April 13, 1991|EARL GUSTKEY
Before World War II, there lived in Los Angeles a promising amateur featherweight named Johnny Flores.
Couldn't miss, folks said. He had already won some amateur tournaments when war came. Flores wound up as an Army infantryman, landing at Salerno, Italy.
Early one morning in 1944, Flores and five comrades sought refuge from German artillery fire in a small, abandoned farmhouse. But as the Germans began targeting the house, the six soldiers prepared to flee.
As they ran from the house, a round exploded directly above them. Five died instantly. By the time they got Flores to a field hospital, he was bleeding profusely from 33 shrapnel holes in his body.
But Johnny Flores survived. They gave him the purple heart, silver star and bronze star. He spent years recovering from his wounds, and never was able to resume boxing.
Instead, he turned to coaching young boxers, directing troubled kids into boxing gyms, organizing amateur boxing shows. Today, at 74, he still carries little chunks of steel in his body.
And in L.A., he is Mr. Amateur Boxing.
This week, he has been the major domo at something like his 750th amateur boxing tournament at the Lincoln Park Recreation Center gym. Tonight the finals of the 1991 Los Angeles Golden Gloves tournament will be fought.
Flores has no idea how many events he has run, or how many kids stayed out of trouble because he kept them in boxing gyms. So let's call it hundreds, in both cases.
Over the years, he has trained noteworthy pros, among them Jerry Quarry, Dwight Hawkins and Ruben Navarro. He has also seen countless promising prospects wash out along the way.
One boxer he has watched closely in this week's tournament is novice super-heavyweight David Luster, a 6-foot-4, 228-pound former linebacker at San Diego State. At 27, Luster began the tournament with only five amateur bouts.
Luster won Wednesday night, and will seek the L.A. Golden Gloves title tonight. If he wins, he will be on the L.A. team challenging the San Diego winners April 20. The North-South California Championships are April 27. Both the L.A.-San Diego and North-South events are at Lincoln Park.
Those winners will advance to the national Golden Gloves championships in Des Moines, Iowa, May 6-12.
Luster figures he is making up for a lack of experience by having picked Mercer Smith as his trainer. It was Smith who found Henry Tillman in a California Youth Authority boxing class and took him to a gold medal at the Los Angeles Olympics.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Johnnie Flores
Among The Valiant.....Raul Morin
Los Diablos Azules (The Blue Devils)
The 88th was another Infantry Division in the Italian front that included many of our men.
The was the first 'all-selectee' Division that was brought up to aid the battle-tested combat groups, who had been battling the Germans since back in Africa and Sicily, and comprised part of the 5th Army in Italy.
Their men were called "Los Soldados A Huevo" (soldiers by compulsion) by ribbing infantrymen of the other divisions who had doubting suspicions of their fighting ability. They quickly dispelled all doubts by their sterling performance on the battlefield, by the impressive record of their infantryman in the Italian campaign, they were calling them,"BlauTeufels" or the Blue Devils.
March 15, 1944-While fighting near Cassino with the 349th Infantry Regiment of the newly arrived 88th Division. Johnnie Flores, rifleman from Los Angeles, went out on a daylight patrol and heard a funny noise in a house two miles behind the German lines. Investigating, Flores burst in upon a Kraut officer writing a letter. Mustering all the courage he possessed, he harshly ordered the officer outside. He was astonished to have fourteen other Germans rush in from an adjoining room, meekly surrender, and join the party to be marched back to the American lines. He felt worse after he goose-stepped the supermen to a POW cage and then discovered that his rifle had been jammed all during the performance.
For this daring exploit, Flores was recommended for a Silver Star, but he never received it,Instead, he was court-martialled because of a run-in with one of the officers of his company.
The officer complained that Flores had laughed at him when he ordered him to put on his helmet while out on patrol. Flores contended it wasn't customary to wear a helmet in a night patrol since he was the lead scout, and furthermore, the officer "wasn't even on the patrol." He (Flores) could not resist telling the officer he did not agree, in no uncertain terms.
Many months later, Flores was awarded the Bronze Star for his "heroic acheivement" in volunteering to occupy a tower near the Arno River to observe German movements. The Germans spotted him, turned direct artillery on the observation post and reduced it to rubble. Flores received severe wounds on his back and neck. He was sent back to an Army hospital, then sent stateside and later honorably discharged.
