BoxRec

Remembering The Coliseum

It wasn't the Roman Coliseum.Nor the Los Angeles Coliseum.Those edifices are of colossal scale.They are glorious venues showcasing events like pitched gladiator battles to the death to NFL football games. "Colossus" is the word apropos to include in a description of these structures.But down here in little ol' San Diego,where the tracks end so to speak,we have our own Coliseum;or to be more correct, we used to have a Coliseum. Erected in the 1920's ,when just about every burg in the nation had their boxing place,the dome roofed building ,that could have passed for a warehouse, featured a lot of the old time all time great pugilists from a bygone era that will never make a U turn for an encore-Jimmy McLarnin,Henry Armstrong,Tommy Loughran,Ceferino Garcia,Manual Ortiz,Archie Moore,and the latest of the superstars,Ken Norton.The Coliseum was also home for the wrestling fans in the city who could see the "good guys" like Lou Thesz,Argenitine Rocca,Edourd Carpantier,and Tricky Ricky Star.Or if they were into the anti hero mode there were meanies like The Destroyer wearing his mask.(I don't any of his adversaries could rip it off his face),Don Manoukian(ex NFL star and The Destroyers tag team partner),and the guy we loved to hate,Freddie Blassie. One last name I'll add-Mr. Moto.For some reason Mr. Moto was a "good guy" when he wrestled at The Coliseum,but when he took his bun huggers up to LA he was put in the "Remember Pearl Harbor Category."

While Los Angeles had its Hall Of Fame announcer,Jimmy Lennon,and Madison Square Garden had the legendary Johnnie Addie holding the pre fight microphone that alighted from the rafters,we in good ol' end of the tracks San Diego had our own Fred Lewis. He was as good as the before mentioned,but will never be much remembered north of Oceanside.

The building is still there located on the corner of 15th and F street,,but the lights were turned off in 1974 for the regular weekly boxing and wrestling cards.By the way,like just about any sports venue that was located in the downtown area of a city,there was no parking lot. You either had to hunt for a spot on the street or ride the bus.Jerry Navarra.who inherited the Coliseum from his father, renovated the place into what it looked like in the beginning from the outside-a warehouse. More precisely,a furniture warehouse. Navarra sold the building awhile back and today it's one of those millennial watering holes they call The Punch Bowl.They said it was named in remembrance of the once boxing arena though I don't think anybody who had a hand in the renovation ever saw a fight there or was even living in an Diego.I went in there one time.The ambience emanates with about as much substance as wind and smoke.They even gave the neighborhood,that was in a death throe, a new name-"The East Village."

When Charley Norkus Jr. was up in Los Angeles accepting a plaque in honor for his dad at The California Boxing Hall Of Fame,he asked me about the San Diego Coliseum.That's where his dad fought the rematch with Charley Powell who he had TKO'd in San Francisco's Civic Auditorium.Charley Norkus lost a decision to Powell in the second go,and his son wanted to know what the old stucco structure's mantra was comprised of.
"Off hand I'd say if the place sold out at around a few thousand."
"I thought it was bigger than that,"responded the disappointed son.
He must of had the The Coliseum in Rome in mind.

I don't know how many times I went there either to work out with the fighters or take in a boxing or wrestling match. The dressing room was in a corner across from the entrance.The floor was always wet and moldy from leaky pipes and if you weren't careful your bare feet would slip on the mold when you got out of the shower.As much Lysol and Old Spice that was dumped all over, it still couldn't lessen the stench of cigar smoke and body odor.Most of the seating that circled against the walls was wooden bleachers. Foldout chairs graced the more expensive area around the ring.There was a small snack bar off to the side that sold the standard-soggy hot dogs.stale popcorn,old peanuts,and flat beer.But going to the fights,especially back then isn't like it is today when it comes to filling your stomach or quenching your thirst.Regarding these modern age venues adorned with statues,waterfalls,and circus rides,it's gourmet eating and drinking aping Las Vegas compositions. The entrees are overpriced and overrated.I'll take the old soggy hot dogs that were a quarter to the acai salad and a glass of pinot noir that would set me back a tankful of gas for my car.

I remember it like it was yesterday,even in black and white.The fight fans,like their peers around the world, loved boxing. The other sports were relegated to the "other" category.if you can find one of those fellas' still kicking he can tell you ,like it was yesterday, of the staple of fighters we relished like Art Hafey,Ronnie Wilson,Chucho Garcia,Renato Garcia,David Love,Denny Moyer,Jack O'Halloran,and Marcos Geraldo. It was an arena for the up and coming and the long in the tooth.It was a place one night ,when I was sitting in those old bleachers, where I carved my name with my pen knife on the back wall.When I read in the paper that the owner was going o close the arena and turn it into furniture warehouse I took the news like it was yesterday's poorhouse cake.

Today,as I think back on all the good times I had inside that place,I'm sure they painted over my name that I had carved on the wall with my pen knife.


The San Diego Coliseum back then...



...and what it looked like before the millennials took over

Let It Be

I've been watching very little sports on TV since the shutdowns.However, the other night I was flipping the remote to the numerous sports channels. I came across horse racing at Churchill Downs. Churchill Downs is one of the largest venues for horse racing in the world.On a given day it's possible pack 165,000 fans to fill the track. The day of the annual Kentucky Derby is a sure fire bet to meet that quota. But the day I tuned in there were races ,but no fans.There were stake races,but the mood lent itself to watching an Early Bird workout at 6 in the morning. An empty drone permeated the air supplanting what would be normally the electricity of anticipation and the roar when the nags were headed for the finish line. Yet down the stretch that day only the horses' clopping hooves could erase the drone. After crossing the finish line the jockey's eased their mounts,the drone was still there.Only a bird chirp or a dog's distant bark tip toed into the void.

I flipped the remote again and this time it was a soccer match. At the bottom of the screen it read "Premier Soccer."But this time there was crowd noise and a lot of it. The thunderous chanting from the stands for a favorite side was a welcomed. Horns blaring, drums pounding to stimulate the players efforts. OK.This was more like it!But wait a minute.As the camera scanned the pitch,I could see in the backround that the stadium was empty. What they did was pump in the sound by implementing a soundtrack to make things seem real.But once I was aware of the technique i grabbed the remote again. Nice try,but really... .I figured I'd give it one more shot. There was a channel that was airing a basketball game. I think it was one of those NBA minor league games where the players are competing to be grabbed up by the home team.But again they were playing to an empty arena.it was like watching a scrimmage.You could hear the echoes of the balls being dribbled when they hit the floor.

In my fantasy mind I tried to imagine what boxing would be with two fighters slugging it out down in the rabbit hole.No matter how much the fighters could wail away at each other,it would seem like a sparring session.Think of all the great fights.What would have been the mood if there were no fans watching?The closet I could think of watching one of the great bouts with no noise(there was a little in this one)was when Buster Douglas exposed Mike Tyson to the world as being only human. Maybe it's a Japanese custom to not show any emotion except in a Banzai charge.It was eerie watching Douglas in the process of dismantling Iron Mike yet the crowd acted like they were sitting watching at a Kabuki dance.

The bottom line with all this is that sports ain't gonna' work if they don't let the fans back in like before. And I'm not talking about parceling them through the door wearing face masks and social distancing and only allowing a certain modest seating capacity.If they think that returning back to the good ol' days of four months ago is unsafe,well chuck it until they can reset it back to where it was.But I don't see that on the horizon. People want everything to be "normal" again,but I don't think it's ever going to be the old status quo. I don't want to sound pessimistic,but as soon as some kid gets sick going back to school or some old man at a baseball game is taken to the first aid station with a temperature ...well here comes the lawyers.Better build more courthouses.

In the meantime we're anxiously waiting for the vaccine. They'll have one sooner or later.But in the long run will it work?Today,everyone is being told to put their faith in the science. Dr. Fauci is the pandemic guru. We want him to give us good news ,but he isn't planting any bed of roses for us. Way back when, when Edward Teller was working on the H Bomb,Albert Einstein said that if they set that thing off the chances of the whole world getting contaminated by radiation was a strong possibilty.Let's hope Dr, Fauci is as fallible as Albert Einstein, who everyone thought was the smartest man in the world.Too many of us are hanging onto the words of the scientist and his data. Where's the faith all of a sudden?Or is that wishy washy thinking?When people want to control too much on their own they break down and panic. To them I say put it in another's hands.

Like Hamlet said to Horatio-"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."In today's world of uncertainty I'd tend to get away from the science for a bit and let fate take its course. You can't fight it.That shouldn't be so scary.

The Fight To Save Boxing

That was the title of the piece I saw on Yahoo Sports:The Fight To Save Boxing. That fight was the Floyd Mayweather/Oscar De La Hoya match back in 2007. It was a "big" fight,but I never considered it a fight that was going to "save" boxing. Then the other day I read this article that the fight kept the sport from going into the tank. The story was so thin that to recall the reasons is like Tom Sawyer trying to convince his pals that white washing his Aunt Polly's fence was the the next best thing than rafting down the Mississippi River. The authors of the story,former commentator Chuck Mannix and ex fighter Sergio Mora ,claim that Mayweather's victory transformed him into a sports superstar.Floyd already was a superstar.His win against De La Hoya just kept his star glowing.

