EDITORIAL
RINSING OFF THE  MOUTH PIECE

  A Modest Proposal for the Preservation and Improvement of Pugilism,
with Specific Emphasis on a General Response to the Fallacies of the Purported Reformers of the Sport

ADAM'S ANALYSIS
THE STORY WAS WALCOTT

By Adam Pollack

            Ever since the May 25, 1965 first round knockout of Sonny Liston by Muhammad Ali in their heavyweight championship rematch, debate has focused on whether Liston threw the fight.  Regardless of whether he intended to throw the fight, the focus should not be on Liston as much as it should be on Jersey Joe Walcott, former heavyweight champion and referee for the fight.

It is clear that Sonny Liston was struck by a quick right hand from Muhammad Ali and fell to the canvas.  The punch that dropped Liston was so quick that many did not see it and called it a phantom punch, speculating that Liston went down without being hit at all.  Slow motion film of the bout revealed that Ali's rapid fire right landed on the left side of Liston's jaw as Liston came forward with a left jab.  Liston's head can be observed jolting from the punch.

Despite the fact that the punch landed, many question whether the punch had enough force to drop Liston.  Force equals velocity multiplied by mass.  Clearly Ali's punch was extremely fast.  However, many felt the element of mass was missing, that Ali's body was not behind the punch. A careful viewing of the fight film, especially from a rare side view shown on the ABC rebroadcast, indicates that more of Ali's body was behind the punch than was apparent from the frontal view.  Rocky Marciano commented that the punch appeared to begin as an arm punch, but at the end of the punch, Ali does appear to put his body behind it. What is of most importance is not how much mass is behind the punch at its beginning, but at the point of impact.

However, Ali was never known as a great puncher.  In Muhammad Ali's entire boxing career, his only first round knockout was against Liston. Ali went the distance with men like Joe Frazier and Ken Norton.  George Foreman stopped each in two rounds.  Foreman has said that Liston never
backed up from him in sparring.  "I was afraid of him.  You didn't want to be in there too long with him."  If Foreman couldn't back Liston up, how could Ali stop him?  It seemed odd that Liston, who had never been knocked down previously, who was considered to be amongst the strongest
heavyweights, should be dropped by one Ali punch.

Some noted that Liston was observed with and had probably worked for members of the mob.  It was suggested that they might have bribed Liston.  Perhaps Liston simply had no heart.  What was lacking internally to motivate him to rise from the stool after the sixth round in the first fight may have affected his mental ability to take a punch in the second fight.  The drive, desire, and confidence may have been absent.

On the other hand, the Ali blow was quick, and there is a saying in boxing that it is the punch you do not see that causes the most damage. Additionally, Liston had moved forward with his own mass with his left jab.  His own body weight propelled into Ali's fist, increasing the impact of the blow.  As fighters age, they often do not take a punch as well.  Some speculated that although Liston was listed as thirty-one, he was probably closer to forty.  As his birthdate is unknown, so too is his age.

Lack of activity can also diminish a fighter's ability to take a punch. Other than the six round beating Ali handed him on February 25, 1964, Liston had not fought many rounds.  He had stopped Floyd Patterson twice in the first round, on September 25, 1962, and in the rematch on July 22, 1963, prior to his loss to then Cassius Clay.  Accordingly, Liston had fought only eight rounds in approximately two and a half years. Liston was reportedly in good condition prior to the bout, but then it was delayed as a result of an Ali injury.  Some believed that Liston lost his conditioning and sharpness following the delay.  Furthermore, if Liston had wanted to throw the fight, why would he choose such a punch?  He was hit with what appeared to be a more powerful and solid right a bit earlier in the round.  Surely he could have dropped from that punch if he wanted to throw the fight.

There is no definitive proof that Liston took a dive.  It is clear that Liston was hit.  It is also clear that Liston arose from the canvas. There is nothing in boxing that says you cannot go down from a punch. After being knocked down, Liston at first struggled to rise, and then finally did.  After returning to his feet, he and Ali resumed the bout. If Liston truly did not want to continue, he could have remained flat on his back and pretended to be knocked out.  However, that is not what happened.  Liston arose and continued, just as many fighters do when they are knocked down.  At that point, Liston did what we would expect any champion to do.  Regardless of whether Liston went down legitimately, he arose and was prepared to continue.

While it is unclear whether Liston legitimately went down, it is patently obvious that Jersey Joe Walcott's actions as referee were improper.  Referee Jersey Joe Walcott did not stop the bout because Liston was unable or refused to continue.  Rather, the bout was stopped because Walcott decided to stop the bout without providing Liston a count.  Therefore, it was the intervening actions of the referee which superseded any allegedly improper conduct of Liston.  It is these actions which should truly be focused upon.

Judging the actions of Joe Walcott require no speculation.  However, in fairness to Liston, Joe Walcott's history deserves as much scrutiny as has been provided Sonny Liston.  The Ali - Liston rematch was not Joe Walcott's first involvement with a dubious first round knockout.

On September 23, 1952, Jersey Joe Walcott was well ahead on points and on his way to successfully defending his heavyweight title against Rocky Marciano.  Although Marciano had landed big punches, Walcott had taken them well, and had even become the first man to deck Marciano.  However, the cumulative effect of Marciano's blows had sufficiently softened Walcott for a Marciano bomb.  In the thirteenth round, Marciano landed a thunderous right cross to Walcott's jaw, which knocked Joe out. Marciano had scored a comeback victory.

On  May 15, 1953, Marciano and Walcott fought the rematch.  In this bout, Walcott did not demonstrate his superior boxing skills in order to mount a points lead as he had in the first bout, nor did he demonstrate the powerful counterpunching which had floored Marciano.  This time Walcott was hit by a single right hand which dropped him in the very first round.  Walcott almost immediately sat up and looked at the referee giving him the count.  Walcott appeared clear headed, looking at the referee and observing the count.  As he had his legs outstretched, he needed to bring them underneath him to rise from the canvas. However, Walcott did not attempt to rise until the count of nine.  By the time he arose, the referee had counted to ten.  Joe Walcott had been stopped in the first round.

