bank account. When I saw Robinson back in the ring against Ralph "Tiger" Jones,who was on a losing streak at the time,I thought that Robinson's fighting now resembled his dancing. His legs were gone.

When a dancer loses his legs,or at least not responding as they once did,he can make it up with a good choreography and a decent song.I was watching the movie Royal Wedding starring Fred Astaire the other night.it was made in 1951. That was around the same time when Robinson lost to Maxim.Astaire was 50 when he made that flick.A 50 year old dancer has the same issues with Father Time as a fighter who turns the half century mark. Fred's 50 year old pins had lost a lot of that bounce. instead of dazzling as he did with Ginger Rogers he was struggling to keep up with Jane Powell.But hell,it's Fred Astaire dancing at 50 not Sugar Ray Robinson back in the ring on old feet. Fred sold Royal Wedding to the public,but you can mask a lot of flaws with a smart routine and a slew of retakes. Fred never had to worry about getting slugged in the mouth.

Astaire dancing with Jane Powell shouldn't be compared with Robinson in the ring with Ralph "Tiger" Jones. Sugar Ray Robinson,like Ali later,proved to the world he could take a punch. Fred Astaire on the other hand might have stepped on a few of his partners' toes,but then unlike a boxing match ,the director can call "cut" and they can start all over again.


Fred and Ginger



Ray dancing on the Ed Sullivan Show.What the hell was he thinking?

Fred and Ginger-IT DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER THAN THAT

A Time To Remember

In 1970 I went up to Los Angeles to watch my friend Gary Young participate in a Golden Gloves tournament at the Los Angeles Sports Arena. Gary was undefeated at heavyweight sporting a record of 12 victories without a loss. I first met Gary when I was working out with the weights at Vic Gerardi's Ocean Beach Gym that was located behind Vic's Nutrition Shoppe on Newport Street in Ocean Beach( Vic claimed his store was the largest vitamin store west of the Mississippi).Vic grew up in the Bronx and came out to San Diego to open up his business with ample support from his wife's parents who had invested healthily. Vic was around 15 years older than the crew that worked out in the gym that used to be an old garage that he had reconstructed into a weight room. It was a crude structure:a wood frame and cement floor.Inside there was an Olympic Bar with about 500 pounds of lead plates,a long rack of dumbells weight ranging from 10 to 100 pounds,a tricep pulley machine,other standard exercise bars,a big mirror that you could stand and watch yourself doing various exercises.There was a drawing on the wall in colored pencils of Steve Reeves who played Hercules in the movies drawn by one of the gym members. No females worked out there though there was no rule saying they couldn't.It was a time before all the franchise "pick up" gyms and spas we see today.One night in 1968 Arnold Schwarzenegger dropped by the gym after arriving from Austria after he had won all the European bodybuilding contests. We were all sitting around sweating and lifting when his massive frame entered the gym.He didn't work out.He was in street clothes. We were awed to say the least.He had stopped by Vic's store to buy vitamins and protein powder.He told us he was going up to train with Joe Weider at Muscle Beach in Venice just outside LA. But he had one more stop to make.He wanted to go down to Tijuana to buy steroids. At that time steroids were no big thing to get a doctor to prescribe them for you here in California,but Arnold said he didn't want to hassle with going to a doc here so he thought he'd stop at the first "farmacia" he ran into in TJ and cut the red tape. Arnold was with a German friend who added that they would immerse themselves with the gay community and let them perform "whatever" in exchange for monetary compensation.

It was around that time that Gary wanted me to keep him company in LA while he was participating in that Golden Gloves tournament. Gary was also a world record holder in the deadlift.I saw him pull up 760 pounds.Today,that poundage wouldn't get you a ribbon at the local high school competition.Anyway, Gary was going through the local amateur heavyweights like a lead weight dropping on a carton of eggs. Gary was put together pretty good. Standing over 6 foot and weighing around 220 pounds of solid muscle,he also possessed enough skills to make life miserable for his opponents. I'd spar with him and after three or four rounds would leave the gym with a migraine.I mostly saw Gary fight at the Coliseum. Because he dwarfed most of the fellows he fought the crowd never got behind him. He was the bad guy everyone wanted to see lose. But that Golden Gloves tourney at the LA Sports Arena turned out to be Gary's Waterloo.

Gary never was a serious trainer when it came to boxing.He was a better weightlifter.For one thing he never did roadwork, and then I was his sparring partner. He was in his early 20's and figured that he'd stay in the amateur ranks until he got tired of it. He didn't have much enthusiasm to turn pro.Well,Gary was having his way,as usual, up in LA at that Golden Gloves tournament and had reached the finals. I looked at the program that night sitting ringside and saw that Gary's opponent for the championship was a guy named Mike Weaver. Gary's fights had always been one sided. He knew enough boxing and had enough heft to pound away whoever he confronted coming out on top in a very dominant manner.I hadn't seen this Mike Weaver fight before that night and I figured he would wind up as Gary' 13th easy victim.But the number 13 proved to be a hard luck number for my friend. From the opening bell Mike Weaver,who had the biggest muscles I'd ever seen on a fighter, laid the leather to Gary for the entire 3 rounds. All Gary could muster was to put up his gloves against his face and lie on the ropes hoping that his head didn't get separated from his shoulders. At least Gary lasted the distance,but that didn't deter him from telling me on the ride back to San Diego that he was throwing in the towel with his boxing.
"I've had it," he said through swollen lips after tasting his first loss."To think I'm not even getting paid for this.I'm through after tonight."

A few years ago I was at the West Coast Boxing Hall Of Fame induction ceremony. Mike Weaver was scheduled to receive his award. I cornered the big fellow and asked him if he remembered that Golden Gloves tournament where he beat up my friend Gary.Weaver looked up,paused for a moment, and then shook his head.
"No I don't remember that,"the genial big guy answered."I'm sorry.I don't recall that."

Today,Gary Young is retired like I am. He works part time at the city's municipal gym in Ocean Beach. He gathers in the new memberships and cleans up the premises. He 's financially set.He wisely invested his money in property.He was a school teacher like me. A few years ago I bumped into Gary at the gym,after many years of being disconnected from him,and now we see each other all the time. I told him about how I met Mike Weaver at the WCBHOF ceremony and then asked him about the night he made Gary retire from the sport.
"Did he remember?"asked Gary with wide eyes.
"Why he sure did,"I replied."He said to say 'hi' and asked how things were going."
"That's great,"said Gary smiling."I know it's a night I'll always remember. I can always say I fought Mike Weaver."


My pal Dan Hanley and Gary's conqueror Mike Weaver at the WCBHOF ceremony.

Good Music

"I read in the paper that Dizzy Gillespie is going to play at the Catamaran Hotel this weekend,"I said to Archie Moore as I walked through the door of his Any Boy Can Club on Federal Boulevard in East San Diego.
I had just finished work at the Friendship School for severely handicapped kids in Paradise Hills and decided I'd drop by Moore's club to see if I could lend him a hand in the gym before I went home. Archie was just beginning to get a couple of boys together for a sparring session.
"You don't say,"said the Mongoose not looking up at me while he was working the headgear on one of the kids.
"I thought you might be interested,"I said.
"The Catamaran is out at the beach isn't it?"
"Yes.In Mission Beach."
"I've got something going this weekend,"said Moore."They're trying to raise money for Mario Vasquez and want me to lend a hand.It's to help pay for his hospital bills."
Vasquez,who had retired from fighting ,was in a traffic accident and suffered some pretty bad injuries.He was still in the hospital with a fractured skull that necessitated surgery.
"I understand,"I said."Is there anything I can do to help?"
"We're going to start with donations and then have a fundraiser here in the club to help out his family."
"Well,I can help out with some money.Let me know about the fundraiser."
Moore had gotten the kids together in the center of the ring and was about to turn over the sparring session to his son,Billy.
"I"ve never seen Dizzy Gillespie perform,"I said."I'm looking forward to seeing him."
"He sat in with us once when I was traveling with Lucky Thompson. It was on 52nd Street in New York. We had a gig at the Three Dueces. I think the year was 1947."
"Were you fighting then?"
"Yes.But I wanted to see how I'd hold up with the cats,if you know what I mean,"Archie said with a twinkle on his face..
"Man,"I said being awestruck."You played with Gillespie at the Three Dueces.What an experience that must have been."
"Duke Ellington was across the street that night at the Onyx."
"If I had a time machine I'd go back there to listen to all those guys play."
"Things were really happening in New York back then. There was Parker,Gillespie,Bud Powell ,and Monk.Things were just starting to take off.Those cats played for themselves you know.We'd play all night and then go Uptown and jam on the bandstands in Harlem in joints like Smalls and Teddy Hill's.They knew that a lot of the old guard wasn't in their corner but they didn't care.They played for themselves and they knew that they were good.That's all gone now."
"That must have been something special,"I said trying to imagine what it was like.
"There was no cover charge in most of those clubs and drinks were a dollar. That was a lot of money back then."
"I was only one year old in 1947,"I said ruefully.
"You say Gillespie is going to play out at the beach?"
"I've got a ticket for Sunday afternoon's show."
"Well,have a good time."
Just then Archie's son ,Billy, broke off for an instant with the kids in the ring and leaned down to his father and me.
"My father could have been a great jazz musician,"he said."Jazz is his favorite music."
Moore then interjected.
"It doesn't matter what the genre is.If the music is good that's all that matters."
"You mean to say that that even goes for Country /Western music?"remarked his son.
Archie then put a smile on his face and gave me a wink.
"I guess he didn't hear me,"he said.