I used to be in Oscar De La Hoya's corner at the start, but after he blew his fight with Felix Trinidad running away and giving away the last two rounds,he went into a funk,especially against the other top dogs in and around his weight class.Later after he retired, I heard him say ruefully that his loss against the Puerto Rican was something that lingered with him like case of malaria. He would never win a "big" fight after that though his diehard fans were hoping and praying.Shane Moseley won two split decisions down the road. Bernard Hopkins caught him with a shot to the liver that kept Oscar on a knee.In Oscar's last fight he took a whupping from Manny Pacquiao,but had enough gas to sprint across the ring and give him a big hug after not coming out for the 8th round. The Felix fight was scored closely. So were the pair of fights with Shane. But recalling all these fights,including the one with Trinidad,Oscar had the tools to beat these guys but could never take them out of his toolbox.

Mexico had a hard time whether to place Oscar in their Hall Of Champions or to put him in the pay no mind list. He was a Chicano so that made him a gringo. However ,when Oscar was to fight a non Mexican national,the country gave him a pass,but Oscar always found a way of being unable to pull the trigger.

With Mayweather, Oscar had a size advantage. No one could outbox Floyd so the best thing to do was to rough up the Pretty Boy,force him into the ropes, and maul him like what Sammy Angott did to the previous unbeaten cutie Willie Pep. There were signs during the fight that Oscar wanted to press the advantage,but then he'd back off.Or he wouldn't unload when he could have. It was another fight that he coulda shoulda woulda but wound up leaving the ring with his head down. Before the PacMan fight,Frddie Roach(One of the numerous name trainers that Oscar thought would work their magic on him) said that Oscar's achilles heal was his lack of self confidence.It showed again with Mayweather. He let him off the hook.

I don't see how this fight saved boxing.Boxing was going along at a pretty good clip.There were plenty of other superstar fighters around like the guys Oscar had lost to. The sport didn't need to be "saved" by anyone nor that fight, even if it had turned out differently. The only thing that needed saving was Oscar De La Hoya-a guy after the Trinidad defeat that couldn't save himself.


Oscar De La Hoya

Looking For a Statue?

With all these protesters out there looking to pull down statues of people that were considered racists,I might be able to steer them in the right direction. Since this is a boxing website I'll offer some names of fighters that alluded to making some racial gestures. So get your ropes ready.Any way you slice it the color bar was raised by the legendary John L. Sullivan. He said he wasn't going to put his title on the line against a black fight,and by golly he stuck to that.When Gentleman Jim boxed his puss off,Corbett was just as adamant about not risking his crown against a black fighter. The old Boilermaker was next on the throne and he wasn't about to tarnish his reputation fighting a colored boy either. When Jim Jeffries,who held the bar steady, hung up his gloves the heavyweight championship was open.The experts can't decide definitely if Marvin Hart's defeat of Jack Root qualified him to wear the belt since Jeff left the scene still undefeated,but Marvin wasn't about to sign his next bout with a Johnson, Langford,Jeanette,or a McVey. Instead Tommy Burns was told to take off his pants to face Marv in the ring. Tommy Boy came out on top and now Jack Johnson was in hot pursuit. He chased the Canadian all over the globe and finally Tommy relented.it wasn't a gesture inspired by altruistic feelings about racial brotherhood. It had to do with cold hard cash. Lil' Arthur taunted and trimmed Tommy before the cameraman finally turned off his machine so that Burns' demise wouldn't be caught on celluloid.Damn if that didn't set people off. Tommy,why did you submit to such a stunt like that?

Well, now the country was on a quest to find a "White Hope' that would knock that gold toothed smile from Johnson's face. The well was pretty dry so it was back to Jeff's alfalfa farm to bribe the debt ridden farmer to come out of retirement and bring honor back to the white race.Jeffries had to lose a hundred pounds,fight mental demons,and needed as many camp followers that he get behind him.Gentleman Jim was in Jeff's corner for the fight and if I had a dollar for every time he called Johnson a "n----r",I could have gone out and bought vanilla ice cream cones for everybody in Reno that day.

It was finally the U.S. government that KO'd Johnson by charging him on a trumped up new law ,enacted with him in mind,The Mann Act,,of taking a woman(a white one of course)across a state line to get throwed and blowed. So Jack escaped to Europe and got fat and lazy before our government told him that there might be something that could be worked out if he got close to our border ,defend his title,and then he could see his ailing mother.A "White Hope" named Jess Willard finally made the world right gain by crunching an old and tired Johnson to the mat at a racetrack in Cuba.I always am interested watching the knockdown of that fight. In the background the crowd rises like a Tsunami wave.

The Pottawatomie Giant wasn't exactly the most entertaining figure.His allure could be compared with an ear of Kansas corn.But the important thing was the color bar was dusted off again. Jack Dempsey,the kid they called the Manassa Mauler,who was steered by one of the wiliest men in the game,"Doc" Kearns talked Tex Rickard into letting his charge get into the ring with the champion who had killed a fighter named "Bull" with one punch.But Jack had a secret weapon of his own in Toledo. "Doc" had doctored up Dempsey's mitts and placed a 10 G bet at 10 to 1 that Jess wouldn't last a round even though he'd never been on the seat of his pants in a fight before.Kearns didn't collect his dough even though Jess's pants felt the canvas seven times and his body had more busted bones than Evel Knievel after trying jump over the statues at Caesar's Palace.

Dempsey held true to not upset the status quo even though Harry Wills was ranked number one. There was a signing for the fight,but then Dempsey backed out saying he wanted more money. Gene Tunney was the right color and he was one hell of a fighter. Dempsey was always protected by Kearns,but he couldn't shield Jack from Gene's punches.Tunney defended his title once against Tom Heeney who couldn't be mistaken for even being an albino. Jack Johnson had really left a bad taste in everybody's' mouths.A string of champs followed,all possessing the proper skin tone and keeping the color bar from toppling.

But a colored fighter who the press donned with the nickname "Brown Bomber" was slashing through the heavyweight ranks like a knife through an angel cake.A deal was made with all the spin doctors,with conditions like banishing the old Jack Johnson from coming around,and Joe held the title for 13 years.But the color bar was held steady except for one defense against a black light heavyweight champ who was practically blind.

After the war it was finally over-that color bar nonsense. The white fighters were giving way to the black fighters. Marciano burst onto the scene ,but that color bar had been thrown in the ash heap. Today,it doesn't matter who's fighting against one another regardless of skin color.But if you're one of those people in search of a statue that represents someone that dissed the black race uncoil your rope and start with The Great John L.Your back will sure get a workout.


Jack Johnson

Like A Trip On Roller Skates

The first time I saw James "The Heat" Kinchen fight was at The North Park Palisades Garden in North Park,a suburb on the north side of San Diego proper.I wanted to take my son to see a fight,his first pro fight.I was coaching football at Clairmont High School .My son was on the team.I also took along a few of the other kids on the team so they could keep each other company. it would be the first time they would see a pro fight too. The North Park Palisades was a roller skating rink,but the owner rented the space out for the boxing matches in order to make a chunk of change on the side. Me and the kids filled up the front row just behind the row reserved for the cornermen, press,and the ring card girls.

At the time Kinchen was fighting pretty much out of San Diego and Las Vegas. He had an unbeaten streak of 25 when he climbed into the ring to take on a guy named Fred Reed,a fighter who had lost twice as many as he had won.There was nothing to write home about regarding Kinchen's list of victims. Rudy Robles,a die hard journeyman and familiar face in San Diego arenas, was about the most notable on Kinchen's hit list.James was being managed by Bobby DiFilippis,who was just starting out in that line of work of handling fighters.Bobby D,the name he was referred too,also operated a steak and chop house called The Butcher Shop,a more or less high end joint located in Mission Valley within walking distance from the tourist section of Mission Valley.The place had great steaks and chops,but if you wanted the best piece of meat it wasn't on the menu. All you had to do was get acquainted with one of the many waitresses giggling their hips through the dining room. I mean these women were boomin'.They wore these bunny outfits that showed their ample rump roasts that made your mouth water,After they bent over your table taking your order, their full breasts wafting of perfume, you knew what you craved to put in your mouth. For an ample tip they would give you their card with a phone number.The dessert would come later.

When Bobby D was putting on a card he'd bring along some of his waitress crew donned in their bunny suits and carrying a few of their calling cards buried between the cleavage.Me and my gang were sitting right behind these lovelies.I don't remember much of the fights that night.All I can say is that James took out this Reed guy in the first round. The other bouts were also over before you could finish a bag of popcorn. I admit that night I was watching more of the way of the female flesh than paying attention to what was transpiring in the ring.To be honest there were moments when I wished that my teenage pig skinners were sitting up in the bleachers so I could get a calling card without drawing any puzzling looks from my little gridiron heroes..Besides,my son was there.

Before the main event,the Kinchen fight,I got up to go to the bathroom. Bobby D had brought along three of his best loined beauties to strut around the ring and make the mouths water.You could tell that these split tails weren't rookies. They knew how to stoke a crowd.They could have probably also stroked everyone in the house without anything getting out of hand Brigitte Bardot had nothing on them.