Although it seems clear based on Walcott's demeanor that he could have risen early in the count, begun to rise early in the count, or placed his legs underneath him so he could rise quickly when he needed to, he did not take any course of action other than to sit up and look at the referee counting over him until "nine" was reached.  At that point, it was too late to begin the process of getting his legs under him and pushing off the canvas with both his legs and fist.

Jersey Joe Walcott, the man who had given Marciano so much trouble one year earlier and taken his blows for thirteen rounds, the man who had arguably defeated  Joe Louis in one bout and was ahead on points in a second prior to being knocked out in the eleventh round, had been officially knocked out in the first round.  Previously, the earliest Walcott had been stopped was six rounds, by Abe Simon back in 1940.

Immediately following being counted out, a clearly cogent Walcott protested in vain.  Following the bout, the forty year old Walcott announced his retirement.  The question to this day remains, 'Why didn't the clear-headed Walcott even attempt to rise earlier?'  From the visual images alone, Walcott was more able to rise in 1953 than was Liston in 1965.

Although not a referee by trade, the inexperienced Jersey Joe Walcott was appointed to referee the Ali-Liston rematch.  When the fight was introduced by the ring announcer, Walcott was conspicuously missing from the picture.  He was late entering the ring.  This was an ironic harbinger of things to come.

By rule, Ali was required to go to the neutral corner following a knockdown.  Following the Liston knockdown, Ali taunted Liston and began dancing about the ring in delight.  Ali failed to go to a neutral corner, and the inexperienced Walcott was unable to send Ali to the neutral corner.  At first Ali circled the ring, hovering over Liston. Walcott attempted to catch up with Ali.  Finally, Walcott directed Ali to a neutral corner, who then disregarded the direction, continuing to circle the ring with his hands raised.  Thus, at no point did Ali go to the neutral corner and remain there until directed to approach ring center by the referee.  Ali completely disregarded the rules, and
Walcott never enforced them.

The neutral corner rule had been around for decades.  The rule stated that the ten count would be suspended until the fighter scoring the knockdown went to the neutral corner.  In the famous 1927 heavyweight championship rematch between Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney, Dempsey had knocked Tunney down, but failed to go to the neutral corner as required by the new rule.  It was not until Dempsey properly went to the neutral corner that the referee began counting over Tunney.  Although Tunney arose at the count of nine, he had been on the canvas for fourteen seconds.  This lead many to debate whether Tunney could have risen in time had the count begun before Dempsey went to the neutral corner. Thus, the neutral corner rule had not only been a part of boxing for over thirty-five years, but it was a famous rule as a result of the Dempsey-Tunney bout.

Later modifications of the neutral corner rule provided that the count by the ringside timekeeper would begin immediately, and the referee would pick up the count from the timekeeper after directing the other boxer to the neutral corner.  In general, this occurs at about the count of four, but usually no later than seven.  At the very least, a fighter is provided three or four oral counts by the referee so he can rise in time.  If a fighter is so recalcitrant as not to go to the neutral corner, then as a penalty for failing to obey the rules, referees will not pick up the true count from the timekeeper, but will suspend the count altogether, beginning it again only after the fighter complies with his directions.  Never will a referee penalize a fallen fighter by not providing him a count at all as the result of the other fighter failing to go to the neutral corner.  Depriving the fallen fighter the benefit of a count as a result of the actions of the scofflaw opponent would provide a perverse incentive to fighters.

Failing to ensure Ali's presence in the neutral corner, Walcott either attempted to pick up the count from the timekeeper or was distracted by Nat Fleischer, editor of The Ring, who informed Walcott that Liston had been down for over ten seconds.  At that point, Liston had risen and engaged Ali again.  Following his discussions with Nat Fleischer and/or the ringside timekeeper, Walcott finally turned around and again focused on the fighters.  Walcott stepped between the two combatants and terminated the bout.  At no point did Walcott provide Liston a count, as required by the rules.  It is amazing that Walcott was either unaware of the famous neutral corner rule or decided to disregard it.

The purpose of a ten count by the referee is to provide a fighter the opportunity to rise within ten seconds.  By providing the fighter a count, the boxer can know exactly when to rise in order to continue the bout.  It is the exclusive responsibility of the referee to provide the fallen fighter the benefit of a count.  A fighter cannot be counted out by the timekeeper or a magazine editor.  A fighter is never required to provide himself a count and speculate as to when ten seconds have
elapsed.  However, that is exactly what Joe Walcott expected Sonny Liston to do.  In the post-fight interview, Liston commented that he tried to pick up the count, but was never provided one.

Not only did Joe Walcott fail to ensure Ali's proper presence in the neutral corner, he failed to suspend the ten count, and failed to provide Liston a count whatsoever. When Walcott failed to provide Liston this opportunity, he deprived Liston the same clear opportunity to rise within ten seconds that he had been afforded in his rematch with Marciano.  In hindsight, it is irrelevant that Liston was knocked down.It is clear that he arose and continued.  It is also clear that Walcott
failed his duties as referee.  Joe Walcott, in terminating the bout, had once again become involved with a controversial first round knockout, and should properly be the focus of the Ali-Liston rematch.  Ironically, and sadly not a surprise in the sport of boxing, years later Walcott was
appointed the New Jersey State Athletic Commissioner.

SELLOUT MOE AND HIS JEWISH HEAVYWEIGHT 

BY ENRIQUE ENCINOSA

He was the stuff that boxing lore is made of.

They called him "Sellout Moe" and he was a chunky old man with twinkling eyes and a mischievous smile on his wrinkled face. In his youth he was a four round fighter, a topnotch trainer and corner, manager of world champions and contenders, but above all, Moe Fleischer was the king of matchmakers.