Duke Ellington


Charlie Parker-My Old Flame

He knew he was good

First And Last Shot

After losing to Emile Griffith in his quest for the welterweight title in 1961 Gaspar Ortega finished out his career fighting mostly in Mexico. That was roughly 80 more fights. He got a cup of coffee in a fight with Charley Scott in Madison Square Garden in 1962 in New York,but most of his ensuing battles were in the Mojave Desert in shaky clapboard arenas and bullrings south of the border. Ortega had more than 200 fights,some recorded, others lost to history,but he never signed to fight in a championship fight again post Griffith. Ortega fought all the top boys at 147 during the 50's and 60's when the division was loaded as it never was before with prime pugilists.

I'd see Gaspar ,who was called "Indio" by the fans, every year accompanied by his wife at the World Boxing Hall Of Fame ceremony until the organization had to throw in the towel for lack of funds several years ago. Gaspar lived in Tijuana while he was fighting, but had saved enough dough when the last bell rang to relocate to New York City where he was a main eventer at all the major venues in the Apple.He was on television more than Ed Sullivan in those bouts that were on the tube three nights a week.

After Ortega lost to Griffith my father and I bumped into him and his pretty sonorita in Tijuana at the park in Colonia Morelos where he was still living. When he was recognized driving his lemon yellow convertible by the locals he stopped and motioned the ice cream vendor over with his cart and bought everyone "nieve" until the ice cream man had to say "No mas." I told him about that day and he got a big kick out of it while his wife gave him a blameless stare.

Gaspar liked to talk about his fights and I was all ears.My wife would bring up Tijuana and that would make Gaspar pay attention. A soft spoken guy who doesn't have any axe to grind about his fistic career,he asked a lot of questions about Tijuana. When my wife and I fill in the gaps he shakes his head and doesn't have much to say. The boxing gym in Parque Benito Juarez that they named after him is closed today. In fact I was there the last day the doors stayed open. The park,the gym,the ballfield are havens for heroin addicts now.Walk around there at night and the odds of getting assaulted are better than 50/50. Getting killed a little lower.

"Indio" said that Emile Griffith was the best fighter he ever fought. I remember the fight in LA at the Olympic Auditorium. Emile was in his prime,and so was Gaspar. Emile was just too much for him that night. There were great exchanges but in the end Griffith was just too fast with his hands.As much as I wanted Ortega to win the fight it wasn't close. After the loss Ortega's title opportunities dried up.

Gaspar felt comfortable with my wife and I. We would eat lunch together during the convention at the Burger King down the street. My wife's Mexican instincts sort of protected Gaspar.He had had some health issues and my wife acted like an older sister.She never heard of him before,but sensed that he was now a little vulnerable and wanted to tend to him by bringing his food over and putting what garnishes he wanted on his hamburger and fries.He felt safe and relaxed.

Like I said,Ortega fought the who' who in the welterweight division. He had a three fight series with Tony Demarco back east winning two of the three. Ortega said that those fights with DeMarco were some of his toughest.
"DeMarco hit me the hardest more than anyone."

The year before Emile Griffith died he was at the last WBHOF ceremony with his caretaker. By that time Emile was deep in the throes of dementia. I made sure I circulated with the great welterweight and bought is biography "8,9,10 and Out." It's funny, but sometimes you see two fighters at these banquets that had fought one against each other yet they don't interact.It was that way with Griffith and Ortega;two ships passing each other in the fog.I don't think there was a beef.They just didn't talk to each other.While I was talking to Ortega I caught Griffith out of the corner of my eye. I brought them together for a picture,me in the middle.

I'd like to see what Gaspar Ortega would do today in the welterweight and the half divisions above and below 147 pounds. Oh,he'd be wearing that championship belt around his middle.But he doesn't have any sour grapes. He never brings that up.


Gaspar and my wife,Maria,at the Burger King




Tony DeMarco.He hit Ortega the hardest

At The Top Of The Marquee

When Sugar Ray Robinson lost to patter patter punching Joey Archer in Pittsburgh,after going to the canvas in the 4th round for a nine count(Joey admitted it was only the second time he had floored an opponent)jazz trumpeter Miles Davis entered the dressing room and bent over the prone Robinson wrapped in his robe and towels recuperating on the exercise table.
"Baby,it's time to hang it up,"urged the gravel voiced musician.
Davis was a very big fan of the greatest pound for pound fighter ,Sugar Ray. Whether Robinson heeded his advise or had been contemplating the idea of never coming back to boxing,his fight with Joey Archer was his last.

Miles Davis was the coolest cat on the jazz scene.Mile Davis was the P4P greatest horn blower on the street.He knew he had multitudes of fans.. Critics praised him en masse.Major record companies beckoned for his name on their covers. Fellow jazz musicians stood in line to perform beside him in the studio and the bandstand. With this acclaim he grew a chip on his shoulder. But that arrogance often is a trait with the great ones. His boxing idol,Sugar Ray Robinson,shared this characteristic.

Boxers and musicians have uncommon parallels.Musicians can go on forever.Fighters can't.When Ray Robinson lost to Joey Archer that night in Pittsburgh it wasn't something that shocked the world. We could see it coming. After coming back after almost three years from succumbing to the heat and Joey Maxim, we began to see the cracks in the armor. Ray's tune up fight with "Tiger" Jones ,who was on a six fight losing streak,WAS a shock. There were flashes of the former Ray as time went on,but as the years dragged Robinson's load that he was carrying on his back got heavier. He tried to execute in the ring with the same speed and dispatch that we last saw pre Joey Maxim,but the skills had waned.He wasn't the greatest anymore.No more magic. With fighting you can't pull a rabbit out of a hat. You go what with you have left and hope for the best. Boxing is a metaphor for a reality check.

Playing the trumpet is a cakewalk compared to prizefighting.But being a very popular musician has an aura that demands a strong fan base,winning award after award, having your face on the covers of national rags,packing clubs and auditoriums with paying customers. During the mid 1960's when jazz was melding into rock genres, abandoning the qualities that Mile Davis had honed and perfected to put his name at the top of the marquee.He saw that he wasn't selling out the venues as before. So in order to cling to his notoriety he decided to sell out.The younger set didn't know him. Even the instruments had changed.All the musical apparatus was hooked to wires plugged into sockets.If Davis still wanted his name at the top of the marquee he had to change. He not only did it with his horn but he altered his appearance. His tailored suits gave way to paisley shirts, spandex bell bottoms,and floppy hats.But what sealed the deal to the make over was that Miles changed the way he blew into his horn.Instead of the rehearsed smart arrangements,the intelligent phrasings,the stunning creativity,Miles just put forth with his breath anything that came through his lips into the mouthpiece and come out the bell. It wasn't well thought.It was cheap and trite. But to a naïve audience that grew up with rock and roll he pulled off his sham.The "new" following thought they had something. The real musicians wouldn't play with him.They would have had to switch to electricity or find a new gig.He told the cats that this is what the public was buying. If you wanted to make big money you had to sell out. it's part of the American way.