Los Diablos Azules (The Blue Devils)
The 88th was another Infantry Division in the Italian front that included many of our men.
The was the first 'all-selectee' Division that was brought up to aid the battle-tested combat groups, who had been battling the Germans since back in Africa and Sicily, and comprised part of the 5th Army in Italy.
Their men were called "Los Soldados A Huevo" (soldiers by compulsion) by ribbing infantrymen of the other divisions who had doubting suspicions of their fighting ability. They quickly dispelled all doubts by their sterling performance on the battlefield, by the impressive record of their infantryman in the Italian campaign, they were calling them,"BlauTeufels" or the Blue Devils.
March 15, 1944-While fighting near Cassino with the 349th Infantry Regiment of the newly arrived 88th Division. Johnnie Flores, rifleman from Los Angeles, went out on a daylight patrol and heard a funny noise in a house two miles behind the German lines. Investigating, Flores burst in upon a Kraut officer writing a letter. Mustering all the courage he possessed, he harshly ordered the officer outside. He was astonished to have fourteen other Germans rush in from an adjoining room, meekly surrender, and join the party to be marched back to the American lines. He felt worse after he goose-stepped the supermen to a POW cage and then discovered that his rifle had been jammed all during the performance.
For this daring exploit, Flores was recommended for a Silver Star, but he never received it,Instead, he was court-martialled because of a run-in with one of the officers of his company.
The officer complained that Flores had laughed at him when he ordered him to put on his helmet while out on patrol. Flores contended it wasn't customary to wear a helmet in a night patrol since he was the lead scout, and furthermore, the officer "wasn't even on the patrol." He (Flores) could not resist telling the officer he did not agree, in no uncertain terms.
Many months later, Flores was awarded the Bronze Star for his "heroic acheivement" in volunteering to occupy a tower near the Arno River to observe German movements. The Germans spotted him, turned direct artillery on the observation post and reduced it to rubble. Flores received severe wounds on his back and neck. He was sent back to an Army hospital, then sent stateside and later honorably discharged.
Monday, May 23, 2011
On Golden Pond . . .
By Rick Farris
This is one of the best movies I ever worked on. One of the best ever. It was the last for both Henry Fonda amd Kate Hepburn.
Jane Fonda starred, and she was the one that forced the movie to be made. The young studio execs told Fonda nobody wanted to watch a movie about old people.
Jane Fonda proved them wrong. It won best picture honors at the Oscars that year, and many more.
I was called a few days before the crew left for Lake Winnipesakee, New Hampshire. I had only been in town a week, having returned from a Texas location on another film. I would replace a crew member who had taken ill. The cinematographer was Lazlo Kovacs, an Oscar winner. Lazlo and his lighting director, Rich Aguilar had been together since the late 60's, when they worked with another Fonda, Peter, on Easy Rider. Back in those days they were renegade filmakers, but at the time they had settled into filming some of Hollywood's finest films. I was glad to be on this film, and I would learn a lot.
We filmed at the lake, where we all had cabins and small motor boats docked outside.
In the morning I'd wake, get ready, and then cruise across the lake in the little boat with one of the grips, who was in the cabin next door. At the end of the day, we'd crusie back to our cabins.
The lake house used in the film was built by the studio, and it was built for filming, complete with wild walls as would be used if built on stage.
We could film in one direction, then turn around and film the other direction by removing one of the walls to make room for the camera crew, etc.
I would hang tight to the camera. As they would rehearse, I'd quietly sit under the lens, near Kovacs as he set up the shot.
The director was in over his head with such great talent, andhe let them do as they wished. You didn't mess with Hollywood Royalty.
In on scene, Henry Fonda ad libs in a scene he is playing with Dabney Coleman, and it's in the film.
In the scene, it's obvious that Coleman's charactor is afraid of bears, and his line to Fonda is . . . "Do you ever see any bears around here?"
Henry Fonda, playing Norman Thayer responds in his own words . . . "Yeah, had a grizzly come around just last week. He ate an old lesbian."
The crew held their laughter until after the cut. The sht was used in the film.
