Thursday, November 12, 2009

At 84, Art Laboe's an oldie but still a goodie

After more than 50 years on the radio, the disc jockey is still going strong, playing sentimental songs and taking dedications. His deep, soothing voice is cherished by his Latino listeners.

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Radio legend Art Laboe, left, and producer Tom Peniston inside Laboe's Hollywood studio. His show ranks near the top in its evening time slot, according to Arbitron ratings, and is popular among listeners 25 to 54 years old. (Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)

By Esmeralda Bermudez

November 12, 2009
The disc jockey smiles when he hears Juanita Santos' raspy voice.

"Art," she says from her small town near Fresno, "I want you to tell my husband, Juanito, 'You're my Chicano king. I'm your booty- licious. I can't live without you. I'll never let you go.' And I want you to blow him a big kiss for me and play 'You're My Shining Star.' "

"OK, Juanita. Here goes that kiss. . . . Muaah!"

Phone lines flash six nights a week inside a dimly lit Hollywood studio where Art Laboe sits before his microphone, faithful to his old-fashioned format: playing sentimental oldies and taking dedications. For more than 50 years, his deep, soothing voice has been as cherished among Latinos in the Southwest as Chick Hearn's rapid-fire staccato once was among Lakers fans.

Listeners with nicknames such as Mr. Porky, Lil' Crazy, Big Papi, Bullet, Bugsy and Payasa call in from Oxnard, Riverside and Boyle Heights; from Phoenix, Albuquerque and Nevada. They are lonely women, rueful men, rapt lovers, entire families with squeaky-voiced children who ask Laboe to wish their grandmothers good night.

The 84-year-old disc jockey helps them celebrate anniversaries, mourn their dead and profess their love. He is the intermediary who reconciles arguments, encourages couples to be affectionate, sends out birthday wishes and thank yous.

His program, which is especially popular among listeners 25 to 54 years old, has consistently ranked near the top of its evening time slot, according to the ratings firm Arbitron. The Art Laboe Connection plays in more than a dozen cities in four states and draws about a million listeners a week.

"His show was the first place a young Chicano kid had to air his feelings, the first place you could say something and be heard," said Ruben Molina, author of two books on Chicano music and American culture. "It was like an intercom where you could tell the world -- our world -- 'I'm sorry' or 'I love so-and-so' and everyone knew the next day."

Messages arrive by phone, a few by mail. Sometimes Laboe reads them on the air:

Her name is Ana Ivette Vasquez and I want to let her know that I'm really sorry for doing her wrong, for all the tears she dropped and pain I put her through. I want to dedicate you this song from deep down in my heart: "I Need Love."

Other times he plays the recorded voices of listeners, who speak to him as to an old friend, often in a broken English laced with gangster slang.

I want to hear "Wasted Days and Wasted Nights" for all the firme homies from Orange County, from their homie Dreamer. I want to tell them to keep their head up and stay strong.

"He is more Chicano than some Chicanos," said comedian Paul Rodriguez, who grew up listening to Laboe. "And everyone from the toughest vato to the wimpiest guy would say the same."

::

Laboe eases into his leather chair just before the 7 p.m. start of his broadcast on HOT 92.3 FM. Tea and cough medicine are within reach. His producer, Tom Peniston, sits across a radio mixing board, munching on a sandwich.

The light blinks with the evening's first call:

This dedication is to Marcela Baca. I wish the family would just stop fighting. I wish we could all get along. This is Alex in Phoenix, Arizona. . . . .I want to play that song "So" by War.

Laboe comes to life on the microphone. He'll prod a shy caller to declare his feelings. He'll blush when another gushes, "Oh my God, I can't believe I'm really talking to you!"

He observes rules that he says keep him in business: Never flirt with a woman or call her "baby" or "honey" because it drives away male callers. Never ask if a caller is in prison -- it's not polite. Some in his audience have come to speak in a sort of code, referring to cities that hint that their loved one is incarcerated.

I want to dedicate "The Ship Won't Sail Without You" to my husband, Big, in Chino from Roxanne. I love you and I'll be up that way tomorrow.

Most important, the disc jockey never judges his listeners.

"Here's somebody . . . . who might feel that what they have going on is of little importance in life," Laboe said. "And now they come on the radio and their voice goes out to the whole world."

Laboe, just over 5 feet tall, has bulging eyes, bushy brows and a prominent nose. As a boy, he always was the loner, the Armenian kid other students barely noticed, especially girls.

Drawn by the anonymity of radio, Laboe started his own amateur station in 1938 out of his bedroom in South Los Angeles. He was 13. Back then, he was Art Egnoian and he had recently moved to California from Utah to live with his sister.

"The radio opened up new doors for a guy who wasn't a big, good-looking hunk," he said.

After serving in World War II, he did stints at various radio stations and changed his name to Laboe when a general manager said it was catchier. When rock 'n' roll struck in the 1950s, Laboe launched a live broadcast from Scrivners, a drive-in restaurant in Hollywood. Masses of teens crowded around him to request songs and dedications, and his career took off.

