Vincent Bell - Revision history

Ric: Ric moved page Human:307376 to Vincent Bell

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Ric moved page Human:307376 to Vincent Bell

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Ric at 01:43, 31 January 2014

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			'''Manager:''' Stan Tommasello

			Web article: [http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/box10-99.htm#enrique]


	~~Manager~~: ~~Stan Tommasello~~



	http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/box10-99.htm#enrique

Delisa at 19:39, 30 January 2014

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	Manager: Stan Tommasello		Manager: Stan Tommasello



			http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/box10-99.htm#enrique

Delisa: Replaced content with " Manager: Stan Tommasello"

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	Manager: Stan Tommasello		Manager: Stan Tommasello

	~~A SPECIAL KIND OF FIGHTER~~
	~~By Enrique Encinosa~~


	No one remembers Vincent “Choo-Choo” Bell. The little featherweight from Orlando only had three pro fights, winning one and losing two in a remarkable career that spanned only a few months during the mid-eighties. What made the club fighter unusual was the fact that Vincent Bell only had one leg. “Choo-Choo went to battle with a prosthesis, an artificial leg.

	Although the bureaucrats of the boxing commissions had tried to prevent him from fighting pro, Bell insisted, turning pro with a knockout over Wallace Tisdale, a four round prelim fighter. In his second bout, Bell lost on points to Troy Davis, a ten bout veteran club fighter with fair boxing skills.

	I saw Bell in his third pro bout, in a town in central Florida named Melbourne. Although the Sunshine State is best known for powder gold beaches, nightclubs and tourist attractions, there is a rural culture in some areas of Florida. In areas north and south of Disney World there are cane fields, cattle ranches, dairy centers and an occasional ostrich farm. Melbourne is one of those coastal area towns south of Orlando where cultures meet.

	The pro boxing card was held in a country-western saloon, next to an expressway exit. The place was large, several wide rooms packed with jukeboxes, popcorn machines, video games with a cowboy motif, and a long, brown bar of worn-out wood and faded brass. Bartenders with western style vests and arm garters served up draft beer from kegs or lined up shot with chasers. Waitresses wearing checkered shirts served up baskets of fries, onion rings and hot dogs. The crowd of several hundred was a blend of cultures combining the beachcombers with deep tans and Bermuda shorts, the farm boys and cowpunchers with Stetson hats or baseball caps advertising automotive products, and the usual blend of college boys and hard-drinking girls.

	I had mixed feelings about seeing a one legged fighter. Boxing is my favorite sport and I cringe at the thought of turning a battle of strength and will into a freak show. Yet, I knew of several handicapped fighters that enjoyed success in the ring. A couple became world champions.

	Back in France, during the days of muddy trench warfare at Verdun, a German sniper zeroed his sights on an enemy corporal walking a post. The bullet ripped away half of the Frenchman’s jaw. The corporal was taken to an army hospital, where he was operated, his jawbone replaced by an artificial one, made up of sheep bone rib and a metal plate. The corporal, who had fought pro for five years before the war started, was told by the surgeons to forget his ring career, for being hit in the jaw would cause intense pain.

	The little man with the metal jaw fooled everyone. In spite of the intense pain, he reeled off fifty-two wins in fifty-five bouts over a six-year period. In 1923, Eugene Criqui, the man who was not supposed to fight, won the featherweight title from Johnny Kilbane, by a sixth round knockout. The little Frenchman was champion for less than two months, losing on points to the great Johnny Dundee. An idol of his people, Eugene Criqui retired from the ring in 1927 with a 94-13-8 pro record that included forty knockout victories and only two KO losses.

	Tommy Spiegel was another remarkable fighter. Despite a withered leg caused by infantile paralysis, Spiegel fought a couple of hundred pro fights, losing on points to Sammy Angott, Bob Montgomery and Beau Jack, three legends of the ring. Other fighters with leg handicaps include Tami Mauriello and Cyclone Hart. Tami had a lame leg but compiled an 82-13-1 record that included bouts with Joe Louis and Gus Lesnevich. Cyclone Hart overcame polio as a child to become a middleweight contender feared for his power. On a lesser level, but just as meritorious was David “Maceton” Cabrera, another fighter who suffered polio as a child. Cabrera once held the modest title of Mexican Light-Heavyweight Champion, losing in three rounds to Marvin Camel.


	Deaf fighters use light signals from their corner to know when a round ends, since they can not hear the gong of the bell. Deaf boxers have included former bantamweight champion Mario D’Agata (54-10-3), Gene Hairston, a top contender who beat Paul Pender, and Spanish featherweight Kid Tano, who fought champion Jose Legra to a draw. Tano claimed that being deaf helped him to concentrate on his opponent without noise distractions from the crowd.

