April 1, 1958 - World Featherweight Title - Wrigley Field, Los Angeles, California, USA

Hogan 'Kid' Bassey (Champion) vs. Ricardo 'Pajarito' Moreno (Challenger)

As soon as the bell rang a wild brawl ensued, instigated by the Kid’s bull rush. Moreno quickly rattled, hurt and cut Bassey, but the slick Nigerian who possessed superb foot movement survived and quickly changed tactics, fighting more circumspectly. Soon he was controlling matters and began battering Pajarito seemingly at will with long and well-leveraged rights; one potshot after another. Finally a hard right hand caught the dazed Moreno flush on the chin and that was that. Though Moreno struggled in vain to get up, referee Tommy Hart finished the count with two seconds left in the round but he could have counted to 100. Bassey’s first title defense had been a violent one that featured non-stop aggression against a pressing and always dangerous opponent.

(Ted Sares)



18th Oct 1948. Jersey City, New Jersey.

Tippy Larkin (L) watches as Dr. Harry Cohen, physician for New Jersey State Athletic Commission, puts the stethoscope to Charley Fusari during the physical examination for their bout here on Oct 21st. The bout's winner has been assured a crack at welterweight champion Ray Robinson's title.



 Jake LaMotta / Robert Villemain


From The Scottish Daily Record - Mar 8, 2001


ROBERTO DURAN will finally break the longest silence in sport later this month by paying tribute to Ken Buchanan, the man whose WBA and WBC lightweight titles he took back in 1972.

Promoters Ian McLeod and Michael Antoniou are holding a testimonial dinner for Scotland's greatest boxer at Glasgow's Moat House Hotel on March 22 and Duran is hoping to bury the hatchet on one of the fight game's most enduring feuds by praising him.

Duran ended Buchanan's reign as world champion in controversial circumstances at Madison Square Garden, felling the Scot with a low blow in the 13th round.

Many believed the challenger should have been disqualified but instead he took the belts.

An all-time great following memorable bouts with Sugar Ray Leonard, Thomas Hearns, Marvin Hagler and Davey Moore, Duran has always maintained that Buchanan was his toughest opponent - which is presumably why there was never a rematch.

Buchanan was so desperate for a second crack at him that he once flew to New York on spec in an attempt to goad him into another fight. But his efforts were in vain.

Incredibly (and sadly), he is still active at 49 but following negotiations with his lawyer, Antonio Gonzalez, McLeod is confident the great man will send his best wishes by way of a video message on the night.

It looks like being one of the highlights of a star-studded evening and it all came about due to a chance meeting with the Panamanian legend on McLeod's honeymoon.

The former Commonwealth super-featherweight champion was in Las Vegas with new wife Fiona when he bumped into Duran.

McLeod said: "I'd gone along to a Press conference for Erik Morales' fight with Guty Espadas and I'd been chatting with Wayne McCullough and Emanuel Steward when there was this huge commotion.

"Duran had turned up and brought the place to a standstill. Everyone wanted to speak to him or get an autograph.

"When I managed to introduce myself to him through his lawyer, I let him know I was from Scotland and Ken's name cropped up.

"Duran said he didn't think Ken liked him and I replied that if he'd punched me where he punched him then I wouldn't like him much either."



Barney Ross


Eddie Futch



On January 9th 1900 Terry McGovern, the former world bantamweight champion, became the first boxer to win a world title in the 20th century when he beat defending featherweight champion George Dixon, sending him to the canvas eight times. McGovern was also the last boxer to win a world title in the 19th century when he won the bantamweight title when he knocked out Pedlar Palmer in one round - the first queensberry rules bout to end inside one round.



One night in 1950 Sugar Ray pranced out to listen to the referee's instructions before a 10-rounder with a tough middleweight named George (Sugar) Costner. Earlier in the week Costner had been popping off about how—when he won—he would be the Sugar. Now, as Robinson stood in the ring, wearing a blue satin robe and his face hooded in a towel, he peered at Costner. When the referee was finished, he said, "Listen, Costner, there's only one Sugar. And that's me. So let's touch the gloves now because this is your last round."

Sugar Ray caught him with a left hook and a straight right hand and Costner was on his back. KO 1, it reads in the book.


Al Capone poses with Jack Sharkey - Miami Beach, Florida - Feb 13, 1929 (Day before the St. Valentine's Day Massacre) - Sharkey was in training for his bout with Young Stribling.


Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles - March 16 1963



"I had watched him continue his career as mine slipped away. Whatever he achieved I still felt he didn't deserve to be world champion, rolling in dough and glory. I keep seeing the big picture in my head of June 1972 and Duran is jumping about the ring with my title. I go white-hot with anger...nothing can cool me down.

All I ever wanted was a return fight but Duran stayed well ouut of my road. Every time I was in position to ask for a title fight there was some excuse...so here I am working as a joiner more than 20 years later and I can't take it. Any time I have tried to talk to another person about this, they just tell me, "Ken, it's just one of those things".

But it's not just one of those things. For the rest of the world it might be just one of those things, but for me it is the thing. And by now I am old enough and ugly enough to know that it has to be dealt with. If I had a pound for every time somebody asked me if I would have beat Duran [in a rematch] i'd be a millionare. And every time I got asked that question my heart broke just a little bit further.

I flew from Edinburgh to London...I got a flight to Kennedy Airport...to be honest it felt like it was just the day before I was fighting Duran. When we landed in America my heart was pounding. I was looking out the taxi thinking, what was I doing? One man in a city of ten million trying to find another single human being amongst the those ten million.

We arrived in Harlem where the bed and breakfast was. I got out of the cab and caught a few people loooking at me. But that didn't bother me. Nothing much frightens me at all now...the door opens and this woman pokes her head otu. She's about five feet nothing in her socks.

"Yes?"

"I phoned from the terminal. You said you had me a room for a couple of weeks."

"But man - you is white!"

"Jesus - you're the second person today to tell me that!"

"You're white!"

"Yes brilliant, Christ, I know that."