He wanted to be a concert promoter, bring in big bands. But the city of Los Angeles banned youths younger than 18 from attending public dances and concerts. So he decided to host shows in El Monte, which attracted teenagers from the Eastside and its growing Mexican American population.

Latinos poured in to see Chuck Berry, Ray Charles and Jerry Lee Lewis at the now-defunct El Monte Legion Stadium. Laboe played the rhythm-and-blues and doo-wop these youths craved. He compiled his fans' favorite songs on vinyl records, eight-tracks, cassette tapes and ultimately compact discs featuring Mexican American acts. He learned to pronounce Spanish names.

"It was never intentional," Laboe said. "The connection was there and when they came, I welcomed them with open arms."

Laboe became part of the emerging Chicano identity in Los Angeles, his voice and music the soundtrack of lowrider shows and nights spent cruising Whittier Boulevard. He is the only non-Latino selected as grand marshal of the East L.A. Christmas parade and is a favored award recipient among Latino organizations. At their functions, he says, he is often "the only white guy in the room."

These days he descends from his Hollywood Hills home in a black Jaguar and lunches at the Chateau Marmont.

His home decor features a nude portrait of Marilyn Monroe hanging above his bed, made up in pink-and-white sheets. A giant oil painting of his deceased cat, Baby, is the focal point of the living room. Motivational sayings written on Post-It notes (If you believe in your power to do great things, you will) share space on his refrigerator door with doctor's notices detailing the symptoms of a stroke.

He has lived in the home, mostly alone, since 1964, when he and his second wife, a Las Vegas showgirl, divorced. Most of his relatives, with the exception of two older sisters, have died. "My listeners," he said, "they are like a family."

Regular Laboe listeners include middle-age mothers and high-ranking politicians in the state Capitol. His fans identify with the melodramatic songs he plays the way Tennesseans identify with country music. Some callers express themselves in Laboe-isms, parroting the lyrical verses heard on the oldies show.

I want to tell him to 'Smile now, cry later' because 'I will always be there for you.'

State Sen. Gil Cedillo (D-Los Angeles) remembers cruising through Boyle Heights with Antonio Villar (later Villaraigosa) in the future mayor's canary yellow 1964 Chevy, bumping Laboe's music. It was the early 1970s, and Laboe was everyone's favorite uncle in the neighborhood, he said.

"There was no place else to be," Cedillo said, "but right there, listening to his music."

::

The crowd roars as Laboe steps onstage.

"We love you, Art!" young women yell in unison from their seats.

"You're the man!" the men holler.

It is the last hour of the Art Laboe Show LIVE concert in San Bernardino in September, and about 13,000 people, nearly all of them Latinos, are packed into the San Manuel Amphitheater.

Tattooed teenagers in baggy clothes sway in their seats alongside grandparents and children. Many slow-dance in the aisles and sing out loud as Evelyn "Champagne" King, the Manhattans and other acts perform songs that Laboe has helped keep alive.

The disc jockey emerges from backstage to introduce the last act. He is in his sixth suit of the evening, a gold polyester number that shimmers under red and yellow lights. He looks out into the audience and blows kisses.

"What a night! And it's not over yet. Wait till you see what we have coming up next."

Many of his fans, seeing his enthusiasm and hearing his vibrant voice, would never imagine the man on stage is almost 85.

"What is he?" asks a 16-year-old concertgoer. "I think 54. Or 63? . . . 61?"

No matter his age, Laboe has no plans to quit any time soon. He wants to syndicate his show in more states, enter the Radio Hall of Fame and learn how to use Twitter.

Yet radio is not the draw it once was. The recording studio he bought in the early 1960s no longer makes a profit and is up for sale. Some nights, a tired Laboe heads out early, leaving recorded dedications for his producer to read on the air.

Still, if the end of the Art Laboe era is approaching, his fans don't see it. Or don't want to believe it.

"I know he won't live forever," said Estella "Proxie" Aguirre, 67, a listener since the 1950s. "But I get a lump in my throat just talking about it. I love him like I love my husband, except Art Laboe and I never argue."

esmeralda.bermudez@latimes.com

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Pacquiao inspires in, out of ring

By Robert Morales, Staff Writer
sgvt

If Manny Pacquiao becomes any more popular, he won't be able to sneeze without an adoring fan offering to hold a handkerchief for him.
Bill Caplan, a longtime publicist who works for Pacquiao's promoter, Bob Arum, was at LAX two weeks ago when Pacquiao arrived from his native Philippines to continue training for next Saturday's welterweight title fight against Miguel Cotto at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.

Several hundred - mostly Filipinos - showed up to greet Pacquaio.

But, Caplan said, "It was pandemonium like there were thousands, the way they rushed him. As soon as he appeared coming out of customs, they swarmed him. It was like the Beatles."

Caplan said Pacquiao escaped injury because airport security helped get him to a waiting car. It was so crazy, Caplan said, that television cameras there waiting to interview Pacquiao had to settle for his trainer, Freddie Roach.