There was a time long ago, before television and computers, even before frozen dinners and Hitler, when boxing flourished in America. In New York City it was common to have a dozen pro cards in a single week, sometimes four or five running on the same night in different neighborhoods of the Big Apple. Across the river, in New Jersey, pro cards ran weekly in Newark, Jersey City and other urban centers. The competition for fighters was fierce among promoters. To draw crowds a boxing card needed to build up local heroes, often in tough fights, and match together a show that would motivate the public to buy tickets even in lean times.

It was the age of Moe Fleischer. At one time he was matchmaking eight cards a week in three different cities. One of his fight clubs was so successful that it experienced twenty-three consecutive sellouts, earning Moe his famous nickname.

"I liked that nickname," he once told me, "It sounds a lot better than other boxing nicknames like "Fainting Phil" or "The Bayonne Bleeder." I had a good nickname. The newspapers made it up…"

Before he became "Sellout Moe" he was just another kid from a poor Jewish neighborhood in Manhattan. He worked in the mailroom of a New York newspaper and would often run errands for a boxing writer better known for his expertise with a gun, the legendary Bat Masterson. As a youth Moe dreamed of following the path of Joe Benjamin, a neighbor who fought Terrible Terry McGovern, but reality sank in after being trounced in his first two fights.

Studying to become a trainer, he worked corners almost daily. Although he was often younger than the pugs he cornered, Moe showed such hustle that a top manager named Slick Paddy Mullins offered him a chance to train a young prospect named Sammy Cohen. Moe turned Cohen into a flyweight contender who traded leather with Pancho Villa and Frankie Genaro.

Moe Fleischer, barely out his teens, earned his living training topnotch fighters of the era, including the popular Jimmy Slavin, welterweight contender Sergeant Sammy Baker and lightweight headliner Bruce Flowers. The greatest break in his career came the same week Moe was wed. An offer was made for Fleischer to train heavyweight Tom Heeney. "The Hard Rock from Down Under" was scheduled to fight Gene Tunney. Unwilling to postpone his wedding or give up the chance to work a heavyweight title fight Fleischer did both. He married, took Heeney to the wedding reception and left on his honeymoon dragging his heavyweight along.

"We would get up at five in the morning to do roadwork," Moe related years later, "My wife was not very happy with the strange arrangement but she had no choice. This was my job and I was committed to it, to a chance of a lifetime."

Heeney did not beat Tunney but Moe established a friendship at that fight with a Cuban fight manager named Pincho Gutierrez. The Cuban journalist turned boxing entrepreneur hired Moe to work as trainer and booking agent for his squad of young fighters. The two best were Black Bill and Kid Chocolate.

Black Bill was a Cuban flyweight named Eladio Valdez, who borrowed his ring name from an earlier Black Bill, a heavyweight who had fought Sam Langford. The little flyweight was a lightning quick combination puncher, a veteran of several years of pro fighting in Havana rings, often against bigger opponents.

"Black Bill was one good fighter," Moe said in one of our interviews, "He could box, hit, fight inside or outside and he was slick, hard to hit. He had a lot of talent and he was in the top ten ratings for five years. I took him to Canada and he beat every one of those little guys over there. He fought in New York and won and lost with Corporal Izzy Schwartz and fought a thriller with Willie Davis. The trouble with Bill was his training methods. He was a hard worker at the gym but a harder worker with a woman, a bottle or a nightclub. People talk about Kid Chocolate and his partying…I tell you Bill was worse. He would get into street fights with bigger guys and get arrested. Bill drank, smoked, gambled and chased every skirt he could find, even though he had a wife that was twice his size…she weighed over two hundred pounds."

Black Bill, also called the Cuban Ink Spot, fought Midget Wolgast for the flyweight crown in a New York ring, circa 1930, losing a tight decision.

"By the time Bill fought Wolgast." Moe said sadly "he was washed up. Bill had suffered venereal diseases and was going blind and he hid it from me. When Pincho and I found out we retired him, but it was a tragic ending. He had not saved a nickel and was too troublesome to hold down a steady job. He drank more, tried to kill his wife and then shot himself with a gun in a New York boarding house. That was in thirty-four. Bill was a great little fighter but he was a wild boy."

"Chocolate wasn’t easy either," Moe said, "he was a great champion but he threw his money away in expensive suits, loose women and sleek cars…but he was some fighter. I think he was the greatest fighter I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen them all. He could do everything and I saw him make some moves I’ve never seen other fighters make. He was so fast, that he would hit you three times with the same jab before you realized he had thrown the first one…Once we were fighting up in Pennsylvania and I left the dressing room for a few minutes. When I returned, I smelled gas. Someone wanted the local boy to win badly and they could have killed Chocolate with that open gas line. By fight time the Kid was woozy and I wanted to cancel the fight but the Kid insisted he could beat the local boy even drugged up. I beat him Moe-he said-I beat him. I was worried but Chocolate won every round. It was all instinct. He was a natural, the best fighter I’ve ever seen. If he had not whored around he would have been champion for ten years."

Kid Chocolate had a career record of 132-10-6 with 50 KO wins. Sellout Moe worked with Chocolate in more than eighty of those bouts.

My favorite Sellout Moe anecdote took place in the bleak days of the Great Depression.

"Times were tough," Moe said in an old interview "but a man could get by on twenty dollars a month. I paid seven dollars rent for a nice apartment in New York. I was making ends meet but I was busy matchmaking in New York and Jersey and shipping fighters to other states. One day I get a call from a promoter in Connecticut. He tells me he has a local fighter who’s drawing good crowds and he has a Jewish convention in town and he needs a Jewish heavyweight for a sell-out. The purse is fifty bucks, which means a lot in those days. I could live for a month on my share of that fight, so I tell him I have a Jewish boy named Abie Cohen and we make the deal."

Moe had no Jewish fighter but he did have an Irish veteran named Hynes who was willing to wear a Star-of-David in his trunks in order to feed his family. On the train ride over to Connecticut, Moe darkened Hynes graying locks by applying a burnt cork to the club-fighter’s scalp.

Hynes was nervous by fight time. His opponent was a well-muscled, large, black heavyweight. At the time of his introduction as Abie Cohen, the Irish boy did something out of reflex that he had done in seventy-five previous fights: he crossed himself in a typical Catholic gesture.