Thirty years ago it's been. Fonda and Hepburn are long gone, so is Lazlo Kovacs. The movie was on Showtime today, and I started to watch it, I remembered what it was like, I was 29 at the time. I waited for the scene where Fonda adlibbed his line, and remembered how we enjoyed it. I then turned off the TV.
This is one of the best movies I ever worked on. One of the best ever. It was the last for both Henry Fonda amd Kate Hepburn.
Jane Fonda starred, and she was the one that forced the movie to be made. The young studio execs told Fonda nobody wanted to watch a movie about old people.
Jane Fonda proved them wrong. It won best picture honors at the Oscars that year, and many more.
I was called a few days before the crew left for Lake Winnipesakee, New Hampshire. I had only been in town a week, having returned from a Texas location on another film. I would replace a crew member who had taken ill. The cinematographer was Lazlo Kovacs, an Oscar winner. Lazlo and his lighting director, Rich Aguilar had been together since the late 60's, when they worked with another Fonda, Peter, on Easy Rider. Back in those days they were renegade filmakers, but at the time they had settled into filming some of Hollywood's finest films. I was glad to be on this film, and I would learn a lot.
We filmed at the lake, where we all had cabins and small motor boats docked outside.
In the morning I'd wake, get ready, and then cruise across the lake in the little boat with one of the grips, who was in the cabin next door. At the end of the day, we'd crusie back to our cabins.
The lake house used in the film was built by the studio, and it was built for filming, complete with wild walls as would be used if built on stage.
We could film in one direction, then turn around and film the other direction by removing one of the walls to make room for the camera crew, etc.
I would hang tight to the camera. As they would rehearse, I'd quietly sit under the lens, near Kovacs as he set up the shot.
The director was in over his head with such great talent, andhe let them do as they wished. You didn't mess with Hollywood Royalty.
In on scene, Henry Fonda ad libs in a scene he is playing with Dabney Coleman, and it's in the film.
In the scene, it's obvious that Coleman's charactor is afraid of bears, and his line to Fonda is . . . "Do you ever see any bears around here?"
Henry Fonda, playing Norman Thayer responds in his own words . . . "Yeah, had a grizzly come around just last week. He ate an old lesbian."
The crew held their laughter until after the cut. The sht was used in the film.
Thirty years ago it's been. Fonda and Hepburn are long gone, so is Lazlo Kovacs. The movie was on Showtime today, and I started to watch it, I remembered what it was like, I was 29 at the time. I waited for the scene where Fonda adlibbed his line, and remembered how we enjoyed it. I then turned off the TV.
Art Aragon
By Cholo
August 1956, when Aragon was awarded a ninth-round TKO over Cisco Andrade, a local product who is a top contender for the world lightweight title, in an outdoor fight at Wrigley Field, the referee, Abe Roth, a retired furniture store owner who officiates as a hobby, was suspended on the grounds that he had mishandled the fight. When Aragon heard about it the next day his reaction was, "What-only one official got suspended? I must be slipping."
Aragon made news when a Los Angeles welterweight Dick Goldstein caught him as he was leaving the Olympic Gym in downtown Los Angeles, whirled him around and punched him on the chin.
His motive supposedly was that he had been told Aragon had said he would knock him out in the first round if the two ever were matched, and Goldstein was anxious to disprove this evaluation of his ability. When asked why he didn't punch Goldstein back, Art said, "I wanted to save him.
I may decide to fight him in the ring some time." The next person to take a punch at Aragon was one of the most prominent figures in California boxing circles, Babe McCoy, when the Olympic Auditorium's matchmaker, whose weight is estimated at anywhere from 250 to 300 pounds. It happened just a month after the Goldstein incident.
Aragon was walking out of the Olympic Auditorium after watching the fights, and McCoy stopped him in the aisle to inquire about $125 Aragon allegedly owed him. Art answered him with an insult, and McCoy countered with a haymaker right that missed. It was good for Page One headlines the next day, though, and the only one hurt in the incident was Olympic promoter Cal Eaton, who had tried to seperate the two and caught one of Babe's subsequent wild rights on the jaw..