I smile, she smiles, and she lets me in. She takes me to Mrs. Wells restraunt up the street. Up the stairs we go and people are looking. She opens the door and we go in. The place falls silent. Not a fork or a knife s****ing a plate. Mouths are hanging open. There is a white man in the doorway...but I didn't give a **** - to be honest there are times in your life when nothing matters, and I think people pick up on that.

After about ten days looking for Duran in all the gyms and bars, I decided I was never going to find him...So after two weeks in Harlem I went back to Scotland..."

(Ken Buchanan)



Emile Griffith


Captain Bob Roper



June 18, 1919



Tell me about Elbows McFadden








Sonny Floyd, of Trenton, knocked out of the ring by middleweight slugger Eugene 'Cyclone' Hart, of Philadelphia, on May 19, 1970.
The stoppage came at 58 seconds of round 1.



On April 18, 1940, Norman Selby checked into the Hotel Tuller in Detroit, took an overdose of sleeping pills and bid the world adieu.

"To Whom it May Concern:
For the last eight years I have wanted to help humanity, especially the youngsters who do not know nature's laws. That is, the proper carriage of the body, the right way to eat, etc. … To all my dear friends, I wish you the best of luck. Sorry I could not endure any more of this world's madness.
The best to you all."

In an apparent last attempt to drop his professional moniker, the note was pointedly signed as, "Norman Selby"

He left the world as he came into it — as Norman Selby, but in between he lived his life as boxer Charles "Kid" McCoy. In the boxing ring, he was clever, devious, a notorious cheater and his flamboyance could rival the best in professional wrestling. His problem, however, was out of the ring — with women. Between his eight and ninth wife, he murdered his girlfriend.

Selby was born Oct. 13, 1872, in the Rush County community of Moscow, Ind., to Francis and Emily Selby. His early life was spent hopping freight trains with friends to Cincinnati and getting into rail yard scraps so often that it toughened him as a fighter.

At the age of 18, Norman Selby became a professional fighter and changed his name to Charles McCoy, which he allegedly acquired from a burlesque number featuring exploits of safecrackers, Kid McCoy and Spike Hennessey.

In the first three years of his boxing career, McCoy was undefeated in 20 fights and most of those were by knockout. He developed a corkscrew punch similar to a left hook with a twist at the end. His cat-and-mouse style of boxing that led to the eventual dismantling of his opponents gave him the reputation of being a vicious fighter.

McCoy would feign illness prior to a boxing bout and then beat his opponent leaving some to question "Is this the real McCoy?" Other accounts have the expression originating when in a saloon tussle with a drunk. "Beat it, I says, I'm Kid McCoy." And the drunk answers "Yeah? Well, I'm George Washington." McCoy then pops him in the jaw and he hits the floor. Once the drunk comes to, he says "Jeez, it was the real McCoy!"

McCoy, who was boyish in appearance, stood at 5 feet 11 inches and weighed 160 pounds. McCoy would often appear weak and ill in the ring, sometimes using makeup to fool his opponents. McCoy would also claim to not train, however he would hide away at Cedar Bluffs, his farm outside Saratoga, N.Y., and train like a madman.

McCoy never defended his titles, choosing to advance to other divisions despite his size. McCoy defeated Tommy Ryan in March 1896 to win the world welterweight title. This victory was under rather shady circumstances however. McCoy told Ryan he was dying of consumption and needed the money for doctor bills. Ryan didn't train and was willing to lay down. McCoy, however, was in top shape and took Ryan in the fifth round. In December 1897, McCoy won the world middleweight title with a 15th round knockout of Dan Creedon and despite his slight build, chose to enter the heavyweight division. He defeated the likes of Peter Maher and Gus Ruhlin and took on "Gentleman Jim" Corbett, but was defeated in what was considered one of the most staged fights in boxing history.

Against a deaf boxer, he pointed to the man's corner, indicating that the bell had ended the round. It hadn't. When the man turned away, McCoy knocked him cold.

The last fight of McCoy's career was against British Petty Officer Matthew Curran in London in 1914. At the 12th round of the 20 round bout, McCoy was failing badly. A timekeeper sitting by the ring placed a whiskey and soda at his side, McCoy hit the mat, downed the drink and finished the fight, defeating Curran. McCoy lost just 6 of his 166 career fights.

As successful as McCoy was in the ring, his life outside the ring was fraught with disappointment. He married his first wife, Lottie Piehler, in 1895. That union did not last, nor did any of his marriages as most had thoughts of reforming him, "and that was their mistake" he would say. He married nine times - three times to the same woman.

McCoy had a number of business ventures, a saloon, auto dealership, jewelry store and various other enterprises, but those would soon begin to lose money or fall victim to scandal.

Following his boxing career, McCoy entered the service of his country. Some accounts say he served with the National Guard along the Mexican border and as a recruiter, while other accounts have him in the Army as a boxing instructor. With eight divorces behind him — and an empty bank account because of them — McCoy moved to Hollywood and landed a few bit parts in silent movies courtesy of his friend D.W. Griffith. He also found a friend in actor Charlie Chaplin.

But as his fame dimmed, his temper rose and he found himself in many a bar room brawl. So there he was in the early 1920s — a broke, alcoholic, former boxer and actor. But what he did have was a romance with the wealthy wife of an antique dealer. And that was surely not going to end well.

Theresa Mors was an attractive 30-year-old woman who was smitten with McCoy and was filing for divorce from her husband, Albert. McCoy and Mors moved into a Los Angeles apartment under and assumed name. Following one of the many confrontations by the divorcing couple, McCoy said he was headed to New York for a break. McCoy and Mors had their own fight. The next day Mors was found by a janitor in the apartment. She had been shot once in the left temple. A .32-caliber pistol lay nearby and allegedly a photograph of Kid McCoy was on her chest.

The following day McCoy went on a wild crime spree holding 12 people hostage at the antique shop owned by Theresa Mors. McCoy left the store, shot the first three people he met before being apprehended by police in a park.