Boxing has no exit plan when things are going south. If you begin toppling, your find your name at the bottom of the marquee until the guy with the ladder climbs up the rungs and pulls the letters of your name off the sign and thrown back in the tool bag. I guess you can say that there's an old adage with entertainment.
"You can fool some of the most of the time,but there's no reason you can't fool all of them all the time."
I'm sure that wasn't what Ray Robinson was thinking when he was lying on that exercise table in Pittsburgh.


Miles Davis

Sugar Ray Robinson

Not Just A lot Of Talk

When talking pictures came out Charlie Chaplin went into a panic.Oh,he didn't say he was on pins and needles,but his rational about talking pictures being just a fad and not having the artistic merit of the silents was baloney. The industry had been working relentlessly to put sound into the celluloid and with the Jazz Singer in 1928 starring Al Jolson it came to fruit.Hollywood never looked back. In 1931 Chaplin produced and directed his last quest to convince the public that acting without talking was still vogue,and though he was nominated for an Academy Award,(it was for the most part a sentimental gesture)the fans had had enough of silent movies.

The real reason that Chaplin kept harping on the subject that talkies were inferior to muted movies was that he knew if he opened his yap in a movie with sound he'd flop. This happened to other noted Silent Screen icons-John Gilbert(the public heard his high pitched voice and snickered).Female stars like Vilma Banky and Norma Talmadge couldn't put their pipes to use to remain big box office.Romantic idols Rudolph Valentino and Doug Fairbanks weren't up to the task. Let's face it,to act without speaking is easier than when you have to add the element of speaking.I'm sure Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable(they made a few silents)would be forgotten names today if there hadn't been the advent of sound. So again,what the hell am I getting at?

Before the three night a week diet of televised fights on the old Sylvania,the fights were broadcast on the radio.We've all heard the expression "Blow By Blow."Imagine a broadcaster having to describe the action of a fight without the audience having to see the action with their peepers?That's a hell of a an oral wotkout.

I remember a few fights that were broadcast on the radio:the two Robinson/Basilio battles,Patterson/Ingo I, and the first Clay Liston fight.You could have gone down to the neighborhood theater and paid 5 bucks to view it on the big white screen(sometimes the signal couldn't be received or the picture was fuzzy and dim),but a lot of the fight ctowd just as soon wanted to park their asses in the living room or den and hear the blow by blow broadcast coming through their little squawk box.

I miss those radio broadcasts. For me they were terribly exciting and "put" me like I was right up front sitting ringside.Conversely,when the fights were put on the tube,the quality of the announcing took a nose dive. Sometimes watching the fights on TV drags because the three broadcasters are trying mainly to do the one upmanship with each other. If they would only incorporate the old blow by blow description of the radio broadcasts with the what we see on the screen it would positively electrify the event. But to have the expertise to do the blow by blow is a challenging art in itself. I can't imagine Howard Cosell,Teddy Atlas,Jim Lampley,or even a former pro fighter like Lennox Lewis ,who's often behind the microphone at ringside,possessing that skill.Those fellows couldn't do the blow by blow by enunciating every move and punch regardless of how significant.It takes a lot of practice to reach that high standard. It's a challenge .when mastered, that's transformed into an art.You just can't talk casually or spin off into a sudden hyperbole when a fighter hits the canvas. Today's broadcasting is a pathetic contradiction to often what's going on inside the ring.Often it's like a bandleader conducting waltz time to the jitterbug.

Here's an old standby to make my point:the second Louis/Schmeling fight in the Yankee Stadium. Imagine everyone crowding around the radio on the edge of their seats listening to Clem McCarthy giving the blow by blow.Almost as good as the fight itself.


For some reason the voice a little behind the action but you'll get what I'm getting at.

His Close Friend

After John F. Kennedy Jr. died on July 16th,!999 crashing into the ocean piloting his Piper Saratoga near Martha's Vineyard along with his wife Carolyn and her sister Lauren,it was decided by John's sister Caroline and their uncle Ted that the memorial service would be a small and private intimate affair. Only family members and close friends were invited. One close friend of JFK Jr. who was asked to be there was his idol,Muhammad Ali.

Reading about JFK's only son(another son Patrick was born in August of 1963 but only lived 44 hours dying from a respiratory disease) JFK Jr. wasn't exactly on a road following in his dad's footsteps. A mediocre student(some questioned,even his mother Jackie,that junior,to put it softly,might be a little slow on the uptake),a jet setter who traveled to the exotic places of the world with drop dead looking women sharing in his aura,flunking the New York bar exam twice before finally making the grade only to perform without vigor as an assistant DA in Manhattan,a reckless driver who amassed 2300 dollars of traffic tickets ignoring to pay the fines,and an inconsiderate tenant who after vacating the premises left the quarters looking like a tornado had run through every room. He wanted to be an actor but showed about as much promise as the neighborhood kid in his high school play. He invested,despite warnings from his mother's financial advisor and companion Maurice Templesmen, that the venture of starting a slick magazine that he decided to call George was doomed to fail. Despite JFK Jr.'s name and some interesting interviews with people like Fidel Castro, by the time they found his body in the Atlantic Ocean the magazine was losing money hand over fist and would soon disappear on the bookstore shelves. He was 38 when he died and he had shown no inkling for running for public office.Though his mother wanted him to be the public servant like his dad, the closest he came to rubbing elbows with other pols was at the 1988 Democrat Convention when he introduced his uncle Ted to the throng.If John John had a passion it was for flying. He promised his mother that he wouldn't indulge himself with flying until after her death.After she passed away he bought a single prop Cessna and later traded it in for the more sophisticated Piper Saratoga. But he was always reckless and couldn't sit still for more than 10 minutes. When he crashed his plane his leg was in a cast(from a previous flying accident) and the sky that afternoon was blanketed by fog.Fellow pilots urged him not to take to the sky. His co pilot who,unlike Junior, had a license to fly by instruments, cancelled to accompany his student,but that didn't stop the president's son from taking off anyway.

The three deceased were buried at sea. The memorial service for JFK Jr. at the Church Of Saint Thomas More on the 23rd was a sad and solemn affair. It seemed that "The Kennedy Curse" would lurk over the family forever.So why did a kid like John F. Kennedy Jr. idolize a black fighter who changed his Christian name from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali,went from making the Sign Of The Cross to genuflecting five times a day facing east to Allah?There was the magic that Ali adorned on his cross section of faithful. The son of an assassinated president who was compared to having graced the metaphorical fields of Camelot contrasted to a poor Black kid from the south who through guile,determination, persistence,and a belief in hmself rose to be the heavyweight champion of the world.Ali.whose face was even more recognized and adored than that of the Camelot prince,would embrace the earth with his charm, humor and sensitivity,and a love like the people that shared his humble beginnings, Muhammad Ali was the person who radiated, enlightening the dark.

John F. Kennedy Jr. wasn't a prick.A bit spoiled but that came with the inheritance.JFK Jr. started at the top,or at least with a silver spoon in his mouth. The range between the time those bad kids stole Cassius's bicycle and then him going to the police gym to learn how to protect himself to prevent something like that from happening again to his upward path to being The Greatest is what separated the royalty from the supernatural. When Muhammad Ali passed away the world knew they lost someone very special and who comes along once in a lifetime.But how his memory would last on and will forever!

I heard Larry Holmes say once that when he was in Ali's presence he couldn't get over the fact that he was a fighter.
"Ali was such a kind person,"said Larry."It's hard to imagine that he would want to fight anyone let alone be a professional fighter."

Maybe if John F. Kennedy Jr. was alive he could shed some light on the mystique.You see ,boxing,albeit that's what made Ali a celebrity,was the instrument. His love for mankind is what assembled his adoration.


John F. Kennedy's friend and idol at his service

Here Come The Quarrys

At one time Bob Foster was more than the light heavyweight champion of the world. He was reigning at the top of the division without any challengers who you could giving him a run for his money knocking him off the throne. In the Southland,Jerry Quarry's brother,Mike was about the closet fighter if matched with Foster,could step in the ring with the champ with under double digit odds against him according to the Las Vegas bookies. Like his big brother Jerry,Mike was a scurrilous sort. He was hot tempered,not very engaging with the press nor the fans thus causing the crowd to pull for his opponent more often than him.