August 1956, when Aragon was awarded a ninth-round TKO over Cisco Andrade, a local product who is a top contender for the world lightweight title, in an outdoor fight at Wrigley Field, the referee, Abe Roth, a retired furniture store owner who officiates as a hobby, was suspended on the grounds that he had mishandled the fight. When Aragon heard about it the next day his reaction was, "What-only one official got suspended? I must be slipping."
Aragon made news when a Los Angeles welterweight Dick Goldstein caught him as he was leaving the Olympic Gym in downtown Los Angeles, whirled him around and punched him on the chin.
His motive supposedly was that he had been told Aragon had said he would knock him out in the first round if the two ever were matched, and Goldstein was anxious to disprove this evaluation of his ability. When asked why he didn't punch Goldstein back, Art said, "I wanted to save him.
I may decide to fight him in the ring some time." The next person to take a punch at Aragon was one of the most prominent figures in California boxing circles, Babe McCoy, when the Olympic Auditorium's matchmaker, whose weight is estimated at anywhere from 250 to 300 pounds. It happened just a month after the Goldstein incident.
Aragon was walking out of the Olympic Auditorium after watching the fights, and McCoy stopped him in the aisle to inquire about $125 Aragon allegedly owed him. Art answered him with an insult, and McCoy countered with a haymaker right that missed. It was good for Page One headlines the next day, though, and the only one hurt in the incident was Olympic promoter Cal Eaton, who had tried to seperate the two and caught one of Babe's subsequent wild rights on the jaw..
More On Art
By Cholo
Aragon's opinion of himself perhaps is best typified by a brief conversation which took place recently when Art, whose picture appears in the Los Angeles sports sections more often then that of any other contemporary athlete, drove his 1956 Cadillac convertible into one of Los Angeles many drive-in restaurants. The car-hop who approached Art's car to hand him a menu thought his face looked familiar, and she asked politely, "Aren't you a fighter?"
Aragon stuck his elbow out the window, leaned closer to the car-hop, gave her a satisfied smile and said with confidence,
"Honey, I'm the fighter."
Aragon's opinion of himself perhaps is best typified by a brief conversation which took place recently when Art, whose picture appears in the Los Angeles sports sections more often then that of any other contemporary athlete, drove his 1956 Cadillac convertible into one of Los Angeles many drive-in restaurants. The car-hop who approached Art's car to hand him a menu thought his face looked familiar, and she asked politely, "Aren't you a fighter?"
Aragon stuck his elbow out the window, leaned closer to the car-hop, gave her a satisfied smile and said with confidence,
"Honey, I'm the fighter."
Mel in the Military . . .
By Rick Farris
Mel Epstein served in the U.S. Calvary.
He said they would patrol along the US-Mexican border on horses.
I don't know who or what they were looking for, but Mel said they would ride along the banks of the Rio Grande.
"I had this horse that was no good." Epstein said shaking his head.
"Sometimes we'd nap as the horses road along the bank in single file, following the horse in front of them."
Mel's face soured, "But that nag of mine would wait until I dozed off, and the bastid would walk under a low tree branch and try to brush me out of the saddle."
"He would also step too close to the river bank, and sometimes the river would undermine the bank, which meant that I'd wake and find myslf falling into the river with the horse."
"When I finally was discharged, I went up to the horse and fed him an apple. Then I punched the S.O.B. right in the nose!"
Mel Epstein served in the U.S. Calvary.
He said they would patrol along the US-Mexican border on horses.
I don't know who or what they were looking for, but Mel said they would ride along the banks of the Rio Grande.
"I had this horse that was no good." Epstein said shaking his head.
"Sometimes we'd nap as the horses road along the bank in single file, following the horse in front of them."
Mel's face soured, "But that nag of mine would wait until I dozed off, and the bastid would walk under a low tree branch and try to brush me out of the saddle."
"He would also step too close to the river bank, and sometimes the river would undermine the bank, which meant that I'd wake and find myslf falling into the river with the horse."
"When I finally was discharged, I went up to the horse and fed him an apple. Then I punched the S.O.B. right in the nose!"
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Frank, I wonder if Don Fraser remembers this,
By Cholo
To stimulate interest in the Aragon-Danny Giovanelli fight at Hollywood Legion Stadium in March 1956, Don Fraser, the enterprising publicity man for the Stadium, facetiously signed Harvey Knox as Aragon's trainer.