Well, "The Heat" burned up this Reed like dry kindling.The fights were over. The kids thought it was great.And i had my mind on what one of Bobby D's girls would be like in the sack.I dropped off the kids at the high school and then it was just me and my son in the car on the way home. About a block from the house my son turned to me and took out something from his shirt pocket.
"Dad.This girl in front of me turned around when you were in the bathroom and gave me this card.She told me to get in touch with her later."
I took the card from my son and saw that it had her name and phone number.
"I'll take that,"I said nonchalantly.
"Do you think she's is a hooker?"asked my son
"Probably,"I answered.
My son didn't say anything else as we reached the house. When we got to the door I tore up the card into little pieces and threw the remains in the bushes.I made sure my son saw it.Besides,it isn't hard to memorize seven numbers.


James Kinchen

Adios

I often think about the great fighters who retired when they were still on top of their game-Marciano,Mayweather,Gene Tunney,Ricardo Lopez to name a few.Then there are the great ones that took a good beating in a fight and then called it quits-Michael Spinks,Jose Legra,Barney Ross,Jimmy Wilde.Then there are the great ones who eventually stagger along tragically so at the bitter end, their once greatness is a distant memory-Ezzard Charles,Roy Jones,Ray Robinson,Kid Gavilan.

When my favorite fighter,the great Jose Napoles,lost in his bid to wrest the middleweight crown from the great Carlos Monzon,Mantequilla should have said "adios" to boxing. But Napoles was always one to blow more money than he was taking in with his purses. And then again he still thought he had the goods,at least believing was the best welterweight on the planet.

When Muhammad Ali was in town to fight Kenny Norton,i approached Angelo Dundee and whispered,"Jose Napoles can beat Carlos Monzon."it wasn't a novel idea by any stretch. Jose had cleaned out the welterweight division.He hit a bump in the road in Syracuse when Billy Backus opened up one of Jose's old cuts,but in the rematch Jose redominated. Carlos Monzon was big and strong,but wasn't much of a boxer,at least not in Napoles' class.I remember when they signed the fight.This time Monzon would have to break out his passport and leave his backyard Argentina to fight in Paris.When i'd go to Tijuana all the Mexican sport scribes were writing up the upcoming fight pretty strong. Of course they all said that their new naturalized Mexican citizen would dazzle the awkward Argentinian with his array of skills implementing that smooth as butter style. But one thing was skirted around prior to that fight-Jose was showing signs that he was taking boxing for granted.In his two previous defenses he went the 15 round distances with Clyde Gray and Roger Menetrey. Though Napoles had everything under control the old zeal seemed to be lacking.He was also having trouble keeping the skin around his eyes from splitting apart ever since L.C. Morgan cut him open in Reynosa when Jose was trying to get a title match with just about anyone.

The Monzon fight was televised in Mexico so i went to Tijuana to see if I could squeeze myself inside some bar so I could say that i saw Jose become the double champ. Gil Clancy was the color man working the live broadcast with Pat O'Brien. Like many others I think Clancy smelled an upset. Clancy was going on that Napoles was the most masterful when it came to exhibiting boxing skills since the hey day of Ray Robinson. Even Robby had said that Jose Napoles was the best P4P fighter in the world.Jose weighed in at 153 pounds. He must have eaten everything on the table to put on those pounds. I always thought his best fighting weight was in the mid 140's.Earlier in his career he had fought mostly as a lightweight and junior welter before he met Cokes for the title.

For the first four rounds Jose came at Monzon with leads and combos outworking the bigger man, but the blows didn't cause any damage, Monzon,a slow starter,didn't seem too concerned. though Jose was landing more. However,Jose was fighting like he had a piano on his back. Then near the end of the 4th round one of Monzon's lefts opened up Jose's eyebrows. With that punch Naples stopped dead in his tracks.His feet looked like they were tied to blocks of concrete. Monzon then began teeing off. The fight had turned suddenly in his favor. Napoles took a frightful beating in the 5th returning with nothing. At the bell he staggered back to his corner.He knew he was licked.When the bell rang for the 6th Jose had already told Dundee that he didn't want to face the fuselage again. It was a humiliating loss and heart breaker for his fans.After the fight Carlos curtly expressed that Naploes wasn't as good as he had thought ."He was slow."

That was the fight for me that was the nadir of Mantequilla's career. Carlos had stuck the fork into him .Jose thought he could train for a quick fight with Monzon but instead left the ring on short notice.Napoles then took a soft defense against the more or less delicate Hedgemon Lewis at altitude in Mexico City.Next was an outclassed Horacio Saldana to blow away.And what Napoles thought was another easy mark with Armando Muniz in Acapulco turned out to be an act of futility.Jose spent more time at the racetrack than at the gym and it showed.Armando was beating him to a pulp against the ropes to Jose's soft belly before promotor Jose Sulaiman's nephew and referee got the the signal from his uncle to DQ Muniz on a foul. No one bought that. There was a rematch and this time Jose gave it his last hurrah and came out on top bloody but the winner.Jose still wanted his tacos and eat them too by thinking he could get by with little training and still having lots of fun in the bars and betting on the nags. Then John H. crossed the pond to give it a good ol' try. Napoles had him down in round one,but then the buckets of blood began streaming into Jose's orbs and by the 6th round he couldn't stand up under his own power anymore.Career over.

But that career should have ended after Carlos Monzon dismantled him in France.For Naplos to think that he could have beaten Monzon without sacrificing.it was shameful.Yes,Jose Napoles was my favorite fighter and always will be.When I visited him in Ciudad Juarez I didn't bring up the Monzon fight. But his standard reply when asked about the fight was"At least I went after him." That comment held up about as much as his heart did that night in Paris,France.

Compadres

Trying to find Jose Napoles when I went to Ciudad Juarez was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.For one thing Ciudad Juarez is practically on life support. Sitting right across the Rio Grande river and on the American side the town of El Paso,Texas,there just aren't enough jobs that El Paso can supply for Mexicans in Ciudad Juarez,providing that have the appropiate papers, to cross on a regular basis and earn U.S. wages. Like their counterparts that live in Tijuana who cross daily(50,000 automobiles and 20,000 on foot)into San Diego and bring back the Yankee dollar life is good.Thus Ciudad Juarez ,even though its population is greater than Tijuana's, seems empty and lost. Storefronts are boarded up,the streets are sparse of traffic,and the businesses that are open are slowly going closing their doors. The mood of the city is morbid and still.It's a decay that can't be reversed.

There are two bridges that span across the Rio Grande between El Paso and Juarez. One of the bridges only allows automobile and foot traffic to enter Juarez from the El Paso side. The other bridge permits traffic coming and going. San Diego's port of entry is the busiest border in the world.Juarez's crossing point is a trickle.

I parked my car on the El Paso side in one of those lots where you put your money into a box that corresponds with the number of the parking space that your car occupies.The sky was clear and it was mid August. The heat hung over like an old blanket. The lot was less than half full. You could park your car there for half a day for 3 bucks. No such deals like that in San Ysidro which abuts Tijuana.I walked on the bridge that was the one way.I was the only person walking into Juarez. I had in my hand my painting that I wanted to give to my favorite fighter-a portrait of Jose Napoles. There was a customs officer, a heavyset girl,at the end of the bridge. She looked at the painting with a curious face.
"This is my painting of Jose Napoles,"I said in my broken Spanish. "I'm going to give it to him."
She smiled warmly and didn't bother to delay my trip. There were several cabs parked on the street at the end of the bridge.One of the cab drivers had his shirt off and was sunning himself on top of the hood of his taxi.
"Do any of you know where I can find Jose Napoles?"I asked.
There was a slight stir and one of the "taxistas' said that maybe one of the cab drivers on the next block might know where to find him.
"One of those "cabrones" plays pool once in awhile with him.He might know where he llves."
I walked up the block,my painting in hand,and saw a cab parked under an sycamore tree. The cab was full of rust and dents.Standing besides the cab was the driver.He was average looking ,middle aged,with a round soft face.
"Excuse me.I'm looking for Jose Napoles.He lives in Juarez.Do you know where I can find him?"
He looked at me with inquisitive eyes and then glanced at my painting.
"I know where his gym is but he doesn't go there anymore,"
"That's all right.Maybe someone there knows where he lives."
I got in his cab and he started diving almost parallel to the border. The street named Roma was littered with trash and piles of garbage that were left on the curbs. We arrived at Naploes' gym that was inside a building called Salon Roma. It was some sort of spa that advertised saunas,exercise rooms,studios,and Napoles' gym.There was no one inside except a gal behind a scratched up desk.She was young and plain looking.Her long brown hair hung down her back.On the desk was a heavy old typewriter.The concrete floor and walls cooled the inside from the oppressive heat that was standing outside the door.I asked her if she knew where I could find Jose Napoles.
"He used to live round the corner but he moved a long time ago."
"Can I see his gym?"
"I'm sorry,"she said ruefully."We had to put a padlock on it."

Then a kid riding a bicycle sped up to the door and got off.
"This boy can tell you where Jose Napoles lives,"said the girl."He helped him move to where he lives now."
I slipped the kid a few bucks and he told the cab driver how to get to where Napoles lived. I got inside the cab and now the journey was a trip winding through the inner streets of the city.The driver spun and swerved recklessly through the traffic until he came to a main intersection.He stopped at the corner,got out,and talked to someone.Then he got back inside and bolted around the corner onto a little side street with a dead end.Sure enough there was Jose "Mantequilla" Naploes sitting on a rickety chair outside a modest little house smoking a cigar. The cab driver parked in front of where he was sitting.We got out with the cab driver resting his back up against the wall of Napoles'' house.