San Diego's Ronnie Wilson,a Canadian transplant who had settled along with the fellow 51st state's Art Hafey, were chiseling out their marks on the weekly cards at the Coliseum. They were under the tutelage of former Canadian light heavyweight champion Burke Emery. The two showdowns between Wilson and little brother Mike resulted with satisfactory wins for Mike keeping him atop of the rest of the so called best California had to offer.

After beating Wilson for the second time Mike took his undefeated record to the Navy burg of National city, located just south of San Diego proper, to fight a local Mexican under 175 pounder named Amado Vasquez.The fight was to be held outdoors at the ballpark at National City's recreational center. Now don't start envisioning that venue comparable to Yankee Stadium.Softball field would be closer to a fitting description. There was no outfield fence and the infield was dirt. Concrete bleachers down both baselines was where you sat down, if that's where you wanted to view the action on your rear.

Amado Vasquez was a fighter who didn't show much fire in the ring.He had fought Mike previously and lost the decision by a pretty good margin. Why they put these two together was anyone's guess.My take was that there were few light heavyweights worth mentioning at the time except the King Of The Hill,Bob. So the rest of the hopefuls kept facing each other in sort of a hum drum round robin tournament. Mike was the most noteworthy.One:he was undefeated.And two:his brother was Jerry Quarry.

The second go around was on a sunny day at the end of May. There was a good crowd.Archie Moore,who lived close by,was there and drew a good throng around him. Later ,when Vasquez had some personal problems and needed funding for attorneys,Moore put on some events to help Vasquez with the fees. Anyway, going into the fight there wasn't a lot of people that thought Vasquez had enough going for him to beat Mike. At the start they were hopeful and enthusiastic, but did you ever whistle walking by the graveyard?The fight was uneventful of much action.Mike wasn't a big puncher.He had kind of a frenetic style. He seemed busy, but he wasn't accomplishing much. I'd say everyone there that day was Mexican except me and Moore and a few other snowball heads I saw bobbing amongst the crowd. I was scoring the fight and I had it even going into the 9th round of the scheduled 10. Vasquez was trying to prevail with a cut over his eye that was sustained earlier. I thought it was caused from an unintentional butt of heads.However,during that 9th frame the referee,local man Frank Rustich,stopped the action and called over the ring physician to examine Vasquez's eye.It was then that I thought there was going to be a better fight ensuing than the one in the ring.This time the combatants were going to involve all the Mexicans and the Quarry clan. Big bro Jerry was there along with his hot tempered wife who they called "Charlie",the old man Jack and his wife Arwanda,and older bro Jimmy.

Well,when the fight was stopped and Rustich raised Mike hand(the other hand Mike was pounding on his chest)I began thinking of duck and cover. Though the Quarrys were outnumbered a hundred to one that was fair enough odds for them.By Quarry standards it would be an even fight. To make an analogy,anyone with the last name of Quarry was like putting Donald Trump in a mariachi band with a sombrero on his head. Trouble would be a brewin'.

Like I said,the Quarry's weren't going to back down to any brown skinned foreigners,at least that's how they saw it. As the Mexicans circled the wagons the Quarry's drew together and without hesitation put up their dukes. It was then that I thought who in that mob was going to do something chicken s--t:a sucker punch.Throw a chair,better a knife.At least bum rush the Irishmen. But like the lions protecting their cubs,the Quarry's show of bravado backed down the all show and no go aficanados. In the words of Dean Rusk during The Cuban Missile Crisis,the boisterous band " just blinked." They did nothing but call the Quarry's a bunch of "fags" and what they would do to Jerry's wife if they got her in bed(all conveyed in Spanish). Being on the short end of a hundred to one odds, that was one idle sorry threat.



The softball field in National City

An Unanswered Question

The international border separating San Diego and Tijuana is the busiest crossing between two countries in the entire world. 50,000 motorized vehicles from Tijuana cross to San Diego daily. Another 20,000 pedestrians also make the everyday trek. Of course these Tijuaneros' purposes are to go to work on the U.S. side.If San Diego was erased from the map or if San Diego was a quiet little town like Yuma,Arizona, which is on the Arizona side of the border across from its Mexican counterpart San Luis Colorado, Tijuana would die on the vine like Mexico's largest city on the U.S. border, Ciudad Juarez. that is located across the Rio Grande River from El Paso,Texas. Tijuana's population is 1,320,000. That is roughly 20,000 more inhabitants that live within TJ's city limits. San Diego has an abundant of jobs in the shipbuilding and hotel industries. San Diego,with a population over 1,400,000, is a combo tourist and Navy town.The demand for unskilled labor is substantial.Yuma,El Paso,Brownsville,and similar sleepy American burgs on the border don't have the resources to employ very many Mexicans who live on the other side.

It's imperative that Mexicans who cross to go to work in the United States must have a Permanent Resident Card(Green Card) which entitles them to obtain a Social Security number in order to be employed. Simply,if Mexican residents couldn't work the grunt jobs in San Diego,"America's Finest City"would be denigrated to "America's City in need of a Help Wanted Sign." The legal stipulation of having a Permanent Legal Resident Card is that the individual MUST live in the United States.If 70,000 Mexicans are assembling en masse every morning to cross the border don't tell me that they are just visiting a relative or eating tacos in Tijuana before returning to San Diego to go to work.

When arriving at the gate to cross into the U.S. the custom officials who ask "Where do you live?", before waving you through, know that whoever answers "The United States" is lying. So if the U.S. starts to crack down enforcing the guidelines of having a Green Card being a permanent resident of the U.S. there would be ,to put it mildly,disorder at the border.Without those Tijuaneros working those U.S. jobs the economy of Tijuana would resemble the face of the rest of the country -muy feo(very ugly).Mexicans bringing the Yankee dollar into Mexico is the country's third largest enterprise behind oil and drugs.

Turn on the news and read the papers here and you can't avoid being inundated with the scary reports of what the impact of the coronavirus is doing to the U.S. economy and psyche. So is there any coronavirus in Tijuana? We don't hear much about this.Mexico is country hanging on by a thread. Obrador,the newly elected president who promised like all his predecessors to clean up Dodge,is in the same sinkhole as all the other big talkers before him. When after leaving office the ex presidents take the money and run off to Spain,Paris,or a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. They flee leaving Mexico in worse shape than when they first sat down in the president's chair at Los Pinos in Mexico City.

The Mexican Health Department reports 15 cases of the virus with no deaths resulting. I think the guy in charge of Mexico's Departamento De Salud is Pinocchio. There's no way the Mexican government is going to come across with the truth about what's going on with the coronavirus in their country. There' too much to lose. I go to Tijuana all the time. I don't see people concerned about it. Mexicans are too tired trying to make ends meet to worry about some flu virus from China.

I bet the caronavirus is down there but the Mexican government,and ours,doesn't want to put out the word.The national pastimes in the United States are stress and paranoia. The recent news of this pandemic is like throwing gasoline on the fire.In Mexico people go along with their daily lives like before regardless if there're germs floating around that can do them harm. If it's gonna' happen it's gonna' happen. Why worry about something they have no control of?Besides,if the Mexican government has any money to combat the coronavirus those funds would be spent on something like building mansion for the big shot politicos and buying mink coats for their mistresses.

I have a nephew,who's an illegal from my wife's hometown in Michoacán, who lives in New Rochelle,New York. The coronavirus has infected more people in New Rochelle than any other U.S. City.He called the other day to fill me in with the latest family gossip. As he was yakking,I asked him about the caronavirus outbreak in New Rochelle.
"I see on the news that New Rochelle has more coronavirus victims than anywhere else in U.S.",I said thinking I might alarm him.
"Oh,that doesn't have anything to do with me,"he laughed."Those people who have it live three blocks up the street."
I can't imagine that kind of reaction by any gringo living in the Good Ol' USA.




Cartolandia-where the squatters in Tijuana lived that was a stone's throw across the border.And they tell people here to be sure to wash their hands.

