Memories of two brief encounters with Tony Zale have enriched my
life for more than 50-years.
In August 1947, while vacationing with my parents in Minocqua,
Wisconsin, I overheard someone say that Tony Zale was in town
and had parked his car near a barber shop two blocks away.
Without a second thought I ran as fast as I could to where the
former champion stood leaning on a car door talking to his wife
seated inside. As I had just purchased a postcard, I held it out
to him and asked politely if he would sign it for me. He smiled
and said, "Sure, kid." At this point things took a turn for the
worse as neither he nor I nor his wife had anything with which
to write! And so with the innocence and impudence inherent
only in 13-year-olds, I asked if he would wait while I ran into
the barber shop to borrow a pencil. He smiled again and said,
"Sure." There was no smile on his wife's face. When I returned
in a few minutes with a pencil, the Zales were just where I had
left them, but I sensed Mrs. Zale's impatience with both me and
her husband. As he quickly signed the postcard, I mentioned to
him that I had lost a 25-cent bet to my cousin after Graziano
had stopped him in Chicago. He didn't smile this time as he said
quietly, "Put it on me next time, kid. You'll get it back." I stood
on the curb and waved as the man of steel and his wife drove
slowly away.
Five years later at the 25th Annual Golden Gloves Tournament
of Champions in Chicago, Tony Zale, now employed by the C.Y.O.
(Catholic Youth Organization) was serving as an official. One of
his duties was to visit briefly with contestants who had lost by
knockout or in an especially grueling bout. After being examined
by a physician, boxers were required to rest on a cot for at least
30-minutes in a room in the basement of the old Chicago Stad-
ium. With three bouts underway simultaneously throughout
the evening, the room was crowded. It was not a happy room.
It was a room for losers. In this setting, I met Zale for the
second time. He stopped at my cot, shook my left hand gently
and said a few words in that husky voice. I wanted so much to
ask him if he remembered me from Wisconsin. But I did not;
and the man of steel moved smoothly on to the next cot to
shake the hand of another loser.