Napoles was thin and graying and looked happy. He was waving to everyone passing by but they didn't return his acknowledgements. I'm not one to jump in right away and bring up a fighter's career or talk much about boxing unless he starts it. Jose just smiled and puffed on his cigar. I gave him the painting and he just grinned as he smoked the cigar down to the stub. I couldn't help seeing that the watch he was wearing was too big for his wrist.

When Jose Napoles made the journey to Mexico he had the rep for being a good fighter but if he was to ingratiate himself with the people he had to be one of them.It was a quick take. His results inside the Mexican rings amassed throughout the many arenas of republic and the run of knockouts,proved he passed the first test. But it was the machismo of the country that he embraced like a shot fired from the pistol of Pancho Villa. The big mustache,the wearing of the sombrero after a KO,the tomcat deadly stare,his marriage to a Mexican woman who he got pregnant on a yearly basis.("I've got eight kids and one in the hopper").You think of fighting as an brutal animal like act,savage and unrelenting. Yet Napoles made it look so easy.He took his time,probing,never wasting energy,slipping and weaving with those deadly cat eyes looking for the opening.Then the delivery of the telling blows. And his opponents knew that.They were in there with the best and there was little they could do about it.

I told him that he was my favorite fighter.That I had seen him fight. I didn't want his autograph.Just a few pictures.A asked him if he "could still get it up".He laughed at that one.I told him my wife was from Michoacan.About the only thing he mentioned bout fighting was that he had a gym in the city.But he said the fighters that went there weren't very dedicated.He told me that when he fought he focused on his opponents shoulders."I could tell when he was gong to throw a punch."He talked about his wife who was out shopping. That he had met her walking in the neighborhood and he fell in love. From what I gathered she was also a kind of caretaker.He said that I could stay for dinner. He also said that he had gone back to Cuba to visit relatives.(not true).But there was one thing I just had to know.
"Tell me. Is it true that Jose Alfredo Jimenez dedicated the song 'El Rey' to you?"
Napoles straightened himself up and threw out his chest.
"Si campeon.Jose Alfredo Jimenez wrote that song for me,El Rey. We are compadres."

Jose Alfredo Jimenez was one of the infamous Charros that sang the corridas of Mexico and lived life full measure.A horseman,the vaquero that spawned the bandits.El banndolero- the contemporary to the American cowboy. He could ride a horse like he was part of the animal.Could shoot a pistol and bring down anything and anyone in his aim. He could dance for three days straight with every senorita.And drink mezcal and pulque without throwing up and making a fool of himself. Jose Alfredo Jimenez was of that ilk.He also composed and sang songs. Songs of lost loves and battles won.Nothing of the city,but songs from the ranch and the open spaces and high skies,the sunsets slowly sinking behind the mountains.A song of a horse or a pretty girl.

Jose Alfredo Jimenez died when he was 45. His body could not endure his appetites.He is now mentioned with the immortals of Mexico's musical heritage-Jorge Negrete,Pedro Infante,and Javier Solis. In 1971 he wrote the song "El Rey" meaning "The King."He dedicated the song to his compadre Jose Naploles.The times they must have spent together would make a book. In Mexico a "compadre' is the closet bond a man can have with another. As close as brothers,more maybe. A trust that is inseprable.Unquestioned.To lay down one's life for would be without asking. The two Joses.One a Mexican national.The other a born Cuban but who was adopted by Mexico and made a compadre.They asked Jose Napoles once what he thought of his new home.
"If they threw me in the middle of the ocean I'd listen for the mariachis and find myself swimming back to Mexico."

Just now I was having some fun going from BoxRec pages that led to BoxRec wiki pages, page after page, following trails, when I came upon this fantastic 1964 photo of a gathering of Pacific Northwest Old-Timers for the Seattle Golden Globes:


Top row, left to right: Eddie (Brewster) Pinkman, Al Hostak, George (Bearcat) Baker, Leslie (Wildcat) Carter, Harry (Kid) Matthews, and Floyd Johnson. Bottom, left to right: Bobby Harper, Freddie Mack, Ron Rall, Tommy Moyer and Harry Casey. (Freddie Steele was added to the oval insert for the publication.)

I remember uploading this image many years ago. I am from the Seattle area, love old-time boxing (especially from my area), and am a Beatles fan. This photo was taken late February 1964. Need I say more?

Ric wrote: ↑16 Jul 2020, 20:57 Just now I was having some fun going from BoxRec pages that led to BoxRec wiki pages, page after page, following trails, when I came upon this fantastic 1964 photo of a gathering of Pacific Northwest Old-Timers for the Seattle Golden Globes:


Top row, left to right: Eddie (Brewster) Pinkman, Al Hostak, George (Bearcat) Baker, Leslie (Wildcat) Carter, Harry (Kid) Matthews, and Floyd Johnson. Bottom, left to right: Bobby Harper, Freddie Mack, Ron Rall, Tommy Moyer and Harry Casey. (Freddie Steele was added to the oval insert for the publication.)

I remember uploading this image many years ago. I am from the Seattle area, love old-time boxing (especially from my area), and am a Beatles fan. This photo was taken late February 1964. Need I say more?

The Beatles loved boxing too-at least they liked Ali (1964)

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑16 Jul 2020, 22:11

Ric wrote: ↑16 Jul 2020, 20:57 Just now I was having some fun going from BoxRec pages that led to BoxRec wiki pages, page after page, following trails, when I came upon this fantastic 1964 photo of a gathering of Pacific Northwest Old-Timers for the Seattle Golden Globes:


Top row, left to right: Eddie (Brewster) Pinkman, Al Hostak, George (Bearcat) Baker, Leslie (Wildcat) Carter, Harry (Kid) Matthews, and Floyd Johnson. Bottom, left to right: Bobby Harper, Freddie Mack, Ron Rall, Tommy Moyer and Harry Casey. (Freddie Steele was added to the oval insert for the publication.)

I remember uploading this image many years ago. I am from the Seattle area, love old-time boxing (especially from my area), and am a Beatles fan. This photo was taken late February 1964. Need I say more?

The Beatles loved boxing too-at least they liked Ali (1964)

The Beatles were not sports fans. They were not even fans of soccer despite the fact they were from soccer-mad Liverpool. According to what I have read, the Beatles were not that enthusiastic about meeting Ali despite the memorable photo.

- Chuck Johnston

The Tuna Choker

When Muhammad Ali was in San Diego prepping to get ready for Kenny Norton,his workouts at The Town And Country Hotel were open free to the public. To tell the truth the workouts were more entertaining than the fight. Man,did Ali look sluggish against Norton that night!

Anyway, Ali drew standing room only crowds when he trained ,albeit he didn't seem to take Norton seriously.He liked talking to the crowd more than bearing down when sparring,hitting the bags,and skipping rope.Norton ,on the other hand,trained very hard. He was all business. Unfortunately, there would be only a handful that stuck around to watch him train after Ali had left the building.

I don't think I missed either man's workouts.Usually, me and a few friends would pile into my car and trek down to The Town And Country to watch The Greatest do his thing. I remember one time one of the guys who went along was shooting his mouth off about how he saw Ali get decked during a sparring session. The guy's name was Joe Gonzales. He was Portuguese and lived in the Portuguese neighborhood in Point Loma that bordered on neighborhood were I lived. Everyone referred to that neighborhood as "Tunaville."That's because just about everybody that lived there was Portuguese and was some way involved with the Tuna fishing industry. I mean they had a lock on the tuna fishing on the West Coast.They either fished,owned boats,sold bait,operated the dry docks,sold provisions.There was even a cannery that the women worked at that was located across San Diego Bay.

When I went to Point Loma High School I'd say there were around 20 to 30 Portuguese boys who attended. I can't recall any of them that finished. They'd get their fathers to sign for them to be adults so those kids could drop out of school when they reached 16 and then go to work on one of the boats. Those kids weren't rockets scientists by any stretch,but they were just biding time. So they got an "F" in a class. In a years time those 16 year olds were pulling in an easy 30 grand a year catching tuna.-to be precise,albacore.

Joe Gonzales was one of those dropouts.He was between trips and was begging to go along to watch Ali train.Joe Gonzales was a real jokester-to be precise,a horses' ass. His stuff never went over with the rest of the Portuguese.He was a big buffoon who liked to pick on little guys.He wasn't from the Azores or the Madeiras like most of the others. Those guys seemed more grown up for their age and were tough. Joe knew better than try to rib those guys.When we were driving down to the Town And Country Joe started up with more of his BS.
"You know when we were in Panama unloading(at the cannery unloading the fish)Muhammad Ali was there and one of the crew knocked him on his ass,"he said with that big s--t eating grin of his.
"What are you talking about,"I asked.
"Ali was putting on an exhibition or something and Louie Torres got into the ring with him and decked him."
"Ali pulled that s--t all the time when he sparred around. He was only playing. He did it for fun."
"No.No.I'm tellin' ya'.Louie Torres knocked him on his ass.i was there."
"Remember that football player Lyle Alzado?Well Ali boxed an exhibition with him too and let him pretend that he knocked him down."
"Well,all I know is Louie Torres knocked him on his ass and I'm going to ask Ali if he remembers that.He's nothing but a dumb 'priet' ".
"Go ahead.You'll get nothing out of it."