During the trial, McCoy claimed Mors shot herself, which was rebutted by the prosecution. His acting career must have served him well during his defense as news accounts report McCoy's vivid details of that night. The charges were reduced from murder to manslaughter and McCoy was sentenced to San Quentin. McCoy was a model prisoner and had one of the cleanest records in the prison history. Because of his celebrity status he was visited often by his old Hollywood pals, Lionel Barrymore and Al Jolson. There was even a campaign to "Free McCoy" supported politicians and actors alike.

McCoy served eight years of a 24-year sentence. Working on a chain gang near San Simeon, he saved an injured pilot from the wreckage of a plane that crashed nearby. That led to a better job as a tour guide at San Quentin.

Paroled in 1932, Selby made a living as an athletic director for the Ford Motor Co., as an occasional gardener for Henry Ford and as a lecturer on the evils of strong drink and wild women.


(Dawn Mitchell / Cecilia Rasmussen)





Marcel Cerdan / Beau Jack Artwork




"I was way behind, and I knew it. But I also knew I had him if I didn't run out of rounds." - Joey Maxim



"The Battle of the Z Boys"

In one corner, you had the 23-year old World Boxing Association champion, who not only hadn't lost a fight but has never had to have a decision rendered in 28 professional fights, the immovable object, Alfonso Zamora.

In the opposite corner, carrying the World Boxing Council colors was a 25-year-old with 45 straight wins, 44 by knockout, the irresistible object Carlos Zarate.

This fight might’ve featured the highest combined knockout ratio in the history of big-fight boxing. The Mexicans had a combined record of 74-0, with 73 knockouts, going into the fight.

All the ingredients for a class confrontation were there, all, that is, except one. Instead of meeting for undisputed possession of the bantamweight boxing championship Zamora and Zarate were simply battling for bragging rights in Mexico.

"This non title bout wasn't my idea. It doesn't make any sense for two champions to fight and, when it is all over, both are still champions," said Zarate. "One of us will lose, but what will he lose? Some pride, some respect, his undefeated record, but not his title. I think it's time we stop this foolishness and settle this business of two champions."

However Zamora's braintrust — particularly his father Alfonso Sr.— were more than happy to collect $125,000 for a non title, over-the weight clash. "We fight Zarate for the money and the other contenders for the championship," explained the elder Zamora.

Although there was no bad blood between the boxers—"We are friends and visit each others houses but on this occasion I'm prepared to forget that," said Zarate

Having won titles both Zamora and Zarate were essentially based out of Los Angles, the Inglewood Forum under the direction of Don Fraser often hosting their fights. When Zamora began to fight outside of Inglewood, Fraser sought to bar him from fighting there again. In the end though it was Fraser who was able to sign the two fighters to a contract - for April 23, 1977 - but to the dismay of fans neither the WBC nor the WBA sanctioned the fight as a unification championship bout. The fighters were nevertheless guaranteed championship money - $125,000 a record sum for bantamweights. In 10 rounds or less the matter of whom the dominant bantamweight would have to be settled. Bad blood, managerial betrayal and personal vendettas made for a pre-fight chemistry that seemed to make certain that 10 rounds would not be necessary anyway.

Between a drunken man jumping into the ring in the first round and the epic battle that followed between the boxers, it would be just another wild night at the Fabulous Forum.


(Ring / Boxing Illustrated / Patrick Kehoe)






June 11, 1953 - Detroit

Kid Gavilan, the welterweight king from Cuba who wants a crack at the middleweight title, looked back with regret today on last night's easy victory over Italo Scortichini.

The 27 year old champion spent most of the 10 rounds trying to catch Scortichini, a stocky youngster from Milan, Italy, who has been campaigning in the United States for six months and can't as yet speak english.

Gavilan felt that the crowd of 5,000 at the Olympia didn't get its money's worth.
"It too bad," Gavilan said "He disappoint crowd. He Disappoint me. Maybe he scared? Maybe he hear bad things about me? I don't know. But it too bad."

Scortichini, who claims to be the Italian welterweight champ, fought it out with Gavilan only briefly during the early minutes of the non-title bout. After that, the 24 year old boxer kept back-peddling until the final bell.

The fight was so one-sided that judge Al Goodman scored it 60-40 in favourr of Gavilan. That means Scortichini didn't win a single round in Goodman's opinion. Referee Clarence Rosen wasn't quite as drastic, he favoured Gavilan 58-42 and judge Jack Aspery saw it 57-43.

Scortichini, in suffering his sixth ring reversal, held an advantage of more than three pounds over Gavilan. He weighed 155 while the 'Keed' scaled under 152.


(Reading Eagle)






Lineup


The story of Bernard “Superbad” Mays, described as the best boxer of his era by those who knew him, and yet a talent wasted and a name unknown to many boxing fans.

A record of 200 amatuer bouts with only 1 defeat, and 40 pro bouts with only 1 defeat in the last fight of his career.
By 16 he was an alcoholic and in 1994 at aged 33 he died penniless from the effects of that alcoholism.

Mays trained at the famous Kronk boxing gym in Detroit in the 1970's, a gym that was in the process of producing some of the greatest champions of the following decade, and for a while unsung Bernard Mays was the daddy of them all. 

Speaking of his amatuer fights, legendary Kronk trainer Emmanual Stewart said "the first two or three rows would be packed with managers and trainers who had brought their boxers to see Superbad Mays"

Multiple weight World Champion Tommy Hearns said of him “Bernard Mays was the king. I almost gave up boxing because I dreaded going to the gym every day. I knew I’d have to get in the ring with Bernard.” 

........................................

The following piece was written by Fred Girard (The Detroit News)....

Best of all

“He was the most talented Kronk boxer of all,” Steward said. “He was like a legend, really.”

Kronk boxers says Steward is not exaggerating.

“It gives me chills just to talk about him,” said Robert Tyus of Detroit, one of the original Kronk team, winner of two amateur national titles. “Superbad Mays was like Sugar Ray Robinson — he had it all.”

“Superbad Mays was the awesomest fighter I ever saw — he could devour you,” said John Johnson of Detroit, who won a national amateur title under Steward. “Speed is power — it’s the punch you can’t see that knocks you out — and Bernard had a wicked left hook that would just take the breath from your body.”