"The Jews in the audience gasped," Moe related, "but I told the promoter- Abie is of mixed blood. His mother is Catholic and his father is Jewish."

Hynes hit the local boy a few good body shots and was repaid with a booming right hand that decked him at the end of the round. Abie Cohen returned to his corner on wobbly legs."

"I had paid a kid to work the corner with me," Moe said, "and he started sponging water on Hynes head. To my horror, the black soot from the burnt cork started running down his face. It was Abie Cohen’s last fight. Hynes got stopped in the second and we were fined twenty bucks but with the thirty left over we had enough to pay the bills for a few weeks."

Moe continued to work in the fight game, earning his nickname based on twenty-three straight club sellouts.

"Like all matchmakers I had to give the local hero an edge," he said of his matching techniques, "but not too much of an edge. I made competitive fights."

Moe slowed down during the fifties, not liking the characters that controlled the fight game. When his wife died in the sixties, Sellout Moe wanted to die also. He was despondent but was rescued back into the boxing trade by the Dundee brothers.

"They saved my life," Moe said to this writer, "Chris said –Come on down to Miami Beach, Moe. Angelo has lots of fighters and we need someone we can trust to work with the promotions. This gave me a chance at life…I’ve known Chris since we were boys. Chris managed Midget Wolgast and we worked opposite corners when I had Black Bill…and Angelo I’ve known since he was a kid hanging out in the gym learning the trade from Ray Arcel."

For over two decades Moe worked at the Fifth Street Gym, where he worked with young fighters and old journeymen. His glory days were not over, for Moe took on a young prospect from the Bahamas named Elisha Obed, molding the raw talent into a world champion.

"Obed was a good fighter," Moe recalled, "He had a long reach, a solid right hand and good reflexes. I traveled all over the world with him, to Paris, to Brazil and Germany. He was the first world champion from the Bahamas and they treated me royally every time I visited Nassau. It was fun."

Even living legends pass on. Moe died before the beloved Fifth Street Gym was torn down. His wake was held at a funeral home in Little Havana, a fitting place for a last curtain, for Moe had been an important part of Cuban boxing lore. Ferdie Pacheco, Angelo and Chris, Frankie Otero and Hank Kaplan were there, as was Joe Robbie, the sports entrepreneur.

It was Moe Fleischer’s last sellout room.

Jose Napoles

By Rick Farris

Throughout boxing history the welterweight division has been blessed with exceptional prizefighters.  Names such as Walker, Ross, McLarnin, Armstrong, Robinson, Griffith and Leonard are just a few of the greats that come to mind.  However, another name cannot be overlooked when considering great 147 pounders,  Jose Napoles.

Napoles' nickname "Mantequilla" is the Spanish word for butter and anybody who had the pleasure of watching this brilliant boxer perform understands that Napoles’ style was as smooth as butter.  It was a style that combined great boxing skill, devastating punching power and cool control of the ring. It was a style that created trouble for any opponent he faced.  I'd have to
say the best way to describe Napoles’ style is "timeless".  It was a style that could unravel the old timers and the new breed as well.

I had the opportunity to watch this great welterweight's career evolve into a world championship during the years I was boxing.  Napoles started out as a lightweight, but had to take on the best junior welterweights and welterweights in the world in order to get fights.  Napoles beat them all in
convincing fashion until finally, with the help of a great promoter, a champion finally gave him a title shot.

I'll give a brief run down of Napoles early career, however, my story begins in 1968, about a year before he won the title.  Although I never boxed with Napoles, I know three men who challenged Mantequilla for the title. Ironically, all three of these welterweight contenders challenged Napoles for the crown twice.  Much of my opinion of Napoles is based on the words of these three men who know him far better than those of us who saw him from ringside or watched him train in the gym.  You get to know exactly how great a fighter is, or is not, after banging it out with him for fifteen rounds. 

The three contenders whom I am referring to are Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez, Hedgeman Lewis and Armando Muniz.  All three were talented and tough welterweights during the 60's and 70's, and all three agree that they never fought anybody better than Jose Napoles.

Jose Napoles was born in Cuba on April 13, 1940.  He made his pro boxing debut in 1958, at the age of 18, and fought the first four years of his professional career in Cuba.  Between 1958 and 1961, Napoles put together a record of 17-1 (8  KO's) before fleeing the regime of Fidel Castro and making his home in Mexico.  Without the perils of living in a communist country,
Napoles would now have a chance to make a name for himself in the world of boxing. 

Mexico was almost perfect for Napoles, a Spanish speaking culture and rich in boxing talent.  Many of the world's best boxers under 147 pounds hailed from Mexico and the Cuban lightweight would have the opposition necessary to take him to the next level.  Of course, it wouldn't be easy.  Napoles wasn't a Mexican.

After sixteen months of inactivity, Napoles resumed his boxing career in Mexico in July of 1962.  Napoles quickly scored three straight knockouts before winning a ten round decision over Tony Perez.  In a rematch, Perez was awarded a controversial decision over Napoles.  Napoles scored two more victories including a decision over the highly regarded Baby Vasquez before
losing again, this time  in a ten rounder to Alfredo Urbina, one of the greatest lightweights Mexico ever produced.

After losing to Urbina,  Napoles went on a rampage and won 18 straight with 17 knockouts, including KO's over Urbina and Perez in rematches.  He also defeated Junior Welterweight champs Carlos Hernandez and Eddie Perkins, Adolph Pruitt and scored two knockouts over L.C. Morgan.  After losing on a cut to Morgan in their third fight,  Napoles KO'ed Morgan for the third time. From there,  Napoles put together a string of victories that would lead right up to a shot at the welterweight championship.

In 1968, the legendary George Parnassus became the boxing promoter for the newly built "Forum" in Inglewood, California.  Parnassus had promoted boxing for years in the Los Angeles area, as well as in Mexico.  Parnassus had a connection that would allow him to bring the very best talent up from below the border to Los Angeles.  He would feature the very best Mexican stars at the Forum and it was here that many would become world champions.   Champions
such as Ruben Olivares, Chucho Castillo and Carlos Zarate won world titles in Parnassus promotions at the Forum, and so did Jose "Mantequilla" Napoles.