Knox is the stepfather of the transient football star, Ronnie Knox. Harvey is known as quite a headline grabber himself, and the combination of Harvey and Art, however short-lived, unquestionably was the fastest talking team ever to set foot in a boxing ring.
After Art knocked out Giovanelli in the ninth round, the boxing writers covering the fight crowded into Aragon's dressing room to see who, Art or Harvey, was going to have the last word. Surrounded by so many newspapermen, Art and Harvey became dizzy with inspiration. Art said, "Harvey's a hell of a straight man, isn't he?" Harvey suddenly got into an argument with one of the sportswriters, Bud Furillo of the Los Angeles Herald-Express, for whom he had developed a dislike during the previous football season. Furillo said to Harvey, "You call yourself a second ? you don't even make a good third" Whereupon Harvey led with his right and socked Furillo on the jaw.
After other writers had seperated the two combatants, Aragon said in disgust, "That's Harvey -always trying to steal the glory."
To stimulate interest in the Aragon-Danny Giovanelli fight at Hollywood Legion Stadium in March 1956, Don Fraser, the enterprising publicity man for the Stadium, facetiously signed Harvey Knox as Aragon's trainer.
Knox is the stepfather of the transient football star, Ronnie Knox. Harvey is known as quite a headline grabber himself, and the combination of Harvey and Art, however short-lived, unquestionably was the fastest talking team ever to set foot in a boxing ring.
After Art knocked out Giovanelli in the ninth round, the boxing writers covering the fight crowded into Aragon's dressing room to see who, Art or Harvey, was going to have the last word. Surrounded by so many newspapermen, Art and Harvey became dizzy with inspiration. Art said, "Harvey's a hell of a straight man, isn't he?" Harvey suddenly got into an argument with one of the sportswriters, Bud Furillo of the Los Angeles Herald-Express, for whom he had developed a dislike during the previous football season. Furillo said to Harvey, "You call yourself a second ? you don't even make a good third" Whereupon Harvey led with his right and socked Furillo on the jaw.
After other writers had seperated the two combatants, Aragon said in disgust, "That's Harvey -always trying to steal the glory."
Mel, Money and The Mob . . .
By Rick Farris
Mel Epstein wanted no part of Jerry McCauley's generosity.
"Your manager is hooked-up. Don't think I don't know it. He's from Ohio, like Suey. Get the picture?"
Mel ranted on, "He gives you and Gil King each a car, money, and all you gotta do is ride around with him one morning a week?"
"He likes to parade you and that bum around like your his race horses, but you haven't won a Kentucky Derby, have you?" Mel puntuated his point with a smirk.
Mel would be on a roll, "Your manager . . ." he'd say sarcasticly, "comes up to me today and hands me a C-note and tells me to buy the kid dinner tonight."
"So I tells the bastid, I buy you dinner every night. He trys to hand me more cash, but I don't want it."
"Everybody thinks I'm crazy but he can't buy me, that phony Phil Silvers kisses his ass, not me. I'm not rich, I'm on a fixed income, but I don't need him."
Mel then lowers his voice to a whisper, even though we are all alone, "You know, your manager keeps Mike Mazurki's restaurant going at the Elk's building."
Mel continued, "Mazurki told me he'd have gone under long ago, but Jerry pays the bills by ordering food for everybody, kicks in for the rent, etc."
Maybe Jerry McCauley wasn't so bad after all?
However, Mel would never admit it. Business man or not, in Mel's eyes Jerry was a gangster.
Mel's grizzled face softens, "And I was in a union up North, on the docks, we had a great union. I have a small pension, and I have you, the "Obstinate Kid".
Mel would smile, having calmed himself from one his little personal fiascos.
Mel Epstein wanted no part of Jerry McCauley's generosity.
"Your manager is hooked-up. Don't think I don't know it. He's from Ohio, like Suey. Get the picture?"
Mel ranted on, "He gives you and Gil King each a car, money, and all you gotta do is ride around with him one morning a week?"
"He likes to parade you and that bum around like your his race horses, but you haven't won a Kentucky Derby, have you?" Mel puntuated his point with a smirk.