Tournament winner at 14

When he was 14, Mays swept to victory in the 106-pound class of the national Junior Olympic tournament. Two years later, he repeated in the 139-pound division. He fought more than 200 times as an amateur, losing only once, and at every fight, Steward said, the first two or three rows would be packed with managers and trainers who had brought their boxers to see Superbad Mays. 
But, “Bernard started disappearing on me,” Steward said. “He’d always been quiet, but he got moody, stopped showing up at the gym regular.”

Sixteen-year-old Superbad Mays had become addicted to Colt .45 malt liquor.

“Bernard and I had been drinking and smoking since we were 14,” acknowledged Eric Williams. That was also about the time, family members say, Prince Milton left and stopped being any influence on his young son’s life.

Former world lightweight champion Jimmy Paul said that at the 1977 Ohio State Fair national tournament “I’d be in bed sound asleep the night before every fight, and Bernard would be out drinking beer with the ladies all night, then come in and absolutely destroy everybody else in the tournament.”

"Tommy Hearns’ first loss of deep significance came in a sparring match with Bernard ‘Superbad’ Mays. At the time Hearns was confident, flush with amateur success. He would eventually amass an amateur record of 155-8 and win the 1977 National Amateur Athletic Union Light Welterweight Championship and National Golden Gloves Light Welterweight Championship. 

This day he was literally broken and remade. 

Mays crushed Hearns’ nose. Some young men would have quit the ring. Hearns’ reacted with disgust and determination. He returned to the gym a different fighter, and the change was evident to everyone present. From that day the effects of that punch showed like a badge on Hearns’ face." 

Turned pro in 1978

When he turned professional in 1978, Mays parted company with Steward, who had hounded him about his drinking. His next manager, Chuck Davis, tried just as hard, and had just as little success.

Mays hired noted Oakland County attorney Elbert Hatchett to break his contract with Davis. After he did so, Hatchett, who fought as a kid and followed the game all his life, decided to manage and promote Mays himself.

“We lost a ton of money,” Hatchett said. “Bernard fought like Joe Louis. He was a middleweight, a classic boxer, just classic. He was the first guy (who) I saw knock somebody out hitting him in the side. But he would drink beer all the time.”

Roland Scott, Mays’ last trainer, said. “That beer just tore him up. He would get absolutely smashed.”

Won 40 straight

At the age of 31, Mays had fought 40 times as a pro and won them all, when everything caught up with him in a bout in California. An opponent hit Mays hard and staggered him badly, costing Mays the fight. The next day Hatchett had him in a hospital.

Mays’ alcohol-damaged pancreas was dangerously inflamed.
The doctor told Hatchett, “Look, this condition has progressed to such a point that he takes his life in his own hands if he decides to fight,” the doctor told Hatchett.

Superbad Mays would fight no more.

He stayed with his mother for a time, and after she died, a broke Mays entered the New Light Nursing Home in Detroit.

“He walked in here under his own power,” said administrator George Talley, and stayed for nearly a year.

In the final weeks his condition deteriorated rapidly. “When I saw him there at the end, his stomach was so swollen it looked like he was pregnant,” trainer Scott said.

On March 1, 1994, at 9:55 p.m., Superbad Mays’ heart stopped, unable to fight any longer against the crushing load of diabetes, chronic pancreatitis and chronic malabsorption syndrome.

He is buried in an unmarked grave — Section 4, Row 18, grave No. 36 — in Mt. Hazel, a small cemetery on Detroit’s far west side that has been closed for years.

Mays’ sister, Esther Farley of Ypsilanti, signed the death certificate.
“It was a painful thing to visit Bernard” in the nursing home, she said. “He was always a real charmer, a sweetheart — who knows where his life might have led?
“But alcoholism is a terrible disease.”






1938

"For a few days at least, there were two Jimmy Slatterys"



Sonny Liston - Ulster Hall, Belfast, Northern Ireland - Sept 1963..








Lineup


January 1947 - Chicago

Still in good shape at 65, Oscar 'Battling' Nelson, one of the all time great prizefighters, tosses packages at his job of clerk in Chicago's main post office. Nelson won the world's lightweight championship in 1908, was for years before and after at the top of the division.


Marciano morning after the Joe Louis fight...



1937 ticket



Former World Heavyweight Champion Rocky Marciano and former WBC World Flyweight Champion Manny Pacquiao had the same reach (67"). *








 *should be noted both have listings for 68" too, more common in Marcianos case.
Just one of the reasons he was called 'Elbows' - Elbows were his specialist subject...


June 25, 1902 - National Sporting Club, Covent Garden, London.

Tom Sharkey vs. Gus Ruhlin


After a slight spar in round one, Ruhlin led with his left but was met with an effective counter to the body from Sharkey. The Irishman clinched and held, and was quickly in trouble with the referee. Ruhlin slipped down and his adversary became too impetuous, and was nearly disqualified through striking his man before he had gained his feet. Sharkey was very busy when the round ended.
When the fight resumed Sharkey was again cautioned for holding and Ruhlin took control of the centre of the ring. Three times he jabbed the sailor on the face and got nothing back. Sharkey then missed a wild uppercut with his left and before he could recover, his opponent drove a left and then a right home to the head just as the bell rang.

In the third, both men boxed for the head with little success although Sharkey landed one left jab to Ruhlin’s face.

Both men were guilty of holding in the fourth but a clean jab to Sharkey’s face left him looking “flushed” and “distressed” and he “appeared pleased” when the round ended. Tom came out to take more punishment, but tried everything to disguise the fact that the fight was slipping away from him. “This is not so easy for you as in New York,” he told Ruhlin. The bravado fooled no-one at ringside.
In the sixth, Sharkey looked “used up”, a nasty cut now worrying him over his eye. “With his usual gameness however he kept going after his big rival in determined style.” Sharkey was running on instinct.

When Ruhlin backed him into a corner in the seventh, Sharkey showed excellent footwork and got out of danger.

In the eighth, he took further punishment and in the ninth, he was forced back onto the ropes and was hit hard with both fists in the ribs.