	Billy Daniels, a top heavyweight who went seven hard rounds with Ali, split two bouts with Doug Jones, lost to Cleveland Williams and stopped Mike DeJohn, was missing a couple of fingers. In more recent times, doctors told Vinnie Pazienza, the tough battler from New England that his ring career was finished after being injured in an auto accident. By the time others like Pazienzia were halfway through therapy, the New England fighter was trading leather with Roberto Duran.

	~~When I met Vincent Bell in the storage area that served as a dressing room, I was pleased. The little featherweight was not delusional about his career or ability.~~

	“Look,” he said to me as his hands were being taped, “I know I am not going to be champ, but I love boxing and I just had to prove it to myself that I could have a few fights. I am not going to sit on my ass and moan about having one leg. I am going to have a few fights so I can say I was a pro fighter.”

	It was not a freak show. As Bell removed his robe some in the crowd gasped in surprise. There were no snide remarks or loud comments. Even the most beer drenched cowboys, in their foggy stupor, showed respect for a man with one leg who was willing to fight.

	It was a good bout. Jesus Chavez, a Broward fighter with quick moves went right after Bell. “Choo-Choo” stood his ground, popping stiff jabs into his opponent’s face, following with a solid hook. Chavez, rocked by the blow began moving more, pecking away at Bell. It was an even fight for two rounds, but the Broward fighter began to chip away at Vincent in the third stanza. It was obvious that Choo Choo could not move as well as his opponent, his footwork always a second too late. The ref stopped it in the fourth, when Bell was staggering against the ring ropes.

	It was a good fight but not a great fight. It was however, a moving performance, for all those who witnessed the bout understood that here was a man giving his absolute best in spite of having been dealt a bad hand. That he lost did not matter to the crowd for his grit won the crowd over. The standing ovation was from the heart. Truck drivers and cowboys, college students and surfers all clapped and hollered, some standing in wood chairs as the fight ended. It was a worthy moment, the kind that makes one feel good about the human spirit.

	Vincent Bell will never be enshrined in the Hall of Fame at Canastota. He does not deserve to be, with a pro record of one victory and two defeats. Still, even with the passing of years, the memory of his last bout always brings a good feeling, the belief that man can overcome insurmountable heights if he so desires, that will power can triumph over physical limitations.

	~~Amen.~~

Delisa: Created page with " Manager: Stan Tommasello A SPECIAL KIND OF FIGHTER By Enrique Encinosa No one remembers Vincent “Choo-C..."

2014-01-30T19:19:48Z

Created page with " Manager: Stan Tommasello A SPECIAL KIND OF FIGHTER By Enrique Encinosa No one remembers Vincent “Choo-C..."

New page

Manager: Stan Tommasello

A SPECIAL KIND OF FIGHTER
By Enrique Encinosa

No one remembers Vincent “Choo-Choo” Bell. The little featherweight from Orlando only had three pro fights, winning one and losing two in a remarkable career that spanned only a few months during the mid-eighties. What made the club fighter unusual was the fact that Vincent Bell only had one leg. “Choo-Choo went to battle with a prosthesis, an artificial leg.

Although the bureaucrats of the boxing commissions had tried to prevent him from fighting pro, Bell insisted, turning pro with a knockout over Wallace Tisdale, a four round prelim fighter. In his second bout, Bell lost on points to Troy Davis, a ten bout veteran club fighter with fair boxing skills.

I saw Bell in his third pro bout, in a town in central Florida named Melbourne. Although the Sunshine State is best known for powder gold beaches, nightclubs and tourist attractions, there is a rural culture in some areas of Florida. In areas north and south of Disney World there are cane fields, cattle ranches, dairy centers and an occasional ostrich farm. Melbourne is one of those coastal area towns south of Orlando where cultures meet.

The pro boxing card was held in a country-western saloon, next to an expressway exit. The place was large, several wide rooms packed with jukeboxes, popcorn machines, video games with a cowboy motif, and a long, brown bar of worn-out wood and faded brass. Bartenders with western style vests and arm garters served up draft beer from kegs or lined up shot with chasers. Waitresses wearing checkered shirts served up baskets of fries, onion rings and hot dogs. The crowd of several hundred was a blend of cultures combining the beachcombers with deep tans and Bermuda shorts, the farm boys and cowpunchers with Stetson hats or baseball caps advertising automotive products, and the usual blend of college boys and hard-drinking girls.