Mel would be on a roll, "Your manager . . ." he'd say sarcasticly, "comes up to me today and hands me a C-note and tells me to buy the kid dinner tonight."
"So I tells the bastid, I buy you dinner every night. He trys to hand me more cash, but I don't want it."
"Everybody thinks I'm crazy but he can't buy me, that phony Phil Silvers kisses his ass, not me. I'm not rich, I'm on a fixed income, but I don't need him."
Mel then lowers his voice to a whisper, even though we are all alone, "You know, your manager keeps Mike Mazurki's restaurant going at the Elk's building."
Mel continued, "Mazurki told me he'd have gone under long ago, but Jerry pays the bills by ordering food for everybody, kicks in for the rent, etc."
Maybe Jerry McCauley wasn't so bad after all?
However, Mel would never admit it. Business man or not, in Mel's eyes Jerry was a gangster.
Mel's grizzled face softens, "And I was in a union up North, on the docks, we had a great union. I have a small pension, and I have you, the "Obstinate Kid".
Mel would smile, having calmed himself from one his little personal fiascos.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
When Losing is Winning: Tony Baltazar vs. Howard Davis, Jr.
By Phil Rice:
The mid-1980s represent something of a golden age for televised boxing. ESPN and USA had weekly boxing shows that often included all of the preliminary matches as well as the main events, so fans got a chance to see the up-and-coming fighters alongside the hard-working club-fighters who might not ever get beyond four-round status. HBO and Showtime programs featured big name attractions, and if a fan watched the cable listings closely, other boxing shows could be found on more obscure channels. But cable television was new and, though the technology was spreading at an enormous rate, as late as 1984 the majority of homes in the United States still picked up their television signal via antennae, which meant their viewing options consisted of ABC, NBC, CBS, and sometimes PBS.
The good news for the boxing fans without cable was that some of the sports' biggest match-ups were still shown live on network telecasts for free, though the viewer was usually forced to wait through various competitions, such as figure skating or skeet shooting, to get to the boxing match. And this is why Sunday, February 22, 1983 found me sitting in front of the television with CBS Sports Sunday on the screen. The telecast featured an indoor track meet, which was not something that would have normally appealed to my tastes but I was willing to keep the show on in anticipation of the intriguing boxing match being offered afterwards. Howard Davis, Jr. was set to box Tony Baltazar in a lightweight match-up.
Davis was a well-known athlete even to the casual sports fan because he had won a gold medal in the 1976 Olympics and had received the Val Barker Award as the outstanding boxer at those games. Afterwards he was considered a star-in-the-making and accordingly signed a huge contract with CBS Sports, but unlike his teammates Ray Leonard, John Tate, Leo Randolph, and brothers Leon and Michael Spinks, as of 1983 Davis had yet to fulfill his promise by winning a professional world championship. Not that he hadn't tried. In 1980 he traveled to Scotland to wrest the WBC crown from Jim Watt, but Watt retained the title with a unanimous decision.
Following his loss to Watt, Davis fought sporadically against good but carefully chosen opponents. With his record stalled at 21-1, he was now looking to drum up interest in a title shot against Ray Mancini, who had won the WBA title from Arturo Frias in an exciting one-round donnybrook. Mancini, a power puncher with a tough chin and enormous heart, was a popular champion and a television favorite, but most boxing insiders gave the slick boxing Davis a comfortable edge in the match-up. Conventional wisdom suggested that Mancini's only chance would be to land a knockout punch, and Davis's skills were considered more than up to the task of keeping him out of harm's way while he piled up the points with combinations from the outside.
In the midst of the build-up to a possible Davis-Mancini battle steps Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar. According to the pre-fight commentary, the fundamental elements of a classic boxer versus puncher encounter were present: a highly skilled defensive master with quick feet and fast hands against a powerful and presumably plodding tough guy with a big punch. The fact that the flashy boxer had shown a questionable chin in previous fights added the necessary element of suspense to the match-up, but the odds still heavily favored the supremely-skilled boxing master over the rugged slugger.