All the same, in the tenth, Sharkey goaded Ruhlin again: “You could not beat me with a hammer!”
“However, for once,” noted an onlooker sadly, “the sailor boy’s ideas were wrong.”
Sharkey tried to rush Ruhlin but took a hefty punch on the draw, staggered and reeled back his corner.

Sharkey was out on his feet now and when he stood up for the eleventh he clutched Ruhlin around the neck and dragged him around the ring. Eventually they broke and every time Ruhlin struck Sharkey went down. Four times in all. Sharkey got up each time but the last time, he struggled to his feet, he really did not know where he was. As the round ended, Sharkey’s corner went to his aid and tried to get him ready for another push. But Tommy Ryan, one of his seconds, knew the game was up. He walked over to Ruhlin’s corner and gave in on Sharkey’s behalf.

Ruhlin walked across the ring to shake his opponent by the hand and left the ring, some onlookers said, without a scratch on him.

Sharkey remained where he was, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It was somewhat pathetic to see such a game boxer in tears,” decided a reporter with the Sporting Chronicle. A reporter filing for American newspapers said the fight had been “one of the most determined and desperate struggles ever witnessed in the National Sporting Club”.

Some observers said Sharkey, reduced almost to insensibility, then raged against his seconds for their intervention. All agree he was cut, beaten and angry.

Back in Ireland, Tom’s family and the old fans who had followed his fistic adventures closely through the pages of the Dundalk Democrat read what appeared to be an obituary for that career. The sports columnist known as ‘Philistine’ wrote that not even “Herculean” Sharkey could continue to take such “thumpings” as that handed out by Ruhlin. “While it is generally thought that Ruhlin must have come on immensely in his form,” he concluded sadly, “the usual opinion is that the sailor has gone back very much, and now has not much else but his undauntable pluck to recommend him.”
Losing the £2,000 purse and getting beaten by Ruhlin would have been only part of the disappointment; realising he was no longer the fighter he once was would have poured salt on the stinging wounds, wounds laid open by the realisation he would never have the chance to fight for the world title again.

But perhaps on that special night there was a wound that went deeper still. For, there in the crowd, was Tom’s father James Sharkey who had come to watch his son in a big fight for the first time. James Sharkey, now 78, had travelled to London to celebrate his son’s successes on the world stage, but instead he was watching the sun setting on his career.

(by Greg Lewis)



He is visiting his mother's small clapboard house in the depressed Hilltop section of Tacoma, Washington. He is in the tiny living room, struggling with the long sheet of clear plastic draped, as a sort of dust guard, across the front of the cabinet that his mother has set up as a shrine to his career as a boxer. Finally, he gets his hand up under the sheet and directs it, by memory, to a six-inch winged figurine of Victory. "This here was my first trophy," he says, smiling behind tinted glasses. Then, rummaging once more, he locates the object of his heart's frustration and desire: the gold medal from the 1972 Olympic Games. "This," he says wistfully, "should have propelled me into something good."

Instead, it propelled him into seasons of futility and self-delusion. And finally, tragically, into delusion's physical counterpart: blindness itself.

After more than 400 amateur and professional fights, after seven eye operations and years of kidding himself that he was only a fight or two away from the world middleweight championship and that his surgically restored retinas would hold up until he got there, Sugar Ray Seales, 31, is all but in the dark. He has no vision in his left eye and only 10 percent in the right. "I can't read," he says. "I can't drive. Most I can do is walk with this cane." And gingerly, at that. A novice at not seeing, he steps too soon going up the stairs, he walks into glass doors, he has burn scars on his forehead from trying to put logs in the wood-burning stove in the rented house he shares with girlfriend Mae Howard and her four kids.

What's more, he is penniless. "He owns only what I give him," says Ed Garner, his equally destitute manager, who professes a lifetime commitment to the blind fighter. Worse still, Seales is $100,000 in debt to assorted doctors and hospitals. Even efforts to extract him from the abyss seem doomed—scuttled by the Fates, or maybe just by the ineptitude of the people who have surrounded him throughout his once-promising career. Hearing of Seales' plight, Sammy Davis Jr. brought his Las Vegas show to the Tacoma Dome last month for a benefit performance. "He's got all three Bs," said Davis. "He's black, blind and broke. I got two of them myself." Somehow, the benefit managed to lose $25,000.

Withal, Seales is unbowed. "We're waiting to see what we can do for our-self," he says, lapsing, as he often does, into the royal "we." The only thing, in this Olympic year, that seems to give him pause is the announcement that a younger and more famous Sugar Ray, former welterweight champion Ray Leonard, is returning to the hunt after his own retinal surgery. Together, Leonard and Seales offer an instructive tale of two Sugars, of to-have and have-not, of two careers as different as the two Olympics in which they were forged. Yet Ray Seales' story—one of naïveté, botched opportunity, exploitation and, especially, reckless ambition—should be required reading for Ray Leonard.
Growing up in St. Croix, Virgin Islands, Ray Seales was quiet, even reticent as a child. "I believe when my mother was carrying me she was working in a mortuary," he says. "I don't know, but I think it made me come out a little slim, a little fearful." The legacy of his father, however, offset his timidity. The latter was a soldier in the American Army who earned his stripes as a boxer. He didn't actually teach Ray how to box during his 15-day furloughs. His influence was more subtle. "We felt for each other," says Seales. "And what I felt in him was fighting."

It wasn't until 1964, when he moved to Tacoma with his mother after his parents' divorce, that Ray made good on his patrimony. He was 12 years old, and his newfound peers were merciless in taunting him about his island English. "I joined the Boys Club and learned to fight," he says. "They stopped picking on me."