"Even Mike Tyson didn't have the drawing power that Manny Pacquiao has right now," said Roach, who briefly trained Tyson. "Mike was always the biggest guy training and the attention was always there at the airports. But the way Manny Pacquiao arrived the other day, I never saw a crowd like that.

"People were swarming to try to get a touch or a look at Manny Pacquiao."

American talk shows have taken notice because Pacquiao this week was a guest on "Jimmy Kimmel Live." It seemed like every few seconds, the personable Pacquiao wore that infectious grin.

"He brightens up a room," Roach said. "He's got class and a great smile. Manny Pacquiao is an endearing person and a great fighter."

Pacquiao recently won the Gusi Peace Prize in the Philippines. It is the Asian version of the Nobel Peace Prize, and Pacquiao is the first athlete to receive it.

Pacquiao has been helping the people in his country for years. He continued that trend when he was training in Baguio City, Philippines when the recent typhoons hit Manila, causing death and destruction.

Pacquiao made the two-hour drive from the mountains of Baguio City to assist in the recovery, even though Roach really did not want him to.

"When the typhoon hit Manila pretty hard, Manny went down there on a Sunday to help the people out and I asked him not to go because I thought it was dangerous," Roach said. "But it was his day off and he went to Manila and helped as much as he could."

When Pacquiao was asked during a recent interview how the typhoons affected him, his sincerity was obvious.

"I felt so bad," he said. "I do have to focus on my training because I have to prepare. But I try to help the people in my country as much as I can."

The Teamsters Youth Boxing Club in South El Monte this weekend is playing host to the Silver Gloves District Championships.

Two session are on tap today at 11 a.m. and 6 p.m. The finals are Sunday at 11 a.m.

Admission is $5 for adults, $3 for children.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Lou Filippo dies at 83; boxing hall of famer appeared in 'Rocky' movies

Filippo was known as a pillar of honesty in the sport. He refereed and judged 85 world championship fights, including Sugar Ray Leonard's split-decision win over Marvin Hagler in 1987.

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Lou Filippo, shown in 1954, had a distinguished career as an amateur before turning pro. His fight career ended in 1957. He appeared in five "Rocky" films. (Los Angeles Times)


By Lance Pugmire

November 5, 2009

Lou Filippo, a boxing hall of famer from Downey who became a referee and ring judge, memorably counting out Sylvester Stallone's champion rival Apollo Creed in the film "Rocky II," died Monday at Downey Regional Medical Center after suffering a stroke. He was 83.

Filippo was a distinguished amateur fighter who fought in more than 250 bouts before turning pro. His fighting career ended in 1957 with a no-contest outcome and a technical knockout loss against Hall of Famer Carlos Ortiz, a bout stopped because of Filippo's cuts -- bleeding plagued his 23-9-3 pro career.

Boxing historian Don Fraser of the California Boxing Hall of Fame recalled that Filippo was originally awarded a victory in the first bout against Ortiz after being hit after the bell, but a Times reporter questioned a member of the California State Athletic Commission about that ruling, and the no-contest decision was invoked.

Fraser said about 40 gamblers who were set to lose money on the Filippo victory then forced the ring announcer to re-enter the Legion Stadium ring in Hollywood and announce the ruling so they could avoid the payoffs.

In a sport often stained by shady behavior, Fraser and veteran boxing publicist Bill Caplan recalled Filippo as a pillar of character and honesty who proceeded to referee and judge 85 world championship fights, including Sugar Ray Leonard's controversial split-decision victory over Marvin Hagler in 1987. Filippo scored narrowly in Hagler's favor.

"He took some heat, but why?" Caplan asked. "The perfect man would've taken heat over that fight. Half of the people thought each guy won."

Filippo also judged Shane Mosley's split-decision victory over Oscar De La Hoya at Staples Center in 2000, awarding Mosley a 116-112 score.

Filippo told his two daughters that the most important part of his job was to maintain integrity and to "listen to yourself, not the fans."

Caplan said Filippo's reputation as a "loyal, straight-up guy" helped him win Stallone's attention, and the actor used Filippo in five "Rocky" movies. In "Rocky II," Filippo tells Stallone's bloodied character Rocky Balboa before the epic 15th round, "Hey, Rock, you get in trouble one more time . . . ," to which Balboa answers, "Don't stop nothing!" When both fighters fall to the canvas on a Balboa punch and Creed slumps in a corner, Filippo tells the champ, "You're out!"

Filippo was born Dec. 1, 1925 in Los Angeles, attended Fremont High School in South L.A. and served in the Navy during World War II.

He was elected president of the World Boxing Hall of Fame in 1993, and he judged a bout at the Commerce Casino only two weeks ago, his daughter Patti Petruzelli said. She said her father was never sick and only complained of his first headache last week. But he sorely missed his late wife, Pat, who died in 2007, and his daughter said, "He's where he wants to be now. He loved her.