Napoles made his U.S. debut at the Forum in Parnassus' initial promotion that featured bantamweight contenders Jesus Pimentel and Chucho Castillo.   I was anxious to see Napoles and was at the Forum that night.   However,  Mantequilla didn't give us a long look.  He KO'ed Lloyd Marshall half way thru the opening round.

A few months later I got a little longer look at the future welterweight king when I saw him flatten Ireland's Des Rea in five rounds on the undercard of a featherweight main event featuring Dwight Hawkins and Frankie Crawford at the Forum.

Hawkins was the number one rated featherweight at the time and helped train me for manager Johnny Flores.  I had heard Flores and Hawkins talk about how great a fighter this Napoles was and after seeing him in person at the Forum and in the gym I had to agree.  Anybody amazed by the talent of Roy Jones Jr. would be a lot less impressed had they seen Jose Napoles up close.

In April of 1969, Jose Napoles would finally get a shot at World Welterweight Champion Curtis Cokes.  Napoles was 29-years-old and had been fighting professionally and defeating the best for 11 years when he stepped into the ring at the Forum before a sellout crowd of more than 18,000.  Many of the spectators had come up  from Mexico in buses that Parnassus had chartered and the sound of mariachis filled the arena.  Mexico had adopted the transplanted Cuban as one of their own and when Napoles climbed thru the ropes the Forum exploded with excitement.

Napoles had his way with Cokes and battered the champion at well.  After 13 rounds referee Dick young stopped the fight to save Cokes from further punishment.  Jose Napoles had escaped communism, defeated the best in three divisions and now, after 11 difficult years was the Welterweight Champion of the world.  

Less than three months after winning the title, Napoles gave Cokes a rematch and again stopped the former champion in the 13th round.   Like most champions of the era, Napoles didn't sit on the title between title defenses and stayed sharp with several non-title fights which he won by knockout.  Mantequilla finished out 1969 with a unanimous fifteen round decision over former welterweight and middleweight champ Emile Griffith in his second defense of the title.

In 1970,  Napoles KO'ed number one rated Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez in fifteen rounds and scored two more knockouts in non-title matches.  Napoles closed out 1970 with his fourth title defense in Syracuse, New York against Billy Backus,  the nephew of former champ Carmen Basilio.

Backus was given little chance of beating Napoles.  However,  after opening a cut over the champion's eye with a head butt in the 4th round,  the bout was stopped and awarded to Backus. 

Six months later,  on June 6, 1971, Napoles would regain his title by destroying Backus in six rounds at the Forum.   I was 19-years-old at the time and had been fighting professionally for exactly one year.  I was scheduled to fight on the undercard of the Napoles-Backus rematch and
remember all the excitement in the dressing room after Napoles had regained the title.  I had won my fight that night but the biggest thrill for me was not my win,  but having Carmen Basilio compliment me after my fight.  Basilio had worked his nephew's corner that night and was kind enough to recognize that I had done well in my fight.

My most vivid memory of Napoles took place six months later,  as he trained for his next title defense against Hedgeman Lewis.  This would be one of two championship fights at the Forum along with a World Bantamweight title fight between champion Ruben Olivares and Jesus Pimentel.

I was one of Ruben Olivares' sparring partners for the Pimentel fight and each day we would workout immediately following Napoles before a paying audience.  Promoter George Parnassus had his office at the old Elks Building,  located right off Wilshire Blvd. near Alvarado St. in downtown Los Angeles.  Today the Elks Building is the Park Plaza Hotel and sits right across from Macarthur Park. 

Parnassus had a gym set up in the ball room of the Elks Bldg. with a ring at one end of the room against the stage and a couple of heavy bags, a speed bag and double-end bag on the stage.  People would pay $1 admission to watch the boxers train and we'd usually have several hundred spectators for each workout.   I recall that former lightweight champion Lauro Salas,  one of Parnassus' friends who'd fallen on hard times,  would collect admission at the door and Parnassus would let Salas keep the money so as the former champ could pay his rent and feed himself.  Parnassus was a legendary promoter and had a legendary soft spot in his heart for ex-boxers.

Boxers are some of the friendliest people you could meet but people don't realize that most boxers,  regardless of how nice,  have a mean streak.  This was especially true of Jose Napoles.

One of Napoles chief sparring partners was an L.A. club fighter named Baby Cassius.  Baby Cassius (Eric Thomas) knew this all too well after sparring with the champ.  I remember talking with Baby Cassius in the dressing room following one of his sparring sessions with Napoles.  Both of Eric's eyes were swollen and his nose was bloody.  Cassius would moan,  "All I wanna do is earn a little Christmas money, but this guy is killing me".  He also told me that he knew Napoles was drinking because he could smell alcohol on the champion as they were sparring.  I didn't feel sorry for Baby Cassius because he didn't receive any worse an ass whipping from Napoles than what I (or any sparring partner) receives when trying to punch it out with a great world champ.  That's the business.   However,  one incident involving Napoles between rounds of a sparring session will always stick out in my mind.

Napoles had an assistant trainer in L.A. named Phil Silvers.  I never cared much for Silvers personally and it was obvious that Napoles didn't either.  Silvers job was to tie the champions gloves and give him water between rounds of sparring sessions.  One day,  after pouring some water into Napoles mouth between rounds of a sparring session,   the champ spit the water back into Silver's face.  He then smirked and turned around.  Not even the wildest fans watching the workout made a noise.  I remember how surprised I was to see this, and obviously, so was everybody else.  "What a jerk", I thought.