Part of Ali's workout routine was to field comments or questions from the gallery.I had told you about the time Deacon Jones,the ex Ram and current defensive end for the Chargers, started taunting Ali.Ali stopped and glared over the crowd to where Jones was shooting off his mouth.Ali sked who the loud mouth was.
"Why that's Deacon Jones,"came the answer.
Ali lowered his brow.
"Is he a wrestler?"he asked seriously.
Then Ali grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and hurled them across the room at Deacon Jones.
"Here you go punk.Put these on and get in here.I'm gonna' give you an ass kicking."
Before Ali could finish his challenge Deacon Jones was heading for the parking lot.

Next it was Joe Gonzales' turn.
"Hey Ali. Remember that time in Panama when that tuna fisherman knocked you on your ass?"he bellowed.
Ali gave him another low brow and shook his head.
"C'mon.You remember.He knocked you on your ass,"boasted Joe with that big fat face of his grinning from ear to ear.
By this time Ali had his back to him.No one seemed to be interested.
"You just don't want to talk about it that's all."
Now I was beginning to get away from him.

On the way back home all Joe wanted to talk about was the time Louie Torres knocked Ali on his ass.
"You know you really came off acting like dumb tuna choker,"I said in disgust.
"He just didn't want to admit it."
"You're lucky he didn't toss any boxing gloves at you.Then he wouldn't have been f--king around like that time he did with Louie Torres."

Chuck1052 wrote: ↑17 Jul 2020, 12:17

dagosd2000 wrote: ↑16 Jul 2020, 22:11

Ric wrote: ↑16 Jul 2020, 20:57 Just now I was having some fun going from BoxRec pages that led to BoxRec wiki pages, page after page, following trails, when I came upon this fantastic 1964 photo of a gathering of Pacific Northwest Old-Timers for the Seattle Golden Globes:


Top row, left to right: Eddie (Brewster) Pinkman, Al Hostak, George (Bearcat) Baker, Leslie (Wildcat) Carter, Harry (Kid) Matthews, and Floyd Johnson. Bottom, left to right: Bobby Harper, Freddie Mack, Ron Rall, Tommy Moyer and Harry Casey. (Freddie Steele was added to the oval insert for the publication.)

I remember uploading this image many years ago. I am from the Seattle area, love old-time boxing (especially from my area), and am a Beatles fan. This photo was taken late February 1964. Need I say more?

The Beatles loved boxing too-at least they liked Ali (1964)

The Beatles were not sports fans. They were not even fans of soccer despite the fact they were from soccer-mad Liverpool. According to what I have read, the Beatles were not that enthusiastic about meeting Ali despite the memorable photo.

- Chuck Johnston

The Beatles arrived in America early that February to appear on "The Ed Sullivan Show" Sunday, Feb. 9--to blow TV ratings away big-time for some time to come. (I remember that night! Monday morning, some of us young kids were talking about it in school. Wow!)

(Little known fact: "Wall of Sound" music producer Phil Spector was with The Beatles on that flight from England. You can see him in a photo or two, standing at the top of the stairs, as the Beatles disembarck. I read a book long ago that said Spector was scared of flying, but figured that, with the Beatles on board, he had better odds. Something like that. He would later go on to produce the "Let It Be" album, as well as solo stuff by Lennon and Harrison.)

After that first appearance on the Sullivan Show, they went to Miami, where they enjoyed the Florida sunshine during that winter, and swam in pools (with many photos taken). They were there to prepare for a second appearance on the Sullivan Show. (They also taped a third appearance that was shown on the Sullivan show after they had gone back to England.)

While in Miami, they were asked to appear for a photo opp with Ali, who was training for his title bout with Sonny Liston. The Beatles didn't know who Cassius Clay was, and Ali didn't know much better. But they were the top celebrities dominating the news in February 1964.

Music And Ali

Cassius Clay grew up appreciating the sounds on the jukebox of his contemporaries-the Spinners,Sam Cooke,Jackie Wilson,and Major Lance to name just a few.When the cultural revolution carved its way into the scene in the mid 60's Clay may have transformed himself politically and religiously(and changed his name) but his taste in music remained the same.He wasn't into white icons of the past like Elvis and Ricky Nelson. In fact black teens weren't that interested either.They may have sung renditions of Howlin' Wolf and Big Mama Thornton,but it was all plagerized.And when the British Invasion hit our shores Ali wasn't waiting to get their autographs.James Brown was around in black music stores in the 50's but Cassius Clay wasn't a big fan.James Brown was a bit too angry all the time.Later,when boxing for Ali was put on the shelf,the black "rappers" made a sound that was an irritant to his ears.

Jazz was a sound that never stimulated him either. The old school musicians like Armstrong and Basie were the sounds of his daddy. Then came along the boppers with their strides into the stratosphere that left him at a loss. He didn't feel that he needed to be "hep."

Contrast Ali's tastes with his boxing fathers like Archie Moore and Joe Louis and we can see a disparity. Moore,Louis ,Charles,and Walcott relished the black jazz of the their era. When Joe louis traveled by train he would have a sound system installed so he could listen to songs by Ellington and Ella.However,during the war the black jazz musicians were experimenting and creating a new sound that revolutionized the music.It was called bebop.The old school guys,for the most part,jumped in.So did Moore,Louis,Charles,and Walcott.

But Ali never wavered from his upbringings. When the new breed made the scene he didn't follow their lead. Miles Davis ,John Coltrane,and Eric Dolphy might have well been playing on a bandstand on Mars.

Today,the black fighter is into gangster rap stuff that Joe Louis, Archie Moore,and Ali would find offensive and grating to the ears.Todays blacks might see that music as a trademark,but the aforementioned would consider it as degrading.Muhammad Ali will always be revered with the black community,even if he was sort of a square.



Ella and the Duke.We'll never hear the likes of this again


At Tatum

The Jewish Fighter

Around the turn of the century when the Czars and the countries of Eastern Europe were on the rampage persecuting their Jewish citizens ,Jews found a way to come to America to escape the pogroms.. They settled mostly in the cities on the eastern seaboard.New York City provided a haven. Before Harlem became a borough for African/Americans the new Jewish arrivals established residence in the north section of the city.Also, the Lower Eastside of New York was a focal point. The Jews were mostly poor and had been tossed around. Harlem and the Lower Eastside was recognized as Jewish ghettos.They started businesses like tailor shops, general stores,and delicatessens. Everyone in the family took pride in working the family enterprises.Their community was tight knit.The synagogues held their faith together. They weren't massacred in America in Europe like the history has told us about their plights across the Atlantic Ocean,but there was still animosity and exclusion rendered against them here by the later arrivals to our shores. Life for the Jews who lived in the tenements was a daily struggle.Boxing,described as the poor man's out,offered a chance to get out from under the trails and tribulations.There was also organized crime that's always out there for the oppressed.Some Jews chose that avenue of approach.

A steady flow of Jews tried their hand at pugilism.Many of the gyms were Jewish owned.The trainers and fighters were also predominantly Jews.But it didn't stop there. Promoters;matchmakers;and boxing's foremost periodical was owned and operated by the irrepressible Nat Fleischer. This tendency was prevalent during the early part of the 20th century.The greatest of the Jewish fighters were on the scene then winning world titles.

If you examine the Jewish fighter of the early part of the century,they exhibited an array of skills. As a group you could say that they promoted the scientific technique into the sport. Benny Leonard,The Attell brothers,lew Tendler,Ruby Goldstein (The Jewel Of The Ghetto).Maxie Rosenbloom,Some Jews Anglicized their names like many ethnics of the period. .Albert Rudolph became Al McCoy.

The Jewish fighter who impressed me the most was Barney Ross,the world's welter king.When I'd read about fighters' that eventually transformed themselves into practicing the purer artistry of the Sweet Science,I always call to attention the trilogy of Ross' battles with Jimmy McLarnin.If you look at those encounters on YouTube you can get a gist of what the sport was becoming-more mastery of the techniques compared to the reliance on brute strength.Ross boxed McLarnin's puss off. The age of keeping the hands low and lunging in were giving way to holding the gloves high.feinting to create openings,and parrying punches.

Ross' record was an impressive compilation of 72 wins against 4 in the loss column.Today, when it comes to ranking and listing the great welterweights his name is seldom mentioned. However,if he was in the division today(a few pounds up or down from it)he'd be wearing a slew of title belts.


Barney Ross

Nothing To Lose

The other day when I was naming prominent Jewish Fighters I forgot to mention Ted "Kid" Lewis. Lewis, who changed his name from Gershon Mendelhoff to a moniker that had an aroma of a more pugilistic nature.Lewis was the world welterweight king swapping the belt with his arch rival the American, Jack Britton. They fought each other 15 times.It isn't sure how many of those contests were for the title,but between 1915 and 1922 they were the only fighters to have the welterweight crown on top of their heads. There's not much film footage of Lewis. He had no qualms about fighting up in weight. His bout with Georges Carpentier ,for the light heavyweight championship, you can see on YouTube. It ended before the first round was over. While breaking a clinch Lewis pulled a Jack Sharkey, when the Irishman fought Dempsey, by dropping his guard and turning to the ref. Carpentier then came across with one of his powerful right hands that put Lewis almost into the Thames.Lewis was the first fighter to wear a mouth guard.He also added an array of dirty tricks to complement his boxing skills. He used every part of his gloves as a weapon-laces,the thumbs,and taking out the padding.