"Boxing was his second love."

In addition to Petruzelli, Filippo is survived by another daughter, Debbye Shepard; two grandsons; and three great-grandchildren.

Visitation is scheduled for Friday from 4 to 8 p.m. at Miller Mies Mortuary, 11015 Downey Ave., Downey. The funeral will be Saturday at 9:30 a.m. at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church, 10727 Downey Ave., Downey.

lance.pugmire@latimes.com

Twitter.com/latimespugmire

Sunday, October 25, 2009

World Boxing Hall of Fame...2009

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Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Frank Baltazar - Bio for Johnny Flores Award

By Rick Farris

Frank Baltazar's involvement in boxing began shortly after WW2 at the age of 12.
Growing up in Los Angeles and fighting out of the Teamster's Gym, Frank fought under Hoyt Porter and Louie Jaurequi.

In the mid-60's, Frank turned from boxing to coaching and took over the Los Angeles Junior Golden Gloves program, helping develop future top contenders and world champions, including two of his four sons, Frankie Jr. and Tony Baltazar.
The Junior Golden Gloves was created by Johnny Flores and Louie Jaurequi. Frank Baltazar would take over the program after Flores and Jaurequi focused on developing professional boxers.

Under Frank's guidance, the Junior Golden Gloves program not only contributed to boxing, but to the community, providing youth with an alternative to gang involvment.

In 1973, Frank was head coach for Los Angeles Golden Gloves team which represented the City of Angels in the annual National Golden Gloves "Tournament of Champions" helden in Boston, Mass.

The all-star L.A. team included future contenders and a world champ in Art Frias, Frankie Duarte, Randy Shields and national Golden Gloves champ, Roy Hollis.

Frank would later manage the careers of his two oldest sons, both who reached top ranking in the junior lightweight and welterweight divisions.

Frank has been married to his wife, Connie, for more than fifty years. They have one daughter, Linda, and four sons, Frank Jr., Tony, Bobby and James.

Today, Frank Baltazar is the Vice President of the California Boxing Hall of Fame and contributes his knowledge and history thru a variety of on-line boxing publications, most notably the "Classic American West Coast Boxing" thread of the Boxrec Forum.

The World Boxing Hall of Fame is honored to have Frank Baltazar the first recipient of the annual "Johnny Flores Youth Development Award" for his contribution to youth, boxing and the community.

Monday, October 19, 2009

FATHER

By Roger Esty

I've seen the managers and promoters who've drained the life's blood from their charges. The fighters who had nothing to show for it in the end. What's worse they were allowed to continue too long. Those boys need to be protected now. Some have caretakers. Some live on the county farm. Some wander the streets. Some have droped off the face of the earth.

What I've never understood is why a father would push his son into the most unforgiving of sports, and then let him continue when everyone around could see that it was a bad risk to let it go on.

Frank Baltazar was not one of those fathers. His sons took to the sport without overbearing pressure nor a guilt trip laid upon them from their dad.The sons wanted to box. So be it. When Frank saw that Frankie Jr. was at the end of his career,he told him to clear out his locker. Frank would walk away.There was an empty locker at the Main Street Gym. Tony,the younger brother, thought he could still go. Frank explained to his son that he was a man who could make his own decisions about continuing his career if he wanted,but Frank would not be involved anymore. He washed his hands of it.He told his son that he loved him . Tony was on his own.

Frank told me that every time his sons entered the ring, he was a nervous wreck.That's the way it should be with fathers and sons in this sport. I've seen the exploiters, and the ones who can't see that their guy hasn't anything left.

Next Saturday they're going to give Frank an award at the World Boxing Hall Of Fame Banquet.The Johnny Flores Award. An award that is significant of someone who has given an honest effort developing young fighters. I'll be on my feet applauding.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

CAPICHE?

By Roger Esty

"Do you get it? Capiche?",my Uncle Joe turned to my father.
"Naw,it didn't happen that way. That movie is horrible,"responded my father.
We were all sitting in the living room. My sisters rented The Godfather. The movie had been out quite a while,but my father never seemed interested to watch it. Finally,one night we talked him into it.My mother stayed in the bedroom.
"But Joe,"said my uncle with a big smile,"how about when Marlon Brando makes him an offer he can't refuse?"
My uncle was beside himself. He grew up in the neighborhood in the Southwest Side of Chicago ,but was never in the Outfit. He saw those guys,but they never cut him in on anything. My father? Well,his dad Diamond Joe assured my father that one day he would be welcome. He knew them all.

"Look."said my father to my uncle,"if you believe that crap go ahead. You're about that stupid to fall for it."
My father never cared much for my Uncle Joe(my mother's brother).I don't think my Uncle Joe liked my father much either. My father thought that his brother in law was a low life always going to Tijuana on the bus playing the dogs at Caliente and eating those hot dogs off the cart and getting in at 4 in the morning. You see,my uncle was living with us at the time.