A couple of days later I had a strange experience with Napoles myself.  One day after he finished sparring,  I was warming up for my sparring session with Olivares.  I was punching one of the two heavy bags on the stage and had my eye on Napoles as his trainer helped him slip on his bag gloves.  I wanted to see if Napoles was ready to hit the bag that I was warming up on and if he
was I'd move to the other bag.  Napoles was the champ and he could hit whatever bag he wanted to hit.  It was his show,  not mine.  When I saw Napoles moving my way I assumed he wanted the bag I was punching and I respectfully moved to the other bag.  Napoles started banging away at the bag and I began doing the same on the other bag.

As the next round started I saw Napoles approaching me out of the corner of my eye and he tapped me on the shoulder.  When I looked at him he motioned for me to move away from the bag and pointed at the other bag.  "No problem",  I thought to myself, and moved to the other bag.  As I'm punching the other bag I see Napoles heading toward me again and noticed a few of his friends smiling.   It occurred to me that Napoles was either trying to play a joke on me, or intimidate me,  or whatever.  Napoles again tapped me on the shoulder and waved me off the bag.  When Napoles began to hit the bag,  I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the other bag,  then stepped in front of him and began hitting the bag again.  Napoles grabs my arm and I turn to face him.
 

In my mind,  I had set myself up for an ass whipping by the welterweight champion of the world.  However,  a fighter does not let himself get pushed around by another fighter and I looked him directly in the eyes.  We stood face-to-face for a few seconds that seemed like hours to me.  Napoles had a very serious look on his face and I didn't know what was coming next.  My trainer,  Mel Epstein,  saw what was going on and quickly stepped in.  "C'mon Ricky,  let's get ready for Olivares",  he said,  trying to pull me out of the situation.  All of a sudden Napoles begins to smile and turns toward Epstein,  motioning that it was Ok for me to continue working on the bag.

I will never know what Napoles was doing but I assume he was having fun trying to see how much I would take.  One thing I did notice was that Napoles reeked of alcohol.  I was surprised, despite having this told me earlier by Baby Cassius. 

A couple of weeks later,  Olivares stopped Jesus Pimentel in twelve rounds and Napoles won a very close fifteen round decision over the flashy Hedgeman Lewis.  Lewis was a very flashy welterweight along the lines of a Sugar Ray Leonard, but not the class of Napoles.  I realized that Napoles partying had affected his performance.  three years later,  Napoles and Lewis fight again and this time Mantequilla would ruin Hedge.  Lewis was never the same after the beating he took from Napoles in this title fight.

The same was true with Ernie 'Indian Red" Lopez.  Three years after losing to Napoles in his first bid for the welterweight crown,  Lopez was given a second chance in 1973.   After the beating Lopez took from Napoles in this fight he was never any good again.  I remember talking with Lopez at the Main Street Gym in Los Angeles just a few days after his second fight with Napoles. I told Ernie I thought he gave Napoles a good fight and was shocked by Ernie's response.  "I'll never fight that guy again . . . for any amount of money!"   These aren't the kind of words that came out of the mouth of Ernie "Indian Red" Lopez.

At 34, Jose Napoles, a blown-up lightweight who had become one of the greatest welterweight champs in history,  challenged another great fighter, Carlos Monzon for the undisputed Middleweight title.  Napoles was stopped in seven rounds.

Napoles defended the welterweight title fifteen times and when he was the undisputed champ,  something that no longer exists.  his last two title defenses were against a friend of mine,  Armando Muniz.

Like Lewis,  Muniz caught Napoles out of shape in their first match and almost won the title.  However,  in the rematch held three months later in Mexico City,  Napoles had his way with Muniz and scored a unanimous fifteen round decision win. 

On December 6, 1975,  after holding the welterweight title nearly eight years,  Jose Napoles would make his last defense of the title at age 35.  Englishman John Stracey would stop Napoles in his hometown of Mexico City.

After the fight,  Napoles would announce his retirement from boxing after spending more than half his life in the professional boxing ring.

When thinking about the great welterweights in boxing,  don't forget the guy they called 'Mantequilla". He was a true all-time great. 

Pernell Whitaker Vs. Gods, Monsters, and Superheroes
By Lucius Shepard

    Thanks to Alex Hall’s brilliant analysis in the April CBZ magazine of how future Hall of Famer Pernell ’Sweetpea’ Whitaker would fare against boxing¹s all time greats, we can put that topic to rest and go on to consider how the Pea would handle even more powerful opponents.  It¹s clear that Whitaker would have no trouble with such fringe contenders as Wolverine (or any of the X Men, for that matter), the Thing (I’m talking the Antarctic vegetable guy here), and Hercules, but there are some significant challenges out there, and I¹ve chosen a few that I think will serve to measure Whitaker's greatness against a higher standard.

WHITAKER versus GODZILLA
It doesn't get much better than this--the ultimate contrast in styles.  The first few rounds are all
Godzilla as the Tokyo Trasher flattens the arena and most of the adjoining buildings with ferocious stomps and tail smashes.  But the ever-elusive Pea avoids serious damage and by the seventh, Godzilla is breathing through his mouth, his flame is sputtering, and he¹s leaning on the surrounding skyscrapers to catch a blow.  In the tenth, utterly fatigued, the big lizard drops to a knee and takes an eight-count.  With Godzilla wobbly and off-balance, Whitaker delivers a
body shot that puts him down for good at 2:12 of the stanza, crushing a considerable portion of the suburbs in the process.   ‘I ain’t takin’ nothin’ away from him,’ says the Pea.  ‘That¹s a tough motherfuckin’ reptile.  But I ain’t no damn city jus’ gon’ set there and let him squash me.’

WHITAKER versus THE FLASH
Pernell’s the quickest lightweight around, but compared to The World’s Fastest Human, he’s Turtle Boy.  The Flash lands at will.  Trouble is, he’s got even less pop than the Pea, and he¹s moving too fast--the judges can’t score what they can’t see (after all, they¹re not the PunchStat people).  The crowd jeers as Pernell chases the Flash round after round, unable to land his own shots.  In one of the most reviled and apparently uneventful title bouts in history, Pernell’s ineffective aggression is enough to snag the decision.