A Match Made In Heaven

There are plenty of people in boxing,espescially a manager or trainer,who cringe at the thought that their clean and pure charge will come into contact with the lure and desirability of the opposite sex, thus dismantling a career all because the "Golden Boy" can't keep from eating the forbidden fruit when he should be confining himself to training camp focusing on the upcoming fight. Sometimes I think if it wasn't for boxing these fellas' would probably sooner find themselves wading in the more sordid and tawdry lifestyles of crime and debauchery.Sometimes they find their way to the isolation chamber anyway.Jails and bullets are often unwanted ingredients in their soup. Additional lethal garnishes like drugs and alcohol .are also stirred into the potion. This is a bill of fare that the men in the corner preach against, but their fighter, that they want to see fight like Spartacus, can't adhere to the Spartan life that is required,at least when preparing.

Back in my day(here I go again)if you were to ask your date if she'd like to spend an evening watching the boxing matches,you'd probably get a strange look and a " I'm busy that night" answer. If you persist with wanting to take your honey to the fights thinking that the fights are going to impress her, if she's diplomatic she'll tell you her appointment book is filled for the rest of the year.If she lacks tact she might tell you that the fights are no place to take a lady and not to bother her again and that you have no sensitivity.

But then there are females out there that can't get enough of fighters and giving themselves up to the aura .Sometimes it's the money and wanting to share the limelight.But it's also the exhilarating experience of rolling around in bed with a Type A tiger.Often when their Golden Boy starts to tarnish they'll just seek another golden calf.

I love seeing these pixies before the fight begins with their tight little bodies with their push up bras accentuating their tender bosoms ,and the curvy supple rears protruding from their skin tight panties, and the painted on vacant faces perky and wide eyed exhibiting not a scant of shame. They stand behind someone like Michael Buffer in center ring beside two men who in a few minutes will be wanting to tear each others' guts out. I love these hotties' easy manner and unabashed desire for male flesh. Fighters are common repasts in the menus of these shameless nymphomaniacs. With them sex is never the forgiven fruit,but a sweet fleshy product that wants to be savored again and again.Making love is an orgy(the more participants the better) that is all natural and to be indulged without remorse.Thank you God.

But often the mismatched duo of the fallen flower and the washed up pug finds a solace later with each other that has a bittersweet overtone.It's like they always belonged to each other.Maybe in the back of their minds at the start there were inklings,but they didn't understand what was going on. Like the cop that marries the hooker he's busted time after time,it sounds crazy but craziness is part of the mantra,On the surface it doesn't make sense, but beauty is only skin deep. Love on the other hand is a labyrinth of human complexities that even Freud couldn't understand.In the end,with the gild worn away from both, the shine is more radiant than ever.Expliain that Sigmund.

Stay Home And Learn Something

When the Swine Flu pandemic hit in 2009 with an estimated 59,000,000 Americans becoming infected resulting in over 12,000 deaths There wasn't the massive shutdowns back then compared to what we are experiencing now with the coronavirus. As of now the U.S. (and the rest of the world)is sealing itself in a cocoon. Schools,stores,sporting events,and gatherings of large numbers of people have been shut down by legal proclamation. Now people have to grudgingly adapt to staying indoors thus throwing a monkey wrench into their daily routines. What a great time to learn about the history of boxing!

Sports are on hold. The sports networks are at a loss. The commentators have nothing to report or criticize.It's a great opportunity to educate the younger fans about the roots of their favorite athletic activities. I've noticed in the last year or so that the Boxing History forum has been experiencing a viewer decline. I don't see a lot of the old familiar names that used to post on a regular basis. I hope this isn't because these pundits are becoming infirmed or sadly, dying off. Maybe they have just gotten tired of putting in their 2 cents. Maybe there're new boxing websites that they can switch to offering similar blogging windows.

So if the stadiums and arenas are dark why not enlighten the mind with the beginnings of where the sweet science began and its ensuing history? Lately, much of the posts regarding "Boxing History" reach back only a couple of decades. Reading about Muhammad Ali is like discovering the Dead Sea Scrolls.

I saw on the news the other night an interview with the last American fighter pilot of World War II.He is 99 years old.God bless him.

How many people are still with us who saw Joe Louis fight live? It's one thing for historians to write tomes about the Civil War. They write and speak in public like they rubbed shoulders with U.S. Grant and Bobby Lee. We are in an age where our fathers who lived through the great Depression and World War II are down to only a handful. We can still touch that bygone era but soon it will be out of reach.

I was a history teacher. History was probably the subject the kids were least interested in. All those guys are dead the little darlings would say.Why study about a bunch of dead guys?Worse yet, the younger generation would rather "learn" about history by watching a Hollywood flick. Sitting in a comfy seat at your local cinematic venue at the mall watching "Saving Private Ryan" is a lot quicker and easier than digesting Winston Churchill's "Triumph And Tragedy." Tragically,movies don't convey much accuracy nor truth.The last thing I'd give credence to is believing a Hollywood film has more credibility than the labors of Ol' Winnie. A movie tosses its discourse at you and most of the time the banter bounces off into the aisles. Reading a book you have to submerse yourself into the words and decipher. It's mental calisthenics.

So tonight if you're bored and let down that the ESPN fight of the week has been cancelled,look into the rich background of boxing and discover how boxing has arrived to where it is today. If nothing else you can go to BoxRec's Boxing History forum and drop some names. Hell,they'll think you're another Winston Churchill.


Ol' Winnie

Hand Wipes,Bottled Water,And Toilet Paper(The Big 3)

I went into the local Rite Aid down the street to buy some Poligrip for my dentures. As I was walking down the aisles I noticed a lot of barren shelves. With this coronavirus scare taking hold on the world I can understand why the stores have run out of some of the necessities. The public today is very conscious of keeping their hands clean and sanitized. Hand wipes are one of those items that you won't find in most stores anymore. People are acting like Howard Hughes when it comes to keeping themselves free of germs. Hand wipes are in demand,but it's difficult now to find this product.

Bottled water is another hot commodity. No one drinks water from the tap anymore.Even our pets lap up water from Aquafina bottles. Who would ever think we'd be in short supply of bottled water?

And then there is the item that makes a lot of us giggle when we mention the name-toilet paper. Everyone's s--t stinks so who can't live without ass wipe?

If you have a stockpile of these items crammed away into your closet you're a rich man ,so to speak.But in the United States hand wipes,bottled water,and toilet paper have been taken for granted,until the plague hit us this year. Now, not having or unable to find any of the Big 3,there are many who panic and start a frantic search rushing from store to store looking for these sundries to prevent getting sick. Often the inability to find any of the Big 3 will lend itself to so much anxiety that people's immune systems weaken and they get the coronavirus anyway.

We're lucky living in the good ol' USA. We've always had abundances of the Big 3 until now.

So right across the border in Tijuana what is it like? Let's start with handwipes. This nifty little germ killer I've never seen in TJ. Soap will suffice. People don't have money to blow on an extra caution like hand wipes.Many don't even bother with buying bars of soap. What they use to wash the dishes or their clothes, like detergents, will suffice for washing their hands.

Bottled water. You can find a bottle of water inside the cooler in Mexico version of their 7/11 called OxxO,but most families buy potable water sold in big jugs called "garafones" that are placed on top of their water stands.They're like the old watercoolers,but without the refrigeration.

Now we get to the giggly topic of toilet paper. Here's something to think about. All the colonias(suburbs)have their little parks. Nothing fancy. Some swings and see saws,monkey bars,a slide. Benches for the ones with time on their hands to sit and gaze.Some of these parks have a public restroom. Someone sits outside the two entrances,collects your quarter,and then asks if you'll need toilet paper. If you answer yes,you'll be handed a few plies.(By the way there's no hot water running from the sink).There are never rolls of toilet paper in the stalls. if there was,it would be gone in less than you can say "kiss my ass."Mexicans are very resourceful. Old newspapers,magazines,and corn cobs are standard fare for using to wipe away. An added caveat.Don't flush the toilet. It just causes a blockage.So put the poopy in a cardboard box that's at the side of the porcelain fixture.