My uncle thought he told the funniest stories . He liked to talk about when he was in the Army in WWII. I don't think he saw any action or he would have talked about it,but he did say that General Patton gave him a pat on the shoulder while my uncle was on guard duty in France.

My dad was a Marine in two of the biggest battles of the Pacific and in the thick of it everyday. My father thought my uncle was a blowhard.

"But Giuseppe ,"urged my uncle,"The Godfather won all the awards."
"I don't give a damn. What do they know?"
Well, that night was a dud. My father wasn't impressed and it put another nail into my uncle's coffin as far as my dad liking him.

"Joe,"said my uncle laughing away,"The Godfather won Brando an Oscar."
"Look,"said my father with a straight face,"You and Brando can go f--k yourselves. Capiche?

Friday, October 9, 2009

The "Maravilla Kid" . . .

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Ruben Navarro

painting by Roger Esty


Story by Rick Farris

If somebody were to ask me to describe in one word, the boxing style of Ruben Navarro, it would be difficult to do, just as Ruben's style was difficult for opponents to deal with.

Elusive, unorthodox, agrressive, defensive, explosive . . . take your pick?
Ruben was kind of like Houdini when backed into a corner by a power puncher, he was a natural escape artist.
I've seen Ruben Navarro bend, twist and contort his body in so many ways avoiding punishment. One time he dipped so low to the ground while trapped in a corner, I thought he was going to crawl thru his opponents legs. He almost did, but was able to slip around to the outside and turn the tables on his attacker.
I'll say this, his style reaked havoc among some of the greatest lightweights in the world during the late 60's to mid-70's.

I'd meet Ruben Navarro in 1967, a few fights into his pro career, when his longtime coach, Marty Denkin, turned over the Maravilla Kid's contract to Johnny Flores.
I was just a Junior Golden Glover at the time, but when Ruben joined our stable, he joined top professionals such as up and coming heavyweight, Jerry Quarry, and featherweight terror, Dwight "The Hawk" Hawkins.

Ruben Navarro was 100% East L.A.
Navarro grew up in Maravilla, a tough Eastside barrio that spawned many a prizefighter during the past century.
Maravilla was home to former world bantamweight title challeneger Jesus Pimentel, and featherweight title challengers Danny Valdez and Jose Pimentel, Jesus' twin brother.
Of all the great fighters that would come out of East L.A. during the era, none had the charisma of the "Maravilla Kid".

Ruben started his boxing career at the Eastside Boy's Club, under the coaching of Marty Denkin.
Marty, a future Hall of Fame referee, would put young Ruben into the Junior Golden Gloves and eventually take him to the 1964 U.S. Olympic Trials, which took place at the Singer Bowl of the New York World's Fair.

I remember Ruben Navarro back in 1967, when he joined the Johnny Flores stable. Ruben had been a hot shot amateur in Los Angeles from the late 50's thru the 1964 Olympic Trials.
The Olympics that produced Joe Frazier.

Ruben wouldn't make the team that rep'd the USA in Tokyo, but he made it to the trials, and that in itself was an accomplishment.
After the Olympics, Ruben competed in the 1965 Golden Gloves and the went into the Army.
After his hitch in the service was up, Navarro returned to L.A. and turned professional.

Ruben quickly began to dominate the 130 pounders of L.A. Under Denkin, the only blemish on Ruben's career was a draw with future featherweight contender, Tony Alvarado.
He whipped local favorites such Baby Cassius and Leonard Lopez, Ernie's brother.
After that, Denkin turned Navarro over to Johnny Flores in late 1967.

With weekly boxing cards broadcast live on TV from the Olympic Auditorium, Ruben Navarro would quickly become one of L.A.'s most popular attractions.

The ELA kid whose friends called him "Jemima", because of his dark skin, was on the edge of boxing stardom.
In 1968, Flores would help turn Ruben Navarro into a world class junior lightweight.

I remember the first time I saw Ruben boxing at the Main Street Gym. He and his old pal, Jose Pimentel, would put on a helluva exhibition.
The next day, I would warm Ruben up, sparring with him before he boxed with both Pimentel and Rod Contreras, another Flores stablemate of ours.

In 1968, Flores would match his newest hot shot with one of the hardest punching top ten rated lightweights in the world, Nigeria's Ray Adigun.
The bout was held at the Olympic Auditorium and Navarro out-boxed and out-punched the African, dropping him twice before the bout was stopped in the ninth round.

A month later he travels to Tokyo with Johnny and Julio Flores, his trainer, and upsets one of the greatest Japanese world champs ever, Hiroshi Kobayashi.
You know that Ruben must have laced him pretty good, the Japanese make it difficult to win in their country.

Less than two months later, it's back to L.A. to make his Forum boxing debut on the undercard of the Dwight Hawkins-Frankie Crawford featherweight showdown.
This time Ruben would be facing the Mexican Lightweight Champ, Arturo Lomeli, in a 12-rounder for the North American Lightweight title.
Lomeli was tough, and he floored Ruben twice in the twelve rounder. Ruben showed his heart, but it wasn't his night.
The Maravilla kid would lose for the first time, but he proved he could come off the deck and fight his way back.

