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ATLANTIC HIGHLANDS HERALD |
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BOXING DAYS My connection with boxing is tenuous and infrequent, but of long duration. Although not a fighter, by nature, I confess a lifetime interest in this brutal, yet strangely elegant sport. As a young man I lacked the mental and spiritual attitudes needed for boxing; maybe the physical gifts, too. And even if I was physically able, I knew that my brain would be my principal tool for getting on in the world. So it seemed imprudent to have it rattled by repeated head-punches. Nevertheless, I retained an interest in boxing – even if from afar. My grandpa, born in 1882, grew up in the era of John L. Sullivan, Gentleman Jim Corbett and other great champions. He followed the sport and even did some schoolboy boxing around the turn of the century. When Grandpa lived with us, as an old man, he watched the Friday Night Fights on TV. Watching him watch the boxers and hearing him talk about the great old-time champions piqued my own interest. Odd boxing connections occasionally popped up over the years. One day – during my long sojourn in information technology, military analysis and government contracting – I met a strapping young Irishman from another firm. “Hi,” he said, offering his hand, “I’m John L. Sullivan.” He handed me his card. I did a double-take. He certainly resembled photos of the old-time boxer. Emerging from my time-warp, I said that my grandfather had always talked about a great bare-knuckle boxer of the same name. “Oh, yeah, he was my great-great uncle, or something,” said my new acquaintance. “Long before my time. I never met him.” I still have John L’s card. Small world. Another brief pugilistic connection occurred during my youngest son’s teen years. A fine runner and athlete, at 14 he went through a Kid Galahad phase and decided to box. For months he spent afternoons at a boxing gym where he trained and learned the techniques. One day he sparred with an older boy who knocked him all over the ring. After that, he seemed to lose interest. “I saw that you could really get your block knocked off,” he told me long afterward. Recently I saw the Ron Howard film, “Cinderella Man”, which chronicles the rags-to-riches story of heavyweight champion James J. Braddock. It was an inspiring account of strength, goodness, tenacity, faithfulness and sacrifice. Although some dramatic liberties were taken with the facts (Max Baer was actually not the thuggish villain the film makes him out to be) the story still fires the imagination as good boxing stories often do. (The Rocky film actually looks like a ‘70s derivation of the Braddock story, except that Braddock – who was initially successful – knew he was capable, whereas the fictional Rocky was filled with self-doubt from a lifetime of failure.) Another great boxing story from my youth (the late 1950s) is the saga of Floyd Patterson. The hoopla over Muhammed Ali’s career has largely crowded the Patterson story out of the public’s memory, but it is still worth recounting. Patterson was a classy young boxer when he won the middleweight gold medal at the Helsinki Olympics in 1952. He was seventeen. After turning pro he exploited the vacancy left by Rocky Marciano’s retirement, knocking out light-heavyweight champ Archie Moore in 1956 to win the heavyweight title. Patterson was the youngest man (21) ever to win the heavyweight crown. He successfully defended his title four times through 1959. In June 1959 Patterson met the European champion, Ingemar Johannson, in New York for his fifth title-defense. Newspapers were filled with speculation over whether Patterson could stay clear of Johannson’s fearsome right hand – his most effective punch. As it turned out, Patterson could not. The challenger knocked him down seven times before the referee stopped the fight in the third round. Johannson had taken the title. Still young (at 24), Patterson lacked the perspective that might have let him deal philosophically with the loss. Instead, he was so humiliated over losing the title that he went into almost monk-like seclusion to train for the rematch. Occasional photos appeared of Patterson running on lonely mountain roads, somewhere deep in the Appalachians or the Catskills. He trained for months with a kind of holy zeal. Reporters were not encouraged to visit the camp. Johannson, by contrast, was typically photographed at poolside with beautiful blondes. The rematch in New York came on June 20, 1960, almost exactly a year after the first fight. Energized and well prepared, Patterson came after Johannson like a tiger, knocking him out in the fifth round with what some have called “the best punch ever in boxing”. I recall the fight distinctly. My buddies and I heard it on the radio in someone’s car at a drive-in hamburger joint. At the knockout, we cheered and celebrated. Later I recalled the irony of a bunch of white guys cheering a white man’s defeat by a black. Who cared? All that mattered was that our guy – Patterson, the American – had won. Patterson’s victory made him the first heavyweight in history to regain the title. A gentleman both inside and outside the ring, Patterson endeared himself to many Swedish fans by his concern for his unconscious opponent in the ring after the knockout. On a subsequent European exhibition tour he won the admiration of many fans who considered Johannson a national hero. Great crowds sought to shake Patterson’s hand and get his autograph. On March 13, 1961, Patterson knocked Johannson out in the sixth round of the their third and final match. He held the title for another year, but lost it to Sonny Liston, in Chicago, on September 25, 1962, by a knockout in the first round. On July 22, 1963, Liston again knocked Patterson out in the first round of their rematch. Following the second Liston fight, Patterson went into a deep depression, appearing in public only incognito. Later, he began to win fights again until he became the top challenger of Muhammed Ali (who had defeated Liston twice). On November 22, 1965, Ali beat Patterson by a technical knockout in the 12 th round of their fight in Las Vegas, Nevada. Patterson tried to regain the title a third (and last) time in an eight-man elimination tournament after Ali was de-throned for refusing to be drafted into military service. On September 14, 1968, Patterson lost a 15-round split decision to Jimmy Ellis of Sweden. But the match – held in Stockholm – renewed his love affair with the Swedish people. In retirement, Patterson and Johannson became good friends, flying across the Atlantic every year to visit each other. Although thugs have sometimes held boxing titles, not everything about the sport is thuggish. I have always thought Patterson displayed a lot of class in his refusal to quit. His determination to win the title back from Johannson, in particular, was a model for more than just boxers. Now seventy, and still involved in coaching, Patterson is recognized as one of the true gentlemen of “the sweet science”. I like to think the country was a better place while he was champ.
1897 Floyd Patterson ******* Correction : Coffee Shop Al got carried away with one of his comments (and I carelessly failed to catch his error) in last week’s article, “The Pansy Generation”. Al said World Wars I&II and the Korean War “were started by Democrats”. Of course, that’s not quite true. Other countries started those wars. Al meant to say that our entry into those wars occurred under Democratic presidents. (He served free coffee to Democrats last Friday to atone for his error. I didn’t drink any to atone for mine. FDR, Truman and LBJ could have had free donuts, but they didn’t show.)
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