On the verge of his teens, Ray stood 5'7" and weighed but 78 pounds. He was all arms and legs, and he had processed hair, which made him a dead ringer for the sweetest fighter of them all: Sugar Ray Robinson. As an amateur Seales lived up to his moniker, winning all but 12 of his 350 fights. In the 1972 Olympics he was a polished stone in a diadem that included such prized talents as Duane Bobick and James "Bubba" Busceme. Yet he was the only one to sparkle. "The Olympics," he likes to say, "was the greatest thing ever to happen to Sugar Ray Seales." Perhaps. But he was not able to convert Olympic gold into more negotiable currency. In 1973 he made less than $1,000 for his first professional fight; four years later Sugar Ray Leonard banked $40,000 for his pro debut—it was more than Seales would ever make for any fight in his entire 11-year career. The matter was beyond his control. Leonard came out of the '76 Olympics as the headliner of a boxing squad that captured the public's imagination, whereas Seales emerged from the sorry '72 affair, best remembered for the bloody massacre of Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists. "I saved America by winning the only gold medal in boxing in 1972," says Seales, who to this day fails to understand why America never took him to its heart the way it did Leonard.

"His whole mistake," says Cus D'Amato, the fight manager who turned Olympians Floyd Patterson and Jose Torres into world champions, "was when he turned pro he remained with the fellows he was with in the amateurs." Seales' manager-of-choice was one George Yelton, who'd been good for an occasional five-spot when the Boys Club boxing team was on the road and who owned several taco stands in Washington state. Perhaps even more naive than his fighter, Yelton's idea of a major promotion was a banner strung across one of his Tex-Mex establishments: "Come See Sugar Ray Seales at Taco Time." Worse, he did not even know enough to protect his fighter. In 1974, after Seales had gained 20 wins against less-than-stellar opposition, Yelton agreed to come east to Boston for what was billed as a benefit for the United Way. "I thought it would be like an exhibition, where I could dance, get a chance to perform," says Seales. He remembers freezing at the weigh-in, then looking over to see a short, heavily muscled, shaven-headed warrior sweating with intensity. His opponent was the young Marvin Hagler, one of the most devastating punchers of our day, already 14-0 with 12 knockouts—and neither Seales nor Yelton were ready for him. They didn't even know who he was.

After this first loss, by decision, Seales fought Hagler twice more. Indeed, Hagler would become a sort of touchstone for his career, a measure of how much ground he had lost. Ray fought to a draw with him in a return war in Tacoma. Then in 1979, under new management, Seales fought Hagler again in Boston. Ray's corner was a circus. Two days before the fight, his new manager decided to entertain lady friends in his hotel room, which provoked Ray's trainer, George Wright, to threaten to leave for Tacoma. The next day somebody called from Alaska, claiming he owned a piece of Sugar Ray Seales and demanding to know what his purse was. Ray was hauled into the office of the Massachusetts boxing commissioner for an accounting. Finally, on fight day, it was discovered that Seales and Hagler were wearing the same color trunks, and Ray was hassled into changing his. Already beaten, the Sugar Man was knocked out by Marvelous Marvin before the first round was half over.

Shortly thereafter Seales hooked up with Ed Garner, yet another local businessman without clout or boxing credentials. By this time he was regarded by promoters as an "opponent," a stepping stone for some less tarnished prospect. Yet Ray was as game as ever. In early 1980 he eclipsed the hopes of Arthur "Tap" Harris, a 31-0 fighter scheduled for bigger things, with a sixth-round knockout. Then suddenly, in August, Ray was thumbed in his right eye, which filled up with blood. Two operations performed a couple of days later in Tacoma by Dr. Hsushi Yeh were deemed successful. For his part, Seales remembers Dr. Yeh telling him, "You could get hit in that eye twice as hard as before and nothing would happen." Says Dr. Yeh, "You want the true story? I told him, 'Personally, I think you should quit boxing right at this moment.' " Yeh remembers Seales replying, "Doctor, this is my life. I got only two or three fights before I can gain my championship!"

Seales, however, was deceiving himself. By this time Marvin Hagler bestrode the world. Undaunted, Seales and Garner plunged back into the heartland, starting a new round of one-night stands with local club fighters for as little as $4,000 a go. Then, late in 1981, says Ray, "We experienced something in our left eye. We experienced the ring getting farther away." Seales came home and had two more operations, which had to be performed by two new doctors, since Ray hadn't been able to pay Dr. Yeh and couldn't pay this time either. According to Dr. Yeh, a charitable man who would later resume care of the blighted fighter, this was a turning point. "It's my understanding," he says, "that the fighter still had 20/40 vision in his right eye."

It is remarkable that Seales fought thereafter in six different states—California, New York, New Mexico, Nevada, New Jersey and Colorado—and that he passed each prefight physical with ease. According to boxing commission physicians, Ray deceived his examiners by keeping his surgical history a secret and memorizing the eye charts. On the one hand, Seales denies that he was trying to fool the commission doctors and blames them for conspiring with promoters to use him as meat. On the other, he intimates that he was hoping to get caught. "I wanted someone to tell me," he says, " 'Hey, man. It's over for you. I can't let you fight in my state.' "

The end came quietly last March. Trainer George Wright kept changing the bulbs in the gym, but Seales could not shake the feeling he was in the dark. A few days later in Portland, Oreg., retinal specialist Dr. Richard Chenoweth took one look at the benighted fighter and said, "This kid has been blind for 18 months!"

Back in the days when the world was green and his career was in its first flower, Ray Seales had thought to win the world middleweight title, then return in glory to St. Croix and become governor. The dream seems remote now. But Seales is an incorrigible optimist, and he insists that his ambition has been merely deferred. "It's the strength, the power and the will that I have inside," he says, "that makes me project more light than there really is. Someday my eyes are going to be restored." He pauses and makes a gesture of dismissal with a long sleek hand that bears his ruby Olympic ring. "You know, we don't think of ourself as blind. We are going to stretch and become a champion at something else."

(by William Plummer - 1984)

.................

Years later, doctors operated and Seales regained the vision in his right eye, though he wears glasses. Seales later worked as a schoolteacher of autistic students at Lincoln High School in Tacoma for 17 years until 2004 before retiring. In 2006, he moved to Indianapolis with his wife, where he currently resides. Seales currently works as a boxing coach, working with talented amateurs in the Indianapolis area.