Flores kept Ruben busy, despite the loss to Lomeli, Navarro was on a role.
He was a hot item in Japan after whipping Kobayashi, and the Japanese would appreciate some revenge.
To get that revenge another world champ, Yoshiaki Numata, would get the call.
Just a few weeks after his first loss, Ruben Navarro , Flores and company were on a jet back to Tokyo.
Again, Ruben had his way with a Japanese champion, but this time he wouldn't have his way with the judges.
After the final bell, Flores said they were confident of another win. They had to settle for a draw.
That's all the Japanses were going to let Navarro leave with this time.

No sooner had Johnny Flores returned to L.A. following Navarro's draw with Numata, he recieved a phone call from Manila.
The phone call would net Ruben Navarro his first world title fight.
Two months after the Numata match, Ruben and team Navarro would be returning to the Orient, this time to the Philipines.
The opponent would be Manila's Rene Barrientos, and the match would be for the Vacant WBC Super-featherweight title.

The title fight would be held in a large outdoor stadium and I recall Flores describing the venue.
Flores said that all of the public rest rooms were closed to the fans, the facilities were used to house cages of fighting game cocks, for cock fights held at the arena on sundays.
The fans would just pee on the corridor walls.

Navarro didn't have much problem out hustling Barrientos, but a hometown decision sent the Maravilla Kid back to L.A. without a title.

During the next year Ruben Navarro would put together a half dozen more victories before being matched with cross-town rival, "Irish" Jimmy Robertson.
This would be a tough match for Navarro, who had been down and behind on points before stopping Robertson on a cut in the fifth.
A rematch would be in order, but first Ruben had other business to deal with in Los Angeles.

A month after Navarro's match with Jimmy Robertson, I would make my pro debut at the Olympic. A month later, I'd have my second pro fight on the undercard of a big L.A. grudge match.
In this bout, my stablemate Ruben Navarro, would take on former two-time world champ, Raul Rojas in the main event.
Rojas had been talking tough in the papers and called the Maravilla Kid, "A dog."

The bout was held in July, 1970 and Navarro had his way with Rojas, sending him to the deck in the ninth round, before capturing a unanimous ten-round decision.
After the beating Ruben laid on Rojas, it was obvious that the only dog in the ring was Raul, a dog with a lot of fleas.

After the bout, Ruben was introduced to my girlfriend's family, which included her sister, a local TV celebrity and her husband, Olympic pole-vault gold medalist and world record holder, Bob Seagren.

The following week, Ruben would join Bob Seagren and myself on our distance runs. Roadwork suddenly became a lot more than a run thru the hills.
In the gym, in the ring, Ruben Navarro would have the better of it when we boxed together. On the trail, things weren't so easy.
Ruben Navarro was a great distance runner. He'd competed on his high school cross country team and would hang in with Seagren on our runs, at least until the end when Bob would kick it up and leave Ruben and I in the dust.
We'd run thru the hills in Monterey Park and occasionally hit the L.A. Coliseum where we'd run stadium stairs with Seagren.

The extensive road work Ruben and I did with Bob Seagren paid off for both us condition wise.
Ruben was hitting his prime and worked hard in the gym, but he played equally hard during the night, when he'd go out drinking and drugging.
When not in training for a specific fight, Ruben's life became one big party.

A couple months after the Rojas victory, Ruben Navarro had to settle some old business.
Aileen Eaton matched Ruben with the only man to defeat him, Mexico's Arturo Lomeli. Again, I would open the show in a four rounder.
During the two years that had passed since his loss to Lomeli, Navarro had defeated two world champs, not to mention rugged Jimmy Robertson.

This bout would be the the first ever to determine an NABF Lightweight Champion, and once again it would be close.
Ruben staggered Lomeli in the third round, but the tough Mexican came back strong. Navarro put on a late rally to pull out a split decision victory.

Ruben closed out 1970 with a two round knockout over Filippino Mar Yuzon at the Olympic, and then would take a few weeks off.
Ruben partied hard during his time off with no idea what awaited him in the new year.

Mando Ramos had lost his lightweight title to Ismael Laguna in early 1970. In his first title defense, Laguna lost the title to Scotland's Ken Buchanan.
Aileen Eaton was anxious for Ramos to win back the championship, and set up a WBA lightweight title match with Buchanan.
The date for the Buchanan-Ramos title fight was set for February 12, 1971 at the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena.
After the bout was signed, Johnny Flores informed me that I would be opening the show in a six-rounder.
I was excited to be fighting on a World Championship undercard and was in great shape for the opportunity.
About the same time, Flores signs for Ruben to face Jimmy Robertson in a rematch, roughly six weeks after the Buchanan-Ramos fight.

About a week before the lightweight title fight, I see Ruben at the Olympic Auditorium, attending a thursday night fight card.
It was obvious that Navarro was loaded, stumbling up and down the aisles, shaking hands with fans, taking bows.
I knew that he would be leaving for camp a few days later, and that I'd be joining the camp for a few days of sparring prior to my six-rounder on the title card the following friday.