After Lewis retired from the ring he returned to England and gravitated under the spell of a character named Oswald Mosely , Mosely was a member of Parliament and a professed fascist.He had formed a political party called The New Party and Lewis acted as kind of a sergeant at arms whenever Mosely spoke at one of his rallies.Lewis even tried a run for Parliament but got KO'd early. He thought his name would win over voters,but when Mosely was spouting off more and more like the new German chancellor from across the channel,the British public repelled any of his political aspirations.Eventually, Lewis began to see that Mosely was only interested in using his name to gain stature as a credible political figure. When Mosely introduced anti-Semitism into his orations Lewis ended the relationship.

My favorite literary work with respect to boxing is Ernest Hemingway's short story,Fifty Grand.It's a reference to Jack Britton's upcoming title defense against Mickey Walker.Using the character Jack Brennan supplanting Britton's,and the naming the challeger,Walcott,as an imitation of Mickey Walker, Hemingway's style of prose is exemplary. And truefully Hemingway was often not at his best.However,in Fifty Grand the descriptions,symbolisms,underscorings,and allusions of what it takes to be a man ,and of course what eventually breaks that down, are wrapped in a fighter's language that Hemingway could put into words better than any of his peers when he was in that zone..But with Hemingway it's not if you win so much as how you act when going down to defeat.Grace under pressure might make one prevail,but it's more significant to keep yourself together(that grace) when when nearing the end of the line.

There's a reference to "Kid" Lewis in the beginning of Fifty Grand when Jack Brennan is sparring with Soldier Bartlett,a mythical fighter to the real the Soldier Bartfield. I'll let Papa tell it.
"You seen this Walcott?"he(Bartlett)says.
"Well",Jack says."I'm going to need a lot of luck with that boy."
"He can't hit you ,Jack",Soldier said.
"I wish the hell he couldn't."
"Handle him like you handled 'Kid' Lewis."
" 'Kid' Lewis' " Jack said. "That kike!"
And later.Hemingway again.

"That was why he hated Kid Lewis so.He never got the Kid's goat.Kid Lewis always had three new dirty things Jack couldn't do."

So now you have a gist of what it must have been like between Jack Britton and Ted "Kid" Lewis inside the ring.It was a time when you put it all on the line without thinking.You ran with it as long as you could hold up because you knew sooner or later that only the grim reaper would have his hand raised when it was all said and done.


"Papa" Hemingway

Irish And Tough

So yesterday I was talking about Ted "Kid" Lewis and threw in to boot a mention of his fights with another great welterweight,Jack Britton.Britton is another fighter we don't have on film.So why not a thread"Was Jack Britton Great?"They have him down has having 145 fights in a career that spanned from 1904 to 1930.The New York Times reported at one time that in 18 years Britton had fought 432 bouts averaging 24 bouts a year.He fought everybody in his weight class ,a little under and a little over. Britton and Lewis fought each other 20 times.15 of those bouts when they were swapping the championship back and forth in a span of five years.Besides the 20 fight series with Lewis,Britton faced guys like Benny Leonard,Mickey Walker,Mike O'Dowd,Dave Shade,Johnny Tillman,Johnny Griffiths,and Charley White.It's hard to get a handle on how many fights he actually had because in those days a lot of the small burgs that he fought in had no newspapers not to mention any telephones or wire services.The scribes from back east wouldn't go out to the boondocks to report a fight so a lot of those contests went unrecorded. With all those fights under his belt Britton was only stopped once. A fella' by the name of Steve Kinney K0'd Britton in Jack's third pro fight. No details of that one.

Of course what got me interested in Britton's career was that short story by Ernest Hemingway,"Fifty Grand."Some think the parallel of that story is Britton's fight with Benny Leonard for the welter weight championship in 1922. Benny went up in weight a notch wanting to add the 147 belt to his trophy case. He was the favorite going in but his performance inside the ring that night was pretty lackluster for 12 rounds.Then in the 13th round Benny socks Jack low and he goes to a knee. Benny then clips him one while he's still on a knee, and the ref Patsey Haley DQ's Leonard on the spot Jack keeping his title.There was a lot of confusion in the ring that night and afterwards the Jewish sportswriters stayed in Benny's corner saying that their idol fouled Jack because Benny "didn't want the welterweight title." Nat Fleischer,the editor of Ring Magazine,played that angle into his coffin.But it was Manny Seamon who was working with head trainer Ray Arcel that put the story to rest. Manny said that before the fight the gamblers got a hold of Leonard and told him to throw the match. Of course Leonard was sore but there was nothing he could do about it.
"My friends are all betting on me to win.If I lay down they'll lose their money."
So Benny came up with the idea that if he lost a foul all bets were off.There you have it.

But that scene wasn't the allusion that Papa Hemingway had in mind. It was Britton's fight with Mickey Walker,when Mickey had his way with Jack winning the welterweight championship.In "Fifty Grand" the fight written by Hemingway is closer to what transpired between Britton and Leonard,but Papa put it on record that he used the Britton/Walker fight as an inspiration.

When I was studying American literature in college in the 60's .Ernest Hemingway was a basic staple.They always talk about his style of writing. His struggles identifying what a man should do to be called a man and the futilities along the way:having a code,displaying grace in under pressure and in defeat,his odds with nature,and the search of something meaningful to keep on living for have been kicked around for the last hundred years or so.Like I said yesterday,most of Hemingway's stuff is bad to mediocre. He would "rush' his writing thus making it come off gimmicky lacking substance. However,when he was "on" he sitting in the pantheons of the masters. When he was on target it can be seen in a lot of his short stories,especially early in his writings."Fifty Grand" was one of those short stories when Hemingway was in his "zone."There's a description of the main character Jack Brennan who is the alter ego Jack Britton in the story.It's the time when the gamblers,Morgan and Steinfelt go into Brennan's room to offer him the bribe to throw the fight.

"Jack doesn't say anything.He just sits there on the bed.He's all by himself.He was wearing an old blue jersey and pants and had on boxing shoes.He needed a shave.Steinfelt and Morgan were dressers.(but) Jack sat there looking Irish and tough."

Boxing lends itself to the vernacular.Boxing isn't cricket.It isn't Wimbledon.Boxing is sweaty,dirty and bloody. The gore left on the mat after a fight is a symbol of the trials of what a fighter goes through in order to go on to his next fight.The human body wasn't designed for being a fighter.There are no helmets or shoulder pads for protection.A fighter can't call timeout when the going gets rough. There's no tag team partner to give respite.At a party a fighter is more likely to be the most unpretentious person in the room.But if someone were to point a fighter out to you,take a long study. It'll come into focus. He may not necessarily be irish, but he'll look tough.

The Other Canadian

I was following the careers of two Canadian heavyweights during the late 50's moving into the 60's,George Chuvalo and Bob Cleroux. When it was all said and done Cleroux beat Chuvalo 2 out of 3 via decisions.Both boys were ranked in the top 10,but it was Chuvalo whose career blossomed while Cleroux's just kind of turned to seed.After their third fight(Chuvalo losing on a split decision) ,it was George who was inking his name for some important fights and big paydays.Three were for a version of the heavyweight title. Cleroux on the other hand looked like he couldn't find his way. He lost twice to Zora Folley by decisions with no titles on the line. There was a fight with Mike DeJohn in Mike's playground of Miami Beach. Cleroux went into the ring a 2 to 1 favorite and fought like he had one hand tied behind his back. Let no one kid ya' DeJohn was controlled by Frankie and Blinkie and they were grooming him to be the world's heavyweight champion.But Mike never had the goods to get to the top and eventually he got paid for being on the losing end in the end.

But we all remember big George Chuvalo.He fought for some version of the heavyweight title losing handily to Ali twice and Ernie Terrell,a little closer.He also made some nice deposits into his bank account fighting the likes of Floyd Patterson,Joe Frazier,Buster Mathis,George Foreman,Oscar Bonavena,and Jerry Quarry.The only guy in that group he beat was Quarry in one of the most comical sequences ever in boxing. In the 7th round Jerry is peppering George pretty good and looks like he's going to finish him off when Chuvalo lands a left hook high to the head and Quarry stumbles backward losing his balance going down.But he pops back up right away but then decides to take a breather and goes down to a knee to take the mandatory eight. I don't think Jerry passed elementary math in grammar school because he stayed on that knee while referee Zach Clayton counted to ten. Jerry could have borrowed Billy Conn's line after losing to Joe Louis in their first fight.
"What's the sense of being Irish if you can't be dumb?"

Chuvalo always talked about never being knocked down in a fight,but if referee Arthur Mercante hadn't stopped George Foreman from teeing off at will on the Canadian George, Foreman would have killed him and dead guys don't stand up.