So there's some insights about the Big 3. Things like we've been told to do like not having gatherings of more than 50 people(today they want it pared down to under 10),staying 6 feet away from one another,no touching of the skin(handshaking,kissing,and I guess that would go for the "dirty deed"),restaurants and bars only to seat 50% capacity,closures and curfews,and people over 65 to stay inside is going too far South Of The Border.

What's to worry about?If God wants you to get it, you're gonna' get it. If you have the faith, don't worry.Be happy.


The little park in Colonia Guerrero located on 3rd Street in downtown Tijuana.

Late At Night

When Oscar Levant lost his best friend George Gershwin in 1937 to brain cancer,Levant's history of neurosis and hypochondria fueled by his inherent OCD pushed him over the edge. Levant went through a gamut of psychiatrists,shock treatments,and later a slew of anti depressant drugs that left him a chain smoking, contorted,bizaree individual. A gifted pianist who studied piano under the tutelage of Arnold Schoenberg,Levant's insecurities made him leave Schoenberg's guardianship ,because he thought he wasn't worthy, to immerse himself into the Tin Pan Alley of New York's songwriters. During that period in the 1920's is when Levant became infatuated with George Gershwin who would eventually became America's foremost tunesmith/composer. To hear Levant recall it,the bond between himself and Gershwin was inseparable. It was a symbiotic relationship that shared a love for composing,performing,and girls(not necessarily in that order depending upon the time of day).After Gershwin's death, within 6 months after being diagnosed with cancer, sent Levant into a delirious journey of a strange,peculiar,and comical lifestyle that was with his mantra until his end.

Oscar Levant was not a scary guy. He didn't push people off. His wife June and his three daughters suffered the brunt of his unpredictability that forced them to reluctantly have him committed to various clinics and sanitariums. Between stints in these institutions Levant was in demand to not only play the piano in concert halls,but as a guest on TV talk shows. His sharp wit and his reminiscences about icons like Toscannini,Rachmaninoff,and Horowitz,not to mention the bulwarks of the American songbook like Irving Berlin,Cole Porter,and Richard Rodgers were accentuated by Levant's timing and comedic flair.He could keep an audience captivated and in stitches.

In 1958 Levant signed with station KCOP in Los Angeles to do a weekly talk show. The show was on late at night.Sitting behind his piano and accompanied by his wife June by his side,The Hollywood ilk yearned to be on his show. I remember watching the Oscar Levant Show when I was a kid. Unfortunately there is only one tape of one of the shows:a tour de force with Fred Astaire(you can this gem on YouTube.Astaire had it filmed for his personal use).It's a tragedy that no other tapes are around for us to witness the rapier mind of Oscar Levant. He was so transparent and unpredictable that in the annals of talk shows there are none that come close.Levant would bring out the innermost with all his guests. If you ever saw Fred Astaire on the Johnny Carson Show or Dick Cavett,he comes off stiff sand uninteresting.With Astaire's appearance on Levant's program he becomes alive. Fred Astaire was a multi faceted person we had never seen before.He sang the repertoire from his classic films he made with Ginger Rogers with Levant tickling the ivories.The banter is flowing and uninhibited. The unrehearsed back and forth couldn't have been scripted any better.An unprecedented gas.

But Oscar Levant not only left his mark in the music world,he was also a fan of boxing. Living in New York he was at ringside watching the likes of the famous Jewish fighters like Leonard,Tendler,and the Attells(he thought Abe Attell was the best fighter he ever saw),but names like Louis,Walker,and Marciano didn't escape his perusals.One night when tuning in to his show it was announced that Dean Martin and Sugar Ray Robinson were to be the guests. I wasn't about to channel surf. Dean Martin came on first. They joked around,sang a few impromptu songs, and their jovial stabs at each other were pure knee slappers. After around a half hour or so,Ray Robinson took the chair next to Levant's piano.Robinson began very modestly that he was always interested into getting into show biz,but unexpectedly Levant cut him off. Levant was keen enough and honest to the point that he wasn't going to enable Sugar Ray about his aspirations to became the next Fred Astaire. Levant began digging into Robinson's life as a fighter. Dean Martin was left mute from that moment on.

Gleaning back those 60 odd years I remember Robinson saying ,like he did with Edward R. Murrow, that he really didn't like fighting. Levant was bemused. Sugar Ray very humbly said he was fighting only because he was broke and needed the money. He said that he wasn't a tough kid growing up and that his older sister fought most of the battles defending the family honor. I think Robinson's lukewarm response was tied into the fact that in 1958 ,when he appeared with Levant,Robinson was not the genius on two feet anymore like the night he won the middleweight title from La Motta.But before Robinson let it drop I think he took a deeper look back when no one could match him in the ring.
"There was a time,"Robinson carefully enunciated,"when I knew that I was the best and that I wanted to never let that go.I wanted the world to see that."

Well,Oscar Levant might have said Abe Attell was the best he ever saw.The only thing I can think of is that maybe Oscar Levant never saw Sugar Ray Robinson fight.


Sugar Ray Robinson

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑16 Mar 2020, 20:03 Hand Wipes,Bottled Water,And Toilet Paper(The Big 3)

I went into the local Rite Aid down the street to buy some Poligrip for my dentures. As I was walking down the aisles I noticed a lot of barren shelves. With this coronavirus scare taking hold on the world I can understand why the stores have run out of some of the necessities. The public today is very conscious of keeping their hands clean and sanitized. Hand wipes are one of those items that you won't find in most stores anymore. People are acting like Howard Hughes when it comes to keeping themselves free of germs. Hand wipes are in demand,but it's difficult now to find this product.

Bottled water is another hot commodity. No one drinks water from the tap anymore.Even our pets lap up water from Aquafina bottles. Who would ever think we'd be in short supply of bottled water?

And then there is the item that makes a lot of us giggle when we mention the name-toilet paper. Everyone's s--t stinks so who can't live without ass wipe?

If you have a stockpile of these items crammed away into your closet you're a rich man ,so to speak.But in the United States hand wipes,bottled water,and toilet paper have been taken for granted,until the plague hit us this year. Now, not having or unable to find any of the Big 3,there are many who panic and start a frantic search rushing from store to store looking for these sundries to prevent getting sick. Often the inability to find any of the Big 3 will lend itself to so much anxiety that people's immune systems weaken and they get the coronavirus anyway.

We're lucky living in the good ol' USA. We've always had abundances of the Big 3 until now.

So right across the border in Tijuana what is it like? Let's start with handwipes. This nifty little germ killer I've never seen in TJ. Soap will suffice. People don't have money to blow on an extra caution like hand wipes.Many don't even bother with buying bars of soap. What they use to wash the dishes or their clothes, like detergents, will suffice for washing their hands.

Bottled water. You can find a bottle of water inside the cooler in Mexico version of their 7/11 called OxxO,but most families buy potable water sold in big jugs called "garafones" that are placed on top of their water stands.They're like the old watercoolers,but without the refrigeration.

Now we get to the giggly topic of toilet paper. Here's something to think about. All the colonias(suburbs)have their little parks. Nothing fancy. Some swings and see saws,monkey bars,a slide. Benches for the ones with time on their hands to sit and gaze.Some of these parks have a public restroom. Someone sits outside the two entrances,collects your quarter,and then asks if you'll need toilet paper. If you answer yes,you'll be handed a few plies.(By the way there's no hot water running from the sink).There are never rolls of toilet paper in the stalls. if there was,it would be gone in less than you can say "kiss my ass."Mexicans are very resourceful. Old newspapers,magazines,and corn cobs are standard fare for using to wipe away. An added caveat.Don't flush the toilet. It just causes a blockage.So put the poopy in a cardboard box that's at the side of the porcelain fixture.

So there's some insights about the Big 3. Things like we've been told to do like not having gatherings of more than 50 people(today they want it pared down to under 10),staying 6 feet away from one another,no touching of the skin(handshaking,kissing,and I guess that would go for the "dirty deed"),restaurants and bars only to seat 50% capacity,closures and curfews,and people over 65 to stay inside is going too far South Of The Border.

What's to worry about?If God wants you to get it, you're gonna' get it. If you have the faith, don't worry.Be happy.


The little park in Colonia Guerrero located on 3rd Street in downtown Tijuana.