The day we arrived at the Massacre Canyon Inn in Hemet for training camp, Johnny Flores joins us later in the restaurant.
Flores had been in L.A. all day negotiating with Aileen Eaton over a deal for Navarro, however, it wasn't for his match with Robertson.
As it turns out, Mando Ramos had pulled out of the title fight with Buchanan, just four days prior to the match.
The excuse was that Mando was injured, but we all knew it had something to do with his drug abuse.
The L.A. Sports Arena was nearly sold out for the title fight, and suddenly Eaton had no opponent for Buchanan.
Flores offered up Ruben Navarro as a replacment, and Aileen quickly agreed to the match.
As we are sitting in the restaurant, Flores breaks the news to Ruben, that on friday evening he'd be fighting Ken Buchanan for the World Lightweight Championship.
We were all happy for Ruben, but I was privatley concerned for my stablemate. He was in no conditon to fight anybody, let alone the lightweight champion of the world.
I kept picturing him staggering around the Olympic just a few days earlier, totally drunk and high.

On Friday night, the Maravilla Kid, totally out of condition, stepped into the ring with Ken Buchanan at the L.A. Sports Arena.
I had scored my first pro knockout on the undercard, and was praying that Ruben Navarro could pull off the same thing against Buchanan.
For a moment, I thought my prayer had been answered.

At the opening bell, Ruben darted across the ring and went right to work on Buchanan. Less than halfway thru the round, Navarro lands an overhand right that lands solid on Buchanan's chin.
The tough Scot hits the deck for a flash knockdown and the Los Angeles Sports Arena exploded in excitment.
Buchanan rose quickly and was able to survive Navarro's attempt to put him away.
Navarro's conditioning could not sustain a steady attack and as the bout progressed, Buchanan took control and defeated Navarro by way of a fifteen-round decision.
Navarro had little chance of winning, but considering his conditoning and last minute notice, he impressed most in atttendence.

The following month, Navarro still had another fight to prepare himself for, the rematch with Robertson.
With his bank account getting an unexpected boost with the purse from his title fight, Ruben and Carol Navarro purchased a beautiful Spanish style home in Monterey Park.
Ruben and Carol's new home was just a few blocks from the home of my girlfriend's family.
We would all attend a housewarming party at the Navarro home just a week before the rematch with Jimmy Robertson.

In March of 1971, just over a month after losing to Buchanan, I would open the show the night Ruben would face Jimmy Robertson for the second time at the Olympic.
The bout was scheduled for twelve rounds for the vacant NABF Lightweight title.
Ruben scored well in the third round, but the bout was boring. Both fighters grabbed and held, and following a late rally, Robertson took a close majority decision.

During the next six months Navarro would fight just one time, winning an easy decision over Tony Jumao-As, before signing for another big L.A. showdown.
This time, Ruben would take on one the most popular prizefighters to ever come out of Los Angeles, Armando Ramos.
Ramos was only 22, but had become the youngest boxer in history to win the world lightweight championship.
As a result of his wild life style, he'd also become the youngest lightweight champ to lose the title.

Despite Los Angeles having several world class lightweight contenders, the career of Mando Ramos overshadowed the rest.
Like Navarro, Ramos lived a wild lifestyle and had lost his title only a year after winning it.
This bout wouldn't have a championship tied to it, at least not officially, however, at stake was something more important to both Navarro and Ramos.
Both sought bragging rights as the best lightweight in L.A. and the two were far from strangers.
More than once, Mando Ramos and Ruben Navarro had spent time together partying. There was a friendly respect, but also a pair of big egos backed by big talent.

There was no shortage of animosity going into this bout, but Navarro had another obstacle to consider.
Mando Ramos was the "house fighter" at the Olympic.
Mando's ring talent won the world title, but it was promoter Aileen Eaton's close alliance with Ramos' manager, Jackie McCoy, that made such a match possible.

It was only a matter of time before Ramos and Navarro would meet in the ring, and when they did the fireworks flew.
Ruben trained hard for the match and fought beyond himself. He literally took control of the match and kept Ramos off-balance.
In the end, it had been a very close fight, one that had lived up to all expectations. When the final bell rang, I was certain Navarro had won.
The judges saw it differently, all giving Mando the fight by a slight margin.

Years later, Mando and I would discuss this fight. Like most fighters, Mando believed he was a clear winner.
I told Mando I saw him clearly win many fights, but not the Navarro fight. I didn't keep score, but after ten rounds I thought Ruben had edged him.
Mando smiled and acknowledged that Navarro gave him a difficult evening, then we changed the subject.

Ruben was in great shape for Ramos. and Flores didn't want to give him time to fall out of shape.
Just four weeks after the disappointing loss to Mando Ramos, Navarro would have a chance to face another hot L.A. lightweight, "Irish" Frankie Crawford.