"I should have known the first day I went in the gym and sparred with some kid that I really didn’t have it. But I had waited 11 years for a shot and I didn’t want it to pass me by. I somehow managed to go 15 rounds but after the first round I just knew. I’ve lived that fight 35 years ago over in my head a thousand times, over and over again. I remember it punch for punch and it drives me crazy. I remember when I came back to my corner after the first I said, “We’re in for a long night.” ‘I thought, “Oh man, 14 more.” It felt like I had done 15 rounds already. I was just counting them down, “I’ve got 12 more, I’ve got ten more rounds.” ‘In the seventh I hit him with a right hand and knocked him down and should have finished him. He was hurt but I didn’t realise and he got up. I was so tired I don’t think I realised how tired he really was. I let him off the hook. If I’d went in there and tried to bang with him I’m sure I could have knocked him out. I’ve got the film and I look at it every once in a while and it makes me sick,’ he smiled regretfully. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind I could have knocked him out. He was a tough kid but he never hurt me. ‘In my career I definitely see a few things I would have liked to have done differently and beating Benvenuti would have been one of them. I go to bed now and every night when I run that fight through my head it still drives me crazy."

(Don Fullmer)

.................................................................................


Instead of being listed as one of Nino Benvenuti's conquests, maybe the man who fought nine world champions in his 79 fights would have been inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame himself. In the seventh round of the 15-round title fight, Fullmer, who was weak from weeks of fighting the flu, landed a punch that sent Benvenuti to the canvas. But it wasn't enough, and in the end he lost that fight by decision.

"About 10 years ago, he told me that a day never goes by that he hasn't thought about that fight," said one of Fullmer's five sons, Hud Fullmer. Adds his youngest son, Kade, "He told me he dreams about it every night."

On the 43rd anniversary of that fight, the Fullmer boys gathered at the South Jordan home of their dad and mom, Nedra, to talk about their father, his life and his legacy — inside and outside the ring. They discussed Fullmer's second fight against Benvenuti, an Olympic gold medalist and Italian superstar, on Dec. 14, 1968, which was for the world middleweight title.

Brad Fullmer quietly voiced the sentiment that has haunted his father. "Maybe our lives would have been a lot different from one punch," he said. And then Don Fullmer, who sat in a recliner to ease the constant pain in his back, responded with his simple, dry humor for which he is so well-known and loved: "Mine would have been. I don't know about yours, but mine would have been." The reaction sparked an eruption of laughter, followed by a lot of ribbing.

(Desert News)





24th August 1929

English boxer Teddy Baldock, centre, surrounded by well-wishers including his mother and finance at Waterloo Station, London, bound for the USA.

..................................

In 1926, 19-year old Teddy Baldock was forced to move up to bantamweight, and he had the urge to try his luck in America. His father was against the idea, but after several rows, it was arranged for him to accompany Ted Broadribb and a party including Jack Hood and Alf Mancini. Ironically, it was on the eve of his departure for the United States that Teddy suffered his first defeat. In what was his 42nd paid fight, he faced Kid Nicholson from Leeds, against the wishes of Joe Morris, but did so because he wanted some money for the American trip. Baldock had trouble making the weight, and his only success during the fight was with shots to the body. After several warnings, however, he strayed low once too often, and was disqualified in the ninth round.

The American trip was a tremendous success, and during his four-month stay Teddy had twelve contests, winning eleven and drawing the other. His greatest success was a first-round knockout of the bant¬amweight champion of Canada, Arthur de Champlaine. The fans raved over the lad from Poplar, and top promoter Tex Rickard admitted that had Baldock been old enough he would have given him the chance to fight for the vacant world bantamweight title. Baldock, Hood, and Mancini were paid good money in the States, and clubbed together to buy a car for $95. They were anxious to see the big names in action, and even drove to Philadelphia to watch Jack Dempsey training for his heavyweight title defence against Gene Tunney. They stayed there for several days, and managed to get tickets to see the fight.

When he returned to England, Teddy received a tremendous welcome, and was honoured at a dinner at a Holborn rest¬aurant by 250 admirers. While he was away, the International Sports Syndicate was formed, and took over from Harry Jacobs in promoting at the Albert Hall An offer of £1,000 had been made for Baldock to have three fights, one of which would be for the world bantamweight title, Teddy accepted the offer, and in his first contest for the new promoters he knocked out Young Johnny Brown of St. George's in three rounds. After the fight, he was asked to return to the ringside because the Prince of Wales wanted to shake his hand. Teddy was terrified, and he refused, and literally had to be dragged from the dressing-room to meet his royal admirer.

After Baldock knocked out the German Felix Friedmann, the promoters cabled American Archie Bell with an offer of £1,000 for him to meet the Londoner for the vacant world bantamweight title. Bell, a veteran of over 60 fights agreed. He travelled to London, and trained at "The Black Bull" at Whetstone. Baldock set up his training camp at Hurstpierpoint, with former British featherweight champion Johnny Curley as his chief sparring-partner Baldock had a tremendous following, and on the evening of the fight 52 charabancs, crammed with enthusiastic fans, set off from Poplar for the Royal Albert Hall. The great arena was packed to capacity, and the atmosphere was electric. The American was by far the best man Baldock had faced, and the contest was fought at a terrific pace from start to finish. It was a toe-to-toe battle, and one of the greatest ever seen in a London ring.

Teddy boxed brilliantly, and with just two rounds to go he was well ahead. Suddenly, Bell launched a whirlwind attack in an effort to turn the fight around. It was at this stage that the East Ender's speed, skill, and ability to absorb a punch were decisive, and he weathered the storm to take the decision. The crowd were delirious, and at the end the organist played "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow".

The whole of Poplar celebrated, and at a civic reception a few days later, Teddy was presented with an illuminated address signed by the Mayor of Poplar, and was awarded the Freedom of the Borough.

(Martin Sax)

.....................

Teddy Baldock was one of Britain's finest boxers of the 1920's and one of its most loved sportsmen. Teddy won the World Bantamweight title* on May 5th 1927 at the Royal Albert Hall in London beating America's Archie Bell on points over fifteen rounds.

World title victory propelled him to stardom in Britain, as his grandson Martin Sax attests: "There was a report about my grandmother and how she had gone to watch him fight at Premierland without him knowing because he didn’t agree with women watching boxing, and I think his parents had a bad car crash, and that made the Daily Express news because of who their son was".