On paper Baltazar was an obvious choice as a tune-up for Davis because he brought many of the same weapons into the ring as Mancini—he was a tough power puncher with an excellent left hook who could be expected to last the distance in a losing effort. To again borrow the old boxing cliché, he only had a puncher's chance in the contest. At least that is what the boxing pundits suggested going into the bout. But, unbeknownst to most of the television viewers, "The Tiger" was much more than a rough brawler. The first clue came when commentator Gil Clancy mentioned that Baltazar "had a great amateur background. He was the National AAU champion . . . ."
Once the bell for round one rang, the Olympic champion began to discover what patrons of the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles had known for years—that Tony Baltazar was a well-trained, fine-tuned fighting machine with good defensive skills. And, as advertised, he also had power to spare.
My casual round-by-round summary of the fight:
Rd 1: Baltazar wins the round by confidently coming after Davis and landing a few punches. Davis moves around but does little offensively, apparently content to use the opening round to size up his opponent.
Baltazar's round, 5-4.
Rd 2: Davis comes out more assertive, throwing combinations and trying to take control of the fight while keeping the action on the outside. Baltazar is aggressive but seems to be impatient and anxious.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 3: Davis is moving, throwing double and triple jabs followed by a right hand, using the ring; Baltazar is throwing a good jab but it's obvious that he's no match for Davis on the outside. He lands a good hook towards the end of the round but not much else.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 4: Baltazar does not seem frustrated by Davis's speed and movement. Davis stays in command for the first minute and a half of the round, but then Baltazar lands a combination that changes the tenor. Suddenly Davis is not moving as much and Baltazar is able to get inside more effectively. With fifteen seconds to go in the round, Baltazar lands a thudding left hook to the body that gets everybody's attention.
Baltazar's round, 5-4.
Rd 5: Baltazar comes out in the fifth and lands a tremendous hook that sends Davis sprawling on the canvas. He struggles to his feet on unsteady legs as the referee counts. Baltazar comes right after him, and Davis immediately shows his world class sprinting ability. At first Baltazar seems a little overanxious, then he calms down—but he calms down a little too much. Davis is able to move around the ring and by mid round his head seems clear and he is throwing combinations again. As the round winds down Baltazar shows his own boxing skills with a powerful jab followed by precise combinations.
Baltazar's round, 5-3.
Rd 6: The first half of the round is evenly contested with Baltazar continuing to come forward and Davis skillfully moving. In the final minute of the round Baltazar slows down slightly and Davis flashes several combinations to gain an edge in scoring.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 7: Another evenly contested round in the opening minute, but this time it's Baltazar who lands the more effective combinations to close the round. He bulls Davis in the corner on occasion and uses his superior strength on the inside.
Balatzar's round, 5-4.
Rd 8: Davis starts the round looking determined to take back control of the fight. He moves less and keeps his hands busy. Baltazar doesn't keep up the pace but he does land some solid punches to the body. In the final minute a perfect left hook drops Davis on his seat.
Baltazar's round, 5-3.
Rd 9: Sensing the fight slip away, Davis comes out aggressively looking to trade, but Baltazar is ready for him. It's a spirited round with Davis taking a very slight edge thanks to his speed and quantity of punches.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 10: Davis continues to be aggressive, and he again gains a very slight edge in an exciting round.
Davis's round, 5-4.
The fight is officially scored on the round system with a supplemental points system to be used in the event of a draw. Because I was, as a fan, pulling for Baltazar, my scoring gives Davis the benefit of the doubt on the close rounds to offset my favoritism. My scorecard shows the fight even at 5 rounds apiece. Using the supplemental scoring system, Baltazar wins 45-43, thanks to the two knockdowns. But the official scorecards were 7-3, 8-2, and 5-4-1 for Davis, thus rendering the supplemental scoring system moot. The Olympic champion is still on course for a title shot.
Baltazar shakes his head when he hears the lopsided scoring as if he senses what is about to happen. When the final verdict in favor of Davis is announced he looks over at Frank Baltazar, his father and chief second, who flashes a cynical and resigned expression that seems to say "well son, we knew you'd have to knock him out to get the win."
Despite being on the victorious end of a highly debatable verdict (most observers felt Baltazar earned the victory), Howard Davis, Jr. proved that he was not only a brilliant boxer but that he possessed a champion's heart. He received more