Roger, I went into two stores in my hometown of Arizona City out of curiosity during the last few days. Yes, the shelves for such items as toilet paper, paper towels and boxes of facial tissue were empty in both stores. Fortunately, I already have enough of the mentioned items on hand. But I did read about someone who reportedly sold a roll of toilet paper for twenty dollars.

- Chuck Johnston

Roger, I went into two stores in my hometown of Arizona City out of curiosity during the last few days. Yes, the shelves for such items as toilet paper, paper towels and boxes of facial tissue were empty in both stores. Fortunately, I already have enough of the mentioned items on hand. But I did read about someone who reportedly sold a roll of toilet paper for twenty dollars.

- Chuck Johnston
[/quote]

That could only happen in America

Make Mine Vanilla

I see that Roger Mayweather passed away. He was embroiled with the training of his brother's son ,Floyd Jr.,after Junior banished his dad from working with him because they couldn't get along. Floyd Sr. had taught his son many tricks of the trade including the "shoulder roll' that he used extensively to deflect blows instead of slipping punches. Defense took priority over offense, and with Junior's amazing reflexes he went on to be an elusive target for his opponents. That style also resulted with him not being a big crowd pleaser. But for a good spell uncle Roger was the guy calling the shots in the gym.

The Mayweather clan has always been a volatile bunch. Roger was suspended by the Nevada Boxing Commission for putting up a better fight than the real one with another sketchy pug,Zab Judah, and his corner after Judah fouled the younger Floyd in a fight at the Thomas and Mack Center. Re-enter the old man again while the commission had Roger on the sidelines. The Mayweathers didn't seem to care about putting their hands on the softer sex if they felt that the ladies were trying to scam them out of their valuables. "Mayweather" was a familiar name on Nevada courtromm legal dockets.

A few years ago I made a trek to Las Vegas to watch Prince Smalls fight a pivotal fight with a kid named Xavier Martinez. Both were undefeated. The fight was at the Sam's Town Hotel And Casino located on the east end of the city. The card was promoted by Floyd Jr.'s enterprise ,Mayweather Promotions. Prince's dad, Tiger,was handlng his son.My grandson Adam was taking boxing lessons from Tiger and I began showing an interest in Prince's career.I promised the Smalls that I would be in attendance lending support for the fight.

The venue inside the hotel was small but intimate. General admission was 30 bucks but that put me close enough to ringside that if a fighter got caught with a good shot the spray from his head would dampen my shirt. A few rows in front of where I was sitting I noticed a small gathering around a couple of fellas in the front row, I craned my neck and I realized that it was Roger Mayweather accompanied by his nephew Jeff who was at the start of his boxing career.

The people who sidled up to the Mayweathers were mostly backslappers and autograph hounds.But suddenly there ensued some pushing and shoving a few wild swings emanating from the fighter they used to call the Black Mamba. Jeff had to get up and restrain his uncle from making a "comeback."
"It's all right uncle Roger. He didn't mean anything.He wasn't trying to steal your pen.He just wanted your autograph,"exclaimed the anxious nephew holding everyone back.

Everything seemed to be OK after that raucous little display but I could see afterwards that Jeff was fending off anymore attempts by anyone that wanted to get close to his uncle.

Prince was fighting in the semi wind up.He had started the bout strong but faded down the stretch and lost the decision. I didn't stick around for the main event so I left and went over to one of the stands in the food court to fill the hole in my belly. I saw a Baskin and Robbins little ice cream parlor and decided that a chocolate milkshake would fill up the void. I was nursing the treat when I saw the crowd starting to exit the fights. I didn't know who was fighting in the main and wasn't even curious enough to ask anyone who won.As I was at the bottom of my milkshake I saw Roger Mayweather walking with his nephew Jeff approaching the ice cream parlor. Jeff was supporting his uncle Roger under his shoulders.If he had let go uncle Roger would have collapsed to the floor. Roger Mayweather had a terrible look on his face.His eyes were shifting back and forth and he was sweating like a blown faucet.
"Where am I?"asked the confused ex fighter."Are you going to get me my ice cream cone?"
"I said I would uncle Roger. I promised you. We're almost there."
Jeff sat his uncle down carefully at the table across from where I was sitting.
"Don't leave me alone,"said the frightened former champ."Don't leave me alone."
"I'm right hear uncle Roger,"said the nephew in a calming voice."I'm getting you your ice cream cone."
"I want vanilla"said the still nervous Black Mamba.
"I know.Vanilla is your favorite."

It wasn't that long ago that I had seen the HBO specials on the pre fight with Floyd Jr. and Ricky Hatton with uncle Roger in command of the training.He was so precise and organized about the routine for his nephew. Yes,the dad was persona non grata,but Roger Mayweather was trying to smooth both ends between father and son on top of getting his charge ready to fight Hatton.

I often wonder how a fighter finally gets grabbed whole by the dementia.Does he suddenly wake up with it one morning?Or does it slowly slither into his mind like a Black Mamba? I can say honestly it was very sad to see Roger Mayweather end up the way he did.I only hope wherever he is they have plenty of vanilla ice cream for him.



Floyd Mayweather Jr.

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑18 Mar 2020, 18:47 Make Mine Vanilla

I see that Roger Mayweather passed away. He was embroiled with the training of his brother's son ,Floyd Jr.,after Junior banished his dad from working with him because they couldn't get along. Floyd Sr. had taught his son many tricks of the trade including the "shoulder roll' that he used extensively to deflect blows instead of slipping punches. Defense took priority over offense, and with Junior's amazing reflexes he went on to be an elusive target for his opponents. That style also resulted with him not being a big crowd pleaser. But for a good spell uncle Roger was the guy calling the shots in the gym.

The Mayweather clan has always been a volatile bunch. Roger was suspended by the Nevada Boxing Commission for putting up a better fight than the real one with another sketchy pug,Zab Judah, and his corner after Judah fouled the younger Floyd in a fight at the Thomas and Mack Center. Re-enter the old man again while the commission had Roger on the sidelines. The Mayweathers didn't seem to care about putting their hands on the softer sex if they felt that the ladies were trying to scam them out of their valuables. "Mayweather" was a familiar name on Nevada courtromm legal dockets.

A few years ago I made a trek to Las Vegas to watch Prince Smalls fight a pivotal fight with a kid named Xavier Martinez. Both were undefeated. The fight was at the Sam's Town Hotel And Casino located on the east end of the city. The card was promoted by Floyd Jr.'s enterprise ,Mayweather Promotions. Prince's dad, Tiger,was handlng his son.My grandson Adam was taking boxing lessons from Tiger and I began showing an interest in Prince's career.I promised the Smalls that I would be in attendance lending support for the fight.

The venue inside the hotel was small but intimate. General admission was 30 bucks but that put me close enough to ringside that if a fighter got caught with a good shot the spray from his head would dampen my shirt. A few rows in front of where I was sitting I noticed a small gathering around a couple of fellas in the front row, I craned my neck and I realized that it was Roger Mayweather accompanied by his nephew Jeff who was at the start of his boxing career.

The people who sidled up to the Mayweathers were mostly backslappers and autograph hounds.But suddenly there ensued some pushing and shoving a few wild swings emanating from the fighter they used to call the Black Mamba. Jeff had to get up and restrain his uncle from making a "comeback."
"It's all right uncle Roger. He didn't mean anything.He wasn't trying to steal your pen.He just wanted your autograph,"exclaimed the anxious nephew holding everyone back.

Everything seemed to be OK after that raucous little display but I could see afterwards that Jeff was fending off anymore attempts by anyone that wanted to get close to his uncle.

Prince was fighting in the semi wind up.He had started the bout strong but faded down the stretch and lost the decision. I didn't stick around for the main event so I left and went over to one of the stands in the food court to fill the hole in my belly. I saw a Baskin and Robbins little ice cream parlor and decided that a chocolate milkshake would fill up the void. I was nursing the treat when I saw the crowd starting to exit the fights. I didn't know who was fighting in the main and wasn't even curious enough to ask anyone who won.As I was at the bottom of my milkshake I saw Roger Mayweather walking with his nephew Jeff approaching the ice cream parlor. Jeff was supporting his uncle Roger under his shoulders.If he had let go uncle Roger would have collapsed to the floor. Roger Mayweather had a terrible look on his face.His eyes were shifting back and forth and he was sweating like a blown faucet.
"Where am I?"asked the confused ex fighter."Are you going to get me my ice cream cone?"
"I said I would uncle Roger. I promised you. We're almost there."
Jeff sat his uncle down carefully at the table across from where I was sitting.
"Don't leave me alone,"said the frightened former champ."Don't leave me alone."
"I'm right hear uncle Roger,"said the nephew in a calming voice."I'm getting you your ice cream cone."
"I want vanilla"said the still nervous Black Mamba.
"I know.Vanilla is your favorite."