Crawford had engaged in two tough wars with Mando Ramos early in their careers, and had upset Ramos in their first bout.
In the time since, he twice faced featherweight champ, Shozo Saijyo of Japan in Tokyo.
Both bouts with Saijyo were for the title, and it was reported that Crawford had been robbed of the decision in each.

In the first round of Ruben Navarro's bout with Frankie Crawford, the Maravilla Kid scored early, rattling Crawford with a jolting over-hand right to the jaw.
Crawford staggered back and fought to stay on his feet. That was the beginning of the end for Frankie Crawford.
After ten rounds, Navarro scored a near shutout on the scorecards.

In 1972, Navarro would start the year with three wins before being matched with another exceptional L.A. lightweight contender, Rodolfo "El Gato" Gonzalez.
Having fared well in cross-town showdowns with Rojas, Robertson, Ramos and Crawford, Ruben would this time face the last of the local 135 pound contenders.
He would also be facing the deadliest of the lot. A strong, elusive, power puncher with a clever, cunning style that destroyed opposition with devistating body blows.

Rodolfo Gonzalez' career had been stifled thru bad management and health challenges. He had scored thrity five consecutive KO's, a record among world champions of any size or era, but he was avoided for years.
Now under the management of Jackie McCoy, Gonzalez was a stablemate of Mando Ramos, and was starting to get important fights.
Although late in his career, Gonzalez was grateful. Better late than never.

At the Anaheim Convention Center, Ruben and El Gato would go toe-to-toe, but Navarro would spend a lot of time on the ropes, absorbing punishment.
Both men were cut, and at the end of ten rounds, Rodolfo Gonzalez was awarded a close, majority decision.

By this time, I had left the Johnny Flores stable, and after the Gonzalez match, Ruben would also part with Flores.
During the remaining two years of Ruben Navarro's ring career, he would be guided by Harry Kabakoff.
I remember Ruben complaining to myself and another boxer, "Harry takes 50% of my purse!"
The other boxer laughed, "Is that all he's taking? He didn't treat me that well."

During the next nine months, the WBC lightweight title would change hands three times.
Mando Ramos had won the title from Pedro Carrasco. Mando was then KOed by Chango Carmona and lost the title to the Mexican Lightweight champ.
Ramos stablemate, Rodolfo Gonzalez then was given a long awaited title shot, taking on Carmona in his first title defense.
Rodolfo "El Gato" Gonzalez knew he'd only have one chance to become a champion and took full advantage of the opportunity.
El Gato destroyed Chango Carmona, the bout being stopped after twelve rounds. Rodolfo Gonzalez was now the WBC Lightweight Champion of the world.

El Gatos' first title defense would be against the Maravilla Kid. The match would be held at the Los Angeles Sports Arena, the same place where Navarro had fought Ken Buchanan, two years earlier.
It was an all-star card that also featured WBA Lightweight Champ, Roberto Duran, in a non-title fight.

After seeing how handily Rodolfo Gonzalez had handled Chango Carmona, I was concerned for my former stablemate.
Navarro attempted to box El Gato but Gonzalez just kept the pressure on, slamming Ruben with brutal hooks and upper cuts, closing one eye and bloodying his face.
Ruben fought back gamely but in the ninth round, referee George Latka stopped the bout.

After the loss to Gonzalez, Ruben would only fight two more times.
His last bout took place in 1974, at the legendary San Diego Coliseum. The Coliseum was a far cry from the big venues that Navarro had packed during his heyday.
The Coliseum was nothing more than a glorified cock pit, a place that held several hundred fans. I used to consider it a "Graveyard" for L.A. fighters.

I would have my last fight at the San Diego Coliseum, and so would Ruben Navarro a few months later.

In his last ring appearance, the "Maravilla Kid" Ruben Navarro would take on another comebacking former contender, former Mexican featherweight champ, Aurileo Muniz.
Muniz stopped Ruben in the seventh round. Navarro called it quits, never to return to boxing.

A few months later, I see Ruben at the Atlantic Square shopping center in Monterey Park. He was with his wife Carol and three children, Todd, Julie and Lance.
Ruben said he had been working carrying steel for a freeway construction company, and his wife Carol had become involved with the Jehova's Witness religon.

The next time I would see or talk with Ruben Navarro would be more than twenty years later. He was a different man.
Ruben Navarro had many years of sobriety and himself had become a Jehovahs Witmess.
He looked good, a lot heavier, but a lot happier inside. His dark black hair had turned white, his features had softened.
However, when I looked deep into his coal black eyes I could see the warrior of days past. And when he spoke, the voice was the same deep gravely tone I'd come to know very well.

Today I see a lot of sad cases when I visit with boxers from the past. Not so with Ruben Navarro.
After boxing, Ruben would own several businesses and all have done well. He had transformed himself from a wild Hell raiser to a dedicated family man.

East L.A.'s Ruben Navarro, the "Maravilla Kid" made it big in boxing, and even bigger in life.
A true success story!