WHITAKER versus ZEUS
Those lightning bolts take their toll, but once the Pea brings the fight inside, smothering Zeus’ power, he makes it easy for himself.   Accustomed to three-round Olympian bouts, the Father of the Gods fades badly and is stopped in the sixth. 

WHITAKER versus WONDER WOMAN
At first glance this looks like a breeze for the Pea, but given Whitaker’s reputation as a party animal, you gotta give any babe with a bustier and a magic rope a decent chance.  If he’s in shape and focused, Whitaker by 3rd round stoppage; if he's not, the Amazon Warrior Princess picks off his punches on her golden bracelets and hip shakes her way to a unanimous decision. 

WHITAKER versus THE JOKER
The gas-squirting lapel flower gives Whittaker lots of problems in the beginning, and he takes a pounding over the first four rounds.  But once he learns to avoid the gas by staying low, he gains the upper hand.  His posse starts chanting, ‘Wait’ll they get a load of Pea!’, and only the arrival of Batman thwarts the Joker’s henchmen from stealing the box office receipts.   The fighters spend much of the bout showboating and exchanging taunts, and ringsiders give the edge in the verbal battle to the guy in the funny-looking suit; but referee Mitch Halpern penalizes the Joker twice for making bad puns, and Pernell retains the belt via controversial draw. 

WHITAKER versus THE HULK
For the first two rounds, it’s a brutal mismatch. Whitaker has never before absorbed such punishment and seems headed for his first KO loss.  His only hope is that the Hulk will lose interest and revert back to Doc Bruce Banner.  Midway through the third, however, the big
green guy mistakes Lou Duva for the female Hulk, becomes aroused, and chases the jiggly septuagenarian off toward the dressing rooms.  Whitaker by DQ. 

WHITAKER versus BRANIAC
Probably the only challenger whose talent for ring generalship outstrips Whittaker’s, Braniac scores early and often; but he’s too old, too fat, and way too mechanical.  He quits on his stool after the fourth, causing his enraged manager, Doctor Doom, to destroy Philadelphia. 

WHITAKER versus SANDMAN
Like some pale wimp with an exciting haircut is going to be a match for the Pea...C’mon!   The Sandman’s got loads of attitude but no skillz to speak of.  He goes to sleep in the first, and Whitaker is seen heading for AC with the cute Goth chick.

WHITAKER versus EVIL INCARNATE
The Pea’s toughest test to date.  Darkness fills the ring, and Whitaker’s screams are heard in the back rows.  The Pea hangs in there for the full twelve, but there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind as to who the winner is.  There is, however, one power even greater than evil--the co-promoter of the bout, Don King--and two of the three judges vote for Whitaker.  The Dark Lord enfolds the judges in his black ring robe and vanishes with them to parts unknown, an act that leads to his being suspended for thirty days by the Nevada commission.

WHITAKER versus MAX KELLERMAN’S VISION OF ‘THE PEA’
On paper this one looks dead even, but once the bout begins it¹s clear that Whittaker is no match for himself..at least not for the godlike pugilist that the normally astute Mr. Kellerman envisions him to be. The KO punch--thrown by Kellerman’s Pea at 2:03 of the first--is so powerful, it serves to initiate a second Big Bang, thus creating a new universe populated entirely by Pernell Whitakers, all of whom worship god in the form of a pale young guy with gelled hair and a goatee.

Next Issue:  Pernell Whitaker vs. the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the 7 Deadly Sins, and the LAPD.

Diary of a Young Heavyweight – First of a Series

Clifford  “The Black Rhino”  Etienne  

As told to Thomas Gerbasi

Clifford “The Black Rhino” Etienne is a 30 year old heavyweight prospect.  Etienne is currently 16-0 with 11 knockouts.  His most recent victory was a unanimous 10 round decision over highly regarded Lamon Brewster on the debut of HBO’s KO Nation Series. 

Etienne was a standout student and athlete in high school.  His prowess on the football field earned him recruiting interest from Oklahoma, LSU, and Texas A&M.

“I was born in Lafayette, Louisiana, but I grew up in New Iberia.  My Mom and Dad kept a tight rein on me.  We stayed in the neighborhood, outside the city limits, in the country.  I was really a loner most of the time.  When I started coming up in school, and playing ball, I got really popular.  It was something I wasn’t used to.  I just tried everything, and when they started letting the reins loose a little bit, I made some bad choices.”

Etienne spent 10 years in prison, where he learned to fight at the age of 18. 

“I was 18.  I liked boxing.  I used to watch it, and I’d never miss it on TV.  No matter what, people are going to try you sooner or later.  You’re going to get in a lot of conflicts.  That’s human nature, especially when you’ve got a lot of men together in one spot.  I handled myself like a real man the whole time through.  I respected everybody, and I was respected back, even from the wardens and correction officers.  I didn’t have too many problems.

“I feel that because of the time I spent in prison I was preserved.  I haven’t been in any wars and took beatings.  I feel like I’m 23, 24.  My body is in good shape.  I’m not in a rush.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s patience.”

Etienne turned pro in 1998 under the auspices of agent Eddie Sapir and Promoter Leslie Bonano.  Don Turner soon joined J.C. Davis as trainers of Etienne.

“Being a fighter, you want to fight the good guys.  You want to make good first impressions.  Even if you’re not ready sometimes. My trainers feel like I’m ready to step up. I know I’ve got over 100 years of experience in my corner.  It’s another confidence booster.  But I’m not short on confidence by a long shot.  I train hard, I work hard, I eat right, I live right.  So I know that any time I get up in that ring, my opponent had better have done the same thing himself.  I’m serious.  When I get in there, I’m like, I’ll take my time, do this, do that.  But when I get in there and someone might catch me with a punch or something, BAM!  I just kick it up a notch.  It’s a war in there.

Etienne’s work rate surprised observers, and made “The Black Rhino” a fighter to watch in the heavyweight division. 

“They’re gonna see a fight. They’re not going to watch heavyweights hugging and holding.  Because my opponent’s going to have to fight when he gets in there with me.  Either he’ll fight or check out of the ring.  I throw a lot of punches for a heavyweight.  I work out like that, and I can fight like that.  I guess that’s why people are shying away from me.”