It wasn't that long ago that I had seen the HBO specials on the pre fight with Floyd Jr. and Ricky Hatton with uncle Roger in command of the training.He was so precise and organized about the routine for his nephew. Yes,the dad was persona non grata,but Roger Mayweather was trying to smooth both ends between father and son on top of getting his charge ready to fight Hatton.

I often wonder how a fighter finally gets grabbed whole by the dementia.Does he suddenly wake up with it one morning?Or does it slowly slither into his mind like a Black Mamba? I can say honestly it was very sad to see Roger Mayweather end up the way he did.I only hope wherever he is they have plenty of vanilla ice cream for him.



Floyd Mayweather Jr.

Roger, I can't find a younger Jeff Mayweather on BoxRec. Of course, I know about the "old" Jeff Mayweather, a journeyman fighter who became a trainer. "Old" Jeff is known as the "quiet Mayweather."

- Chuck Johnston

Roger, I can't find a younger Jeff Mayweather on BoxRec. Of course, I know about the "old" Jeff Mayweather, a journeyman fighter who became a trainer. "Old" Jeff is known as the "quiet Mayweather."

- Chuck Johnston
[/quote]

Chuck
My bad.The kid with Roger Mayweather that night was his nephew Justin Mayweather Jones. Jeff Mayweather was Roger's brother. Sometimes when I get on a roll my fingers get ahead of my brain.

Roger, I can't find a younger Jeff Mayweather on BoxRec. Of course, I know about the "old" Jeff Mayweather, a journeyman fighter who became a trainer. "Old" Jeff is known as the "quiet Mayweather."

- Chuck Johnston
[/quote]

Chuck
My bad.The kid with Roger Mayweather that night was his nephew Justin Mayweather Jones. Jeff Mayweather was Roger's brother. Sometimes when I get on a roll my fingers get ahead of my brain.
[/quote]

Justin is 32 years old, nearly 33 at that. I guess that he would be a kid compared to me.


- Chuck Johnston

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑18 Mar 2020, 22:40 Roger, I can't find a younger Jeff Mayweather on BoxRec. Of course, I know about the "old" Jeff Mayweather, a journeyman fighter who became a trainer. "Old" Jeff is known as the "quiet Mayweather."

- Chuck Johnston

Chuck
My bad.The kid with Roger Mayweather that night was his nephew Justin Mayweather Jones. Jeff Mayweather was Roger's brother. Sometimes when I get on a roll my fingers get ahead of my brain.
[/quote]

Justin is 32 years old, nearly 33 at that. I guess that he would be a kid compared to me.


- Chuck Johnston
[/quote]

Chuck
I'm entering a stage of my life that when I see "old" guys I find out that a lot of them are younger than me.And anyone under 50 is a "kid".

Lockdown

I was looking at the major upcoming fights on the BoxRec schedule for the next two weeks and didn't see any of the bouts taking place in the United States. That news along with other mainstream sports like Major League Baseball,Hackey,March Madness,and even farther down the line ,the Indy 500, Kentucky Derby,and four major tournaments of the PGA tour have either been cancelled or are up in limbo. Life without sports is kind of anti American. But when mother nature performs an abortion on the planet like this coronavirus even the Supreme Court can't overturn what's best for the health and safety for all of us. To complain ,I think at this stage,is going to fall on deaf ears. No one wants to get sick.It's what do we substitute for our voracious appetite for our beloved players and teams?

For the time being the alternatives have been pared down as well. Restaurants are open only for the "takeout" consumer. Bars have reverted back to Prohibition. Gatherings so say health officials, for whatever reasons, have been slashed to having ten or less gatherers.The younger free spirited have been urged to refrain from mixing together for the safety of the elderly. The old timers are told to stay indoors. Kids that are normally inside the classroom have been suddenly set loose on the streets while their parents scramble to find babysitters while they go down to the unemployment office and file claims. The end of the month is less than two weeks away and that's when the bills are due. The shelves in the stores are starting to resemble something like North Korea and when someone sneezes he thinks he's got Covid-19,or at least the person he was standing next to thinks that he just became infected.The economy that had all the bright aspects of "Happy Days Are Here Again" have changed the tune to "Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen."

People wake up in the morning and switch on the news and see that the problem is growing worse.They want it to stop NOW. The panicky public asks the same question to everyone from the clerk at the neighborhood pharmacy to the president of the United States. When is it going to end?

People want to go out and party again. As much as their jobs were a drag they don't want to live without being employed.You can't live without money.Being married and having kids is a financial challenge. For many,family is the only binding thing,but there's no romance without finance. Not knowing when your next paycheck is coming in is a nightmare that's not in a dream.

The president and the politicians are telling us the banks will come to the rescue. I think that's what the financial institutions were aiming at anyway. They'll bail everyone out and then they'll own ALL the world. The big corporations will keep afloat and the small fry will get devoured by the sharks. Then they will tell us that we should be thankful. Things will be back to normal. Normal meaning that more debt will be incurred. Thank God for credit.Or maybe we should blame the devil.


My son Ramon on the right with two of his pals when we were all living in Tijuana. It could be a lot worse.

Taking A Little Off The Top

Just Off The Top Of My head:If you want to see a good model of social distancing,now that we've been urged to practice this by the coronavirus task force,I urge you to watch the replay of the second fight between Anthony Joshua and Andy Ruiz.

If the old San Diego Coliseum was still around today the health department would immediately condemn the locker room. I'd change my clothes in there before working out with the fighters. As soon as I opened the door my nostrils were invaded by odors of sweat,urine,and mold. I probably did more damage to my body inside that Inner Sanctum than by the blows that were landed on my body by Ken Norton. The cement floor was always slippery and wet from the leaky shower faucets.The walls in the showers were spotted with black mold.The toilets lacked seats. The bowls were often clogged because the fellas didn't think that flushing was something you did after you went potty. There was no way I put my ass on those filthy porcelain rims. Sometimes I think that everyone that used that locker room left the premises as another Typhoid Mary.

The State Department today said that there has been an agreement between United States and Mexico saying that Americans will not be permitted to go Mexico for tourist purposes. Trade and commercial business will continue as before,but casual visitation will cease until the coronavirus issue is resolved. Today, I crossed into TJ, with my wife and son ,unimpeded as before. No questions asked. When I came back across into the U.S. customs didn't ask me anything and let me pass through.Since my son doesn't have a Sentri Card that allows quick crossing back to the U.S.,he walked across accompanied by his mother. After I crossed I waited for them at the Jack In The Box parking lot that is a few hundred feet from the exit gate. As I was waiting a young Asian couple approached my car and stuck their heads inside the window.
"Excuse me,"the man said blankly in broken English."You go to Tijuana?"
I couldn't hold back.
"You Chinese?"
"Yes,"he answered."You take me to Tijuana?"
"How did you get to the U.S. side?"
"We walked across."
"No. I don't want to take you,"I said.
They walked off to another car and I assume they asked for another ride.Two things ran throughmy mind.One ,if they walked into the U.S. didn't customs check their passports?Chinese were supposed to be banned from coming here in January.Two,I've seen a dramatic drop with American tourists in Tijuana in the last several years because of the violence along the border. However,there has been an big influx of Chinese roaming the streets.They go everywhere. They walk in groups and have the time of their lives. They especially like to go to the red light district. When the street girls see them they shout "Chinas,Chinas".These Chinese tourists stand with the whores and the cops arm in arm posing for pictures laughing up a storm.Mexico says they don't have a big problem with the coronavirus.You tell me your dream and I'll tell you mine.

The infamous Adelita Bar in the Coahuila,Tijuana's red light district.