I had mixed feelings about seeing a one legged fighter. Boxing is my favorite sport and I cringe at the thought of turning a battle of strength and will into a freak show. Yet, I knew of several handicapped fighters that enjoyed success in the ring. A couple became world champions.

Back in France, during the days of muddy trench warfare at Verdun, a German sniper zeroed his sights on an enemy corporal walking a post. The bullet ripped away half of the Frenchman’s jaw. The corporal was taken to an army hospital, where he was operated, his jawbone replaced by an artificial one, made up of sheep bone rib and a metal plate. The corporal, who had fought pro for five years before the war started, was told by the surgeons to forget his ring career, for being hit in the jaw would cause intense pain.

The little man with the metal jaw fooled everyone. In spite of the intense pain, he reeled off fifty-two wins in fifty-five bouts over a six-year period. In 1923, Eugene Criqui, the man who was not supposed to fight, won the featherweight title from Johnny Kilbane, by a sixth round knockout. The little Frenchman was champion for less than two months, losing on points to the great Johnny Dundee. An idol of his people, Eugene Criqui retired from the ring in 1927 with a 94-13-8 pro record that included forty knockout victories and only two KO losses.

Tommy Spiegel was another remarkable fighter. Despite a withered leg caused by infantile paralysis, Spiegel fought a couple of hundred pro fights, losing on points to Sammy Angott, Bob Montgomery and Beau Jack, three legends of the ring. Other fighters with leg handicaps include Tami Mauriello and Cyclone Hart. Tami had a lame leg but compiled an 82-13-1 record that included bouts with Joe Louis and Gus Lesnevich. Cyclone Hart overcame polio as a child to become a middleweight contender feared for his power. On a lesser level, but just as meritorious was David “Maceton” Cabrera, another fighter who suffered polio as a child. Cabrera once held the modest title of Mexican Light-Heavyweight Champion, losing in three rounds to Marvin Camel.

Deaf fighters use light signals from their corner to know when a round ends, since they can not hear the gong of the bell. Deaf boxers have included former bantamweight champion Mario D’Agata (54-10-3), Gene Hairston, a top contender who beat Paul Pender, and Spanish featherweight Kid Tano, who fought champion Jose Legra to a draw. Tano claimed that being deaf helped him to concentrate on his opponent without noise distractions from the crowd.

Billy Daniels, a top heavyweight who went seven hard rounds with Ali, split two bouts with Doug Jones, lost to Cleveland Williams and stopped Mike DeJohn, was missing a couple of fingers. In more recent times, doctors told Vinnie Pazienza, the tough battler from New England that his ring career was finished after being injured in an auto accident. By the time others like Pazienzia were halfway through therapy, the New England fighter was trading leather with Roberto Duran.

When I met Vincent Bell in the storage area that served as a dressing room, I was pleased. The little featherweight was not delusional about his career or ability.

“Look,” he said to me as his hands were being taped, “I know I am not going to be champ, but I love boxing and I just had to prove it to myself that I could have a few fights. I am not going to sit on my ass and moan about having one leg. I am going to have a few fights so I can say I was a pro fighter.”

It was not a freak show. As Bell removed his robe some in the crowd gasped in surprise. There were no snide remarks or loud comments. Even the most beer drenched cowboys, in their foggy stupor, showed respect for a man with one leg who was willing to fight.

It was a good bout. Jesus Chavez, a Broward fighter with quick moves went right after Bell. “Choo-Choo” stood his ground, popping stiff jabs into his opponent’s face, following with a solid hook. Chavez, rocked by the blow began moving more, pecking away at Bell. It was an even fight for two rounds, but the Broward fighter began to chip away at Vincent in the third stanza. It was obvious that Choo Choo could not move as well as his opponent, his footwork always a second too late. The ref stopped it in the fourth, when Bell was staggering against the ring ropes.

It was a good fight but not a great fight. It was however, a moving performance, for all those who witnessed the bout understood that here was a man giving his absolute best in spite of having been dealt a bad hand. That he lost did not matter to the crowd for his grit won the crowd over. The standing ovation was from the heart. Truck drivers and cowboys, college students and surfers all clapped and hollered, some standing in wood chairs as the fight ended. It was a worthy moment, the kind that makes one feel good about the human spirit.

Vincent Bell will never be enshrined in the Hall of Fame at Canastota. He does not deserve to be, with a pro record of one victory and two defeats. Still, even with the passing of years, the memory of his last bout always brings a good feeling, the belief that man can overcome insurmountable heights if he so desires, that will power can triumph over physical limitations.

Amen.