Etienne soon learned that a young and talented heavyweight does not find too many people willing to fight him.  Was it frustrating?

“In a way it is because I’m looking to step up, and I look forward to challenges, but I take it as a compliment.  I’m a humble guy.  I do a lot of hard work, and I know that the only way I’ll get something out of this is if I put something in.  So I put in a lot.  I love the game, man (laughs).  You’ve got to love it.  I get up in the morning, put my miles in, run hard.  After a fight, I don’t even stay home.  I just got married, and I was back in training camp a couple of days later."

Fellow unbeaten Lamon Brewster stepped up to the plate in May of 2000, one of the few ready to take on the Rhino.

“He’s a young guy, and he’s got skills.  I’m gonna put the pressure on him.  He’s never been knocked out, and I’m gonna see what I can do.  I’m gonna see if I can knock him out. 

"I’m making a statement every time I get in the ring.  I’m making statements to all heavyweights, not just the one I’m gonna beat up in there…all of them.  Come in the ring, this is what you’re going to expect.  No less.

"This is my life.  I’m at camp more than I’m at home.  I know that if I sacrifice now, I’ll see the benefits in the future. I’m paying my dues.    I’m studying my craft, I watch films, I try to learn from the older fighters, everything. My goal is to be heavyweight champion of the world.”

To Be Continued…

CHARACTER MAKES CHAMPIONS
Tyson and Golota:  Two Peas in a Pod
By Adam Pollack

Recently, two talented fighters have demonstrated their lack of character in the face of adversity, proving that they are not great champions.  Lack of character has impeded the championship status of Mike Tyson and Andrew Golota.  When seriously challenged, rather than gutting fights out, these fighters have folded mentally, incessantly resorting to flagrant foul tactics.   The character flaws of Andrew Golota and Mike Tyson explain their behavior, and lend insight into what many believe are mysterious losses.

Part of what makes a fighter a great champion is character.  A winner needs the determination to believe in himself and to persist under the harshest of circumstances.  A great fighter does not quit or resort to fouling when hurt or behind on points.  Rather, he continues to fight hard, within the rules, believing that no matter how far behind or hurt he is, he will eventually wear out his opponent and prevail.

Just as character can help a fighter win, so too can lack of character lead to a loss.  Even talented fighters will lose the big ones if they mentally fold when things aren't going their way.  When a fighter lacks character, he may quit when encountering adversity.  Some fighters quit
by deciding not to continue.  Some fighters quit by failing to give their best efforts, doing just enough to go the distance, some quit by not training properly, while others quit by getting themselves disqualified.  When a fighter with the character to gut it out in the face of adversity meets a more talented fighter who lacks character, often it is the fighter with character that wins the fight.  The boxing public should not be surprised when this happens.

Andrew Golota's character flaws cost him in his fights with Riddick Bowe and Michael Grant.  Most observers are mesmerized and confused by the fact that Golota was ahead on points in these bouts before losing. However, although ahead on points, he collapsed under the pressures of a tough fight.

Although he was winning the Bowe fights, Golota still took big shots throughout.  Against Riddick Bowe, he exerted himself more than he had ever done previously, and suffered more punishment than he had ever endured.  Golota found himself in fights with a man who no matter how often and how hard he was hit, wouldn't give up, and continued to throw hard punches back at Golota.  Under all of these physical and mental stresses, Andrew Golota lost his poise.  Boxing isn't simply about how well a fighter can dish it, but how well he can take it and avoid it.

Especially in the second bout, when Golota was hurt and dazed or frustrated, he immediately resorted to fouling.  Although Golota was getting the better of Bowe, Riddick mounted his own punishment, dropping Golota for the first time in his career.  Golota resorted to low blows in order to get out of trouble after being knocked down.  When he hurt Bowe and could not land finishing punches as a result of Bowe's good rope-a-dope, Golota resorted to a head butt.  Golota was cut badly over both eyes, in part because of Bowe's punches, and also in part because of his own head butting.  Bowe showed his grit and determination and kept fighting hard.

Late in the second fight, Golota was tiring, and Bowe landed a big right hand.  Shortly thereafter, tired, hurt, and frustrated, Golota failed to pass the test of a winner, to take punishment and continue to fight and win within the rules.  Golota flagrantly threw at least three low blows in a row.  Although probably winning up to that point, Golota had failed to fight intelligently enough to avoid punishment and fatigue which clearly affected him more than Bowe, as indicated by his inability
to conform to the rules.

Decisions make champions.  In both Bowe fights, instead of taking Bowe's punches or avoiding them, failing to realize he was ahead on points, in the heat of battle Golota could only think of his pain and frustration. He made the conscious decision to fail to comply with the rules.  Golota knew the low blows would have an effect, because when he was hurt or frustrated, he wanted to do the most damage.  He didn't throw his punches at Bowe's head or body.  He threw them where he knew they would have the greatest effect.  Sometimes that is all it takes to lose a
fight and fail to be a champion.

Not only has Riddick Bowe twice defeated Andrew Golota, Riddick Bowe has proven he is a better fighter than Andrew Golota.  Some may argue that because Golota was ahead on points before being disqualified, he is a better fighter than Bowe.  This is not the case.  Bowe is the superior fighter because he had the character to continue to fight hard even when he was hurt, unlike Golota, who under the pressure of fatigue, the pain of Bowe's blows, and his own frustration, folded mentally and fouled. Riddick Bowe took the punishment and showed the discipline not to use the same flagrant foul tactics.  Regardless of whether low blows made
Bowe look badly or not, Riddick Bowe sucked it up, took the punishment, and kept punching.  Bowe wouldn't go.

In the end, it was Golota who folded.  It does not matter whether Golota quit on the stool, quit by going down, or quit by fouling.  If you know doing something will get you disqualified and you do it, you are essentially saying 'I quit.'  Golota's fouls were committed over and over and over again.  Points kept being