His world title shot didn't come easy. By the time he fought Bell, he had been a professional boxer for six years and had competed in fifty-seven contests, compiling a record of 54-1-2. Another four years passed with some further success, but by 1930 Teddy's best days were behind him. He retired in 1931 aged 24 with a final professional record of 73-5-3.

....................

*At 19 years 347 days old Teddy would win the Bantamweight Title beating Archie Bell in 1927. Though there is some confusion regarding his title win. Three months before, Charley "Phil" Rosenberg had forfeited the Undisputed World Title by appearing in a title bout overweight. By virtue of this bout with Bell, Baldock was declared the World Champ by the British boxing authorities. (Bell would later face Pete Sanstol for another version of the bantam crown).
But on record it is regarded as a Bantamweight Title fight which would make him the youngest World Champion out of Great Britian.

...................

Photo Caption reads -
"24th August 1929 English boxer Teddy Baldock, centre, surrounded by well-wishers including his mother and finance at Waterloo Station, London, bound for the USA."



Mike Jacobs 1937 telegram to Max Schmeling


Presented to Harry Greb for contributing his services for free on a milk and ice fund program in Atlantic City.
Greb fought Pat Walsh in a scheduled ten-rounder, stopping Walsh in the second round, knocking him down four times before Walsh's cornermen threw in the towel.


Dec 16, 1962 - Milan, Italy.

Veteran Dulio Loi of Italy regained the world junior welterweight boxing championship by outpointing Eddie Perkins of Chicago over 15 rounds.

The pint-sized, 33 year old Italian, thus avenged his decision defeat at the hands of the 25 year old American in this same city last September.

It was their third meeting and evened the series for the 140-pound division title. They drew in their first fight in Milan in October 1961.

After losing the crown to Perkins three months ago, Loi said at first he was through with the junior welterweights because he found it too difficult to make the weight limit. He said then he intended to campaign only as a welterweight and defend his European welterweight (147 pounds) crown.
Loi then decided to make one more try for the 140-pound title. It paid off.

The title fight was a fast, spirited and close battle all the way. At the finish, referee Georges Goudre of France, the sole official, proclaimed Loi the winner without any hesitation after the final bell.
For a man who has struggled to make the division limit in the past, Loi was surprisingly light. He weighed 137 and 3/4 pounds to Perkins 138 and 3/4.

(The Palm Beach Post)



.......................................................


An extraordinarily busy and durable fighter, Duilio Loi
reigned in Europe at lightweight and welterweight for eight
years from 1954, and in 1961 added the, then recently
resurrected, world light-welterweight title to his
collection, with a points victory over the formidable Puerto
Rican Carlos Ortiz. Loi fought 129 contests, losing only
three, in each case getting his revenge in rematches. He was
never knocked down.
Loi possessed great ringcraft but he was also tough and
relentlessly aggressive, and many other top boxers at his
weight were happy to give him a wide berth. He fought one of
his European lightweight title defences only two days after
he had been involved in a car crash.
Born in 1929 in Trieste, where he grew up during the war,
Duilio Loi started boxing in Genoa, where he went to school
for a period. He turned professional as a lightweight in
1948. By 1951 he had won the Italian title from Gianni
Uboldi and went on to defend it many times. A first tilt at
the European lightweight title held by Jorgen Johansen, in
Copenhagen in August 1952, was not successful, but in
February 1954 he had his revenge against the classy Dane
when he took his title from him in Milan on points over 15
rounds.
He was to defend it numerous times over the next few years,
notably against the Spaniard Jos? Hernandez, with whom he
managed a draw - and retained his title - in Milan in May
1956 notwithstanding that he had been badly bruised in a car
accident two days earlier. His second defence against
Hernandez in December that year was a more emphatic affair,
a points victory over 15 rounds. The hectic nature of his
schedule is indicated by the fact that in between these two
defences Loi fought no fewer than eight non-title bouts. But
a shot at the world lightweight championship eluded him.
Then, in April 1959, Loi stepped up a weight to go in quest
of the newly crowned European welterweight champion Emilio
Marconi, in Milan, and relieved him of his title over 15
rounds. He was to continue to defend this title against
all-comers, even after he had won the world light-welter
crown, re-established in 1959 after having been in abeyance
since the war.
This he first tried to wrest from Ortiz in San Francisco on
June 16, 1960. He lost the decision on points over 15
rounds, but even Ortiz's large army of fans realised that it
had been a desperately close thing. At a rematch in Milan
that September, it was a different story with no one at
ringside in any doubt that Loi was the winner over 15
rounds. A third contest between this superbly matched pair
was another victory for Loi, and he even had Ortiz down in
the 6th round.
The only other man to beat him, the tough American Eddie
Perkins, who was also nine years his junior, was now to
enter the world light-welter lists. He fought a draw with
Loi in Milan in May 1961, and went back in September 1962 to
outpoint him over 15 rounds and take his title, despite the
fact that he had been put down in the 1st and 14th rounds.
But, as with Johansen and Ortiz, the last word was to be
Loi's. On December 15, 1962, again in Milan, he won his
title back from Perkins over 15 rounds. Immediately after
the bout he announced his retirement.
He left the ring both as world light-welter and European
welterweight champion, having defended the latter title
against the very tough Sardinian Fortunato Manca, in
Cagliari in May that year. It was a satisfactory end to a
highly meritorious career. Indeed, with such a record, Loi's
name deserves to be more familiar; undoubtedly greater
exposure in the US would have made it so.
His induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in
2005 was a fitting acknowledgement of his, until then,
underrated achievements. By that time Loi was suffering from
Alzheimer's and his daughter, Bonaria, travelled to the US
to accept the award on his behalf.

Duilio Loi, boxer, was born on April 19, 1929. He died on
January 20, 2008, aged 78

(The Times Obituary)

1922.
"....the man sat down to watch the human tide flow on as he watches it daily with an eye that holds not the slightest interest in what it sees....he heaved a sigh..."