I saw George Chuvalo at a World Boxing Hall Of Fame event in LA. He was at a table with some other fighters signing autographs.He was very friendly and approachable. Sitting next to him was Bobby Chacon.All of a sudden there was a ruckus. Bobby was going after George like he wanted to kill him. Turned out that Bobby had accused George of stealing his pen.Chuvalo easily fended Chacon off before Bobby was separated from the big guy.Bobby was at that stage where he could be like a little kid one moment and then flip the switch and become a handful.

I would have liked to have seen Bob Cleroux get some bigger fights and even a shot at a title.He wasn't in the class of Ali,Frazier,or Foreman,but neither was George Chuvalo.


George Chuvalo

Big George at the WBHOF

The Hook

I heard Mike Mazurki,the wrestler and later on the actor,say that Mae West had a thing for guys had had a busted nose.Now Mae also like to frolic with women but I'm not sure if the dames had to have a crooked snoot in order to get in the sack with the famous sex symbol. Chalky Wright,the bantamweight champ was hired to by Mae West to drive her around and also service her in the bedroom. if you've ever seen a profile of Wright you could have hung your best suit on the tip of his smeller. Mazurki said that she would caress his broken nose like it was a warm puppy.it didn't matter what the rest of your pan looked like.as long as it contained a smashed schnozz.Then your chances of exploring the framework of the Hollywood love goddess was a lead pipe cinch.

There's been a lot of discussion lately on the forum about Fritzie Zivic.Was he a good fighter? It's puzzling when you look at his record.He had way over 200 recorded fights not to mention the ones that faded into history. He fought everybody.But the red flag is always raised when you look at the number of losses-65.How could a guy get voted into the Hall Of Fame with so many defeats staring him in the face?Granted, he put a gory end to Henry Armstrong's run of KO victories seizing Hank's title in 15 rounds in Madison Square Garden.The rematch was even more convincing. Henry The Great couldn't finish the 12th taking a sound licking. But six months later Freddie Cochrane decisioned the Croat Comet for the belt.Zivic would never get another chance to fight for a championship.He went on another eight years fighting in just about every tank town and smoked filled arena in the 48.That's where you see on his record most of those 65 losses. There was one stretch where he lost 12 out of 13 to guys who couldn't have carried Henry Armstrong's jockey strap.So what's the deal with this guy?

For starters he was controlled by the mob. He was in the thick of it. During the 40's boxing was in the pockets of the nefarious figures of the underworld. They owned the arenas.Their associations with the different boxing commissions left a stain. Matchmakers and managers were ripe for the taking.Fighters were their pawns. If they didn't go along they wouldn't get fights. It was as simple as that.The cops,the Feds;they were bought off too to look the other way.So when trying to assess the merits of Fritzie Zivic is a tough match.

Zivic knew his stuff inside the ring. He didn't last that long by being a stiff. He could size up an adversary like Armstrong and know how to take advantage. Henry ate Fritzie's hooks and uppercuts and kept on wading in finally getting a bad case of indigestion.After Ray Robinson starting of as a pro with 25 straight wins it was time for an acid test-a fight with Fritzie Zivic. if Robbie had any flaws Fritzie would find them. Zivic's faithful called him a "tricky" fighter. The anti Zivics cussed him out as a being "dirty" pug.

So the way I take it is when Fritzie wasn't playing along with the wise gays he was as good a fighter as there was around. But if he obeyed orders from downtown..well there wasn't much you could do bout that.

BTW.I got started off on this jag about Mae West's carnal attraction with guys with busted beaks. Fritzie Zivic sported a classic.I wonder if Mae West ever rubbed her double D's on his hook?I bet he'd take that lying down.


Fritzie Zivic

The Dinner Guest

When my father was in The Outfit in Chicago he was more or less an underling.He wasn't a "button man".He was what they called an "earner."The Outfit got him jobs working for the different local governments-a tax collector,a spot on the liquor commission,another assignment with the state auditor.He went around shaking down local businesses for protection.For instance when he worked for the liquor commission he'd go around to the bars in Calumet City and get payments from the owners so they could water down their bottles of liquor,run slot machines in the backrooms,and allow the hookers to peddle their hips sitting all comfy at the tables.Everybody was on the take.The mayor,the cops,and the judges all had their hands out.It was a smoothly run operation.

My father had an "in" with the Mob because he was Diamond Joe Esposito's son. Guys like Al Capone,Frank Nitti,Paul Ricca,Sam Giancana,and Tony Accardo(all future Dons in Chicago)sprouted their wings under the patronage of Diamond Joe.So it was a no brainer for those Outfit guys to find something for my father to do.

My father took orders from Sam Giancana who at the time was running things under the auspices of Tony Accardo. Accardo wanted to maintain a low profile so he handed down his assgnments to Giancana.(Accardo was one of the few mobsters who never spent a day in prison and died a natural death).When my father came out to California resulting in a "beef" he got into in Chicago,he still ran errands for Giancana out west.One time the Outfit sponsored my old man to try to get the hold on legal gambling in Mexico. My father went down to Mexico City with a slew of lawyers and tried to spread enough money around to get things set up,but true to form there's NEVER enough money to spread around when it comes to paying off whoever you have to south of the border.

Being a "higher up" in The Outfit made you kind of a celebrity. You got to meet a lot of big names. I remember one time my father came home and said that he invited Jack Dempsey over for dinner.I was around ten years old and I was exited knowing that i was to meet the former heavyweight champ.My father and mother had visited New York City prior and had eaten dinner in Dempsey's joint on Broadway.Dempsey was no stranger to the Esposito's.It was inside my grandfather's restaurant,The Bella Napoli, that Al Capone tried to put the "bite" on Jack with his fight with Tunney in Chicago.After eating dinner I remember a bit of the conversation that Dempsey had with my parents.There were in the living room.
"Marion where did you learn to cook?"Dempsey asked my mother.
"From the recipes handed down to Joe's mother from the cook at the Bella Napoli."
"You should open a restaurant,"he said.
"it's too much work."
My father then went on to tell Dempsey that one of Dion O'Banion's boys tried to bribe the cook at The Bella Napoli 10 grand to put poison in Capone's spaghetti when he came in on a daily basis every evening to eat his pasta.
"I remember when Capone tried to put the "bite" on me in your father's restaurant before the fight,"remarked Dempsey." He said he'd try to fix it with Tunney to "lie down" then in the rubber match it would be up for grabs.I told him Tunney would never go for anything like that and besides I knew I was finished as fighter.That would be my last fight.I didn't need the money.My wife wanted me to quit and I was worried about staying healthy."

I'll never forget that time when Jack Dempsey came over for dinner.I remember there were some other dinner guests . Red Grange and Rodgers Hornsby sat at our dinner table also.I kind of took it for granted then.For my father,it was just a few friends that he met along the way to pass the time.I guess he kind of took it for granted too.


Jack Dempsey

My hips are killing me tonight. Had to get out of bed so I'm at the computer.Here's something I've always got a kick out of-the "fight" between Max Baer and Primo Carnera before they had their real fight from the movie The Prizefighter And The Lady(1934)I like it when they bring some of yhose old timers back into the ring before the fight starts.I especially like it when Jess Willard goes over to shake Jack Dempsey's (He plays the ref)hand.Jack seems a little uneasy.They scripted him to say something about Toledo.He should have also told him about how Doc Kearns doctored his gloves


You won't see the likes of that anymore.(As I get older I'm saying that more and more)

A Story No One Cares Much To Think About

I was sure I'd get some flack about claiming that Doc Kearns had loaded Jack Dempsey's gloves with plaster of Paris before his fight with Willard in Toledo. There's a lot of fans that don't buy into that. When I was a kid Dempsey,even more than Marciano(probably because Rocky was Italian)was boxing's biggest hero to emerge from the heavyweight ranks or any of boxing's ranks.He came along just at the right time. The Roaring 20's was the perfect storm for being a sport idol. You had Babe Ruth who was a living legend in baseball. Red Grange was The Galloping Ghost who brought the game of football to the top of the sports pages. Man O War lived up to his name and with exception of only losing one race(ironically to a horse named Upset) He was the nag to beat every time he left the starting gate.Bobby Jones swung the clubs better than any other golfer.Big Bill Tilden dominated tennis.And then there was Dempsey,the Manassa Mauler,who only knew one way to fight and that was to fight non stop until his opponent caved in. it was a time when those athletes were held in such high esteem that to try to find any dirt on them was anti American.Tilden later would be exposed as a child molester so there was no way he could be forgiven for something like that.But Jack Dempsey left the scene after back to back losses to Gene Tunney as a national treasure.

But Dempsey might have never reached the peak of success without the tutelage of his wily manager Jack "Doc" Kearns.Dempsey wasn't much when Kearns began to work with him.Dempsey was a skinny heavyweight who was born in the Rocky Mountains and started off fighting inside small venues in the area that was still very reminiscent of the Wild West.He fought a bunch of nobodies like himself and seemed to be making no headway.Then Kearns sees something in him and believes that he could make chicken salad out of this boy. Kearns knew that a fighter had to fight in New York and leave a mark if he wanted to advance his career. Dempsey finally arrived at The Apple but left the city leaving a big worm inside.Three unimpressive fights with three unimpressive fighters didn't make the scribes forget about Benny Leonard.

The Jack and Jack show found their way back west of the Mississippi where the old road show stayed old and Dempsey looked like he would never become a marquis fighter.But then Kearns figured if he was ever going to get out of this rut he'd have to invent something that would make people take notice.Ok.So i'll have my boy stay out West.But since everyone out there had a cowboy mentality I'll give these rubes a little taste of P.T. Barnum.I'll make sure my guy has an advantage when he steps into the ring. All of a sudden Dempsey is dispatching the opposition before the ringsiders got into their seats."Fireman"Jim Flynn ,who disposed of Dempsey inside a round in 1917, now found himself flat on his back in dreamland a year later in an outpost called Fort Sheridan. The fight lasted less than three minutes.Bill Breannan ,the number one contender,was hammered away in six frames.Six out of Dempsey's next eight were one round KO victories. The only contender that stood in his way was the giant Fred Fulton.Fred fell in 23 seconds. Carl Morris,another giant,dropped from the beanstalk in one round.Dempsey blew away Gunboat Smith in 2 ,and now it was time for Willard.

But "Doc" Kearns knew that he had that ace up his sleeve,or I should say in Dempsey's gloves.Years later after the falling out,Kearns told the world and Sports Illustrated(for a price) that Dempsey had an edge when he fought in Toledo. Now the Dempsey diehards say that it's impossible to load boxing gloves with plaster of Paris to accomplish such a dirty deed. A fighter would break his hands fighting that way.*When Dempsey read the article in Sports Illustrated he called up his lawyers.The plaster of Paris company said it couldn't be done.But this time Dempsey had loaded HIS defense and he knew he had his old guru by the balls.There was no one who could corroborate "Doc's" story. It was only him and Dempsey inside the dressing room who were privy to the hand wrapping shenanigans.Of course Dempsey would never admit it. What would that have that done to tarnish his image?Imagine going to his restaurant in New York and seeing that big mural of him in the process of destroying Willard knowing that Jack had a lethal weapon inside his mitts?Dempsey would live his life out as an American icon. American icons ain't the cheatin' sort.

I've told you about the time in the back room of Bob Johnston's Sport Palace on Market Street with me and my old man and "Doc" Kearns and Bob Johnston yakking it up about the good ol' days and Kearns describing how he loaded Dempsey's gloves in Toledo all the while gloating about it like he just caught the biggest fish on the boat. But by that time it was no secret.He had told Sports illustrated and they knew when to throw in the towel and made a retraction.No harm .No foul.

I knew this old timer who was the dad of one of my friends.His name was Rico. He was Italian,thin as a rail and road the rails during the Depression.He came over,him and his brother, from Modena and they bought a chicken ranch in Texas.Rico moved to San Diego and worked at the lumber yard across from the Santa Fe Depot at the foot of Broadway.He smoked rolling his own Bull Durham and with all the sawdust he breathed in at the lumberyard he got lung cancer. But that never stopped him from going to the Caliente Racetrack in Tijuana.He was one of those gambling degenerates and never had a car.He'd catch the bus at the corner and make the trek across the border to bet his weekly earnings at the track. All his money fed the horses.Rico only liked three sports-baseball,the horses,and boxing. He told me he was at Toledo.I'll let Rico tell it.

"You know when the 1st round ended Dempsey leaped from the ring and took off his gloves and threw them under the ring. But the referee told him to get back in there because Willard still wanted to fight but they had to get a new pair of gloves for Dempsey. Well,the fight lasted another round but Dempsey couldn't knock him down again(Dempsey had Willard off his feet 7 times in the 1st.The first time Willard had ever been off his feet)But Willard was so busted up he couldn't come out for the 3rd."

Kearns wanted his cake and eat it too. He bet 10 G's at 10 to 1 that Dempsey would stop Willard inside a round.Remember,Willard was the betting favorite.After winning the title Kearns protected his charge. Kearns handpicked his opponents and Dempsey wasn't seen much defending his title.

But that was so long ago. Talk to a fight fan today and he might know the name "Dempsey" but that's about as far as it goes.The truth and the myth don't count for much.However,sizing up the heavyweight picture today doesn't make me think about it much either.


"Doc" Kearns

*A fighter in Mexico showed me how to load a glove with plaster of Paris. First you wrap the hands with gauze and tape. Then you take a cloth and wet it. Sprinkle the plaster of Paris on the cloth.Then wrap the hands over the cloth with more tape. it's as easy as that. And it's done all the time.

BTW.Put on a pair of brass knuckles and punch some guy in the face.You're hands will be just fine.

Unanswered Questions

I was just scanning BoxRec's champion fighters in each division and the top P4P guys and see that with the exception of one Asian fighter in one of the lighter weights that none of these guys has inked a contract for an upcoming fight. Fighters need to stay sharp and the only way they maintain that edge is have fights and go to the gym on a regular basis.I figure,at least in the U.S. ,the gyms have been told to close their doors by the governors of the states.In San Diego about a month ago they were allowed to reopen,but that only lasted a couple of weeks.Then there was a spike with the virus and now the gyms are shut down again.

So what are the fighters doing these days?I guess they can go out on the road and run.Maybe shadowbox.But that ain't going to bring in any bread. I wonder if any of them filed for unemployment?Are they looking for a job when hardly anyone is hiring?Of course fighters like PacMan and Fury should have enough salted away not to worry about paying the mortgage,but how about the bread and butter club fighters?Notice that this paragraph has a lot of sentences ending with question marks.I don't have the answers.

I'll repeat what Denny Moyer told me once.
"If I stay away from the gym for more than two weeks I begin to lose my edge."
So how long has this shutdown because of the pandemic been going on?Early March?Mid March?The beginning of April?(three more question marks)

Of all the sports, fighters can get stale faster than athletes in other sports if they're not training.Some fighters really let themselves go between fights. Roberto Duran would balloon up to near 200 pounds when he was between fights. Leonard knew that and that's why he pressed him into the rematch before Roberto could get his mind and body back to where it was in Montreal.But hell.Duran was already a walking legend. He had made plenty of dough.It was his ego that never recouped.

But when Roberto gave it the "No Mas" in the 8th round that deed will now follow him into his grave.He should have just sat on his stool and not come out for round number 9.His macho image wouldn't have taken the hit like it did.He was too impulsive.But these macho types that strut around snarling at every opponent saying they're going to kill them are leaving themselves open. They're masking some sort of inferiority complex.A fear.Then when they lose, the exposure is magnified. Sonny Liston couldn't come to grips with it. Tyson was never the same after Douglas beat him. Think of it.Of all the heavyweights around at that time that were more or less of the same ilk:John Tate,Pinklon Thomas,Bonecrusher Smith,Greg Page,Mike Weaver,Truth Williams.it was Douglas who caused the biggest upset in the history of boxing. There was never one of his fights prior or after his bout with Tyson that even closely resembled what he did to Iron Mike.I'll stick to my guns.That night in Tokyo there wouldn't have been a heavyweight in all of history that could have beaten James "Buster" Douglas. A prime Ali.A prime Louis. A prime Jack Johnson.You get my drift. But then after that fight James "Buster" Douglas returned to being just another one of the heavyweights that was going through the motions.Maybe even worse.His fight with Tyson,who some were saying would never lose and others proclaiming the best ever,was the greatest aberration not only in the annals of boxing history,but in the archives of all sports.

When Joe Louis was flattened by Max Schmeling he didn't have that persona of threatening to eat his adversary's heart on a silver platter.Louis never shot his mouth off. Not many fighters back then took to acting like a Gorgeous George.Even the wrestlers weren't that over the top.Today,you have to have an act. Wilder coming into the ring looking like a robot(and imitating one in his fight with Fury)The strobe lights,rap music, and pyrotechnics. The trunks looking like they were designed by a guy on a bad acid trip.All the little hard bodies in their G strings standing in back of the fighters at the weigh in and then following them up into the ring before the fight starts. And how about female fighters anyway.I don't get off on prospective mothers punching each other in the face.

Now my wife has had her share of fights. One day I was duking it out with some drunk in Tijuana in the middle of the street when his buddy wanted to jump in and sandbag me.My wife ,who was watching me and this frunk guy go at it, flew out of the crowd and jumped on the back of this guy's friend and was punching him on the back of his head like a tigress.Instead of screaming and crying and acting hysterical she walloped this dude good.That's different than taking up fighting as a way to make a buck.It makes me sad to see fighters wind up punchy.To see a female walking around with a busted pan and on Queer Street...well what in the hell is the world coming to?(that's another question mark that I don't have the answer too so I'm getting out of here)


Jack Johnson

Roger: Moyer's comment about not being out of the gym more than two weeks is interesting; did he spar often ? I'd be surprised, due to the frequency that he fought.

goose 5 wrote: ↑29 Jul 2020, 18:58 Roger: Moyer's comment about not being out of the gym more than two weeks is interesting; did he spar often ? I'd be surprised, due to the frequency that he fought.

Goose
He sparred when he had a fight coming up. He liked to work out with his stablemate Ronnie Wilson. I also remember him working with Jimmy Rosette and Renato Garcia. I also remember him training with a middle weight who frequented the Coliseum here in San Diego,Mike Avans.It was just to stay sharp.You could tell that boxing was second nature with him by that time.He was such an old pro that the younger fighters would ask him a lot of questions and he'd feel at ease answering what they had to ask.He would also see something that could make a younger fighter be more effective so he'd step in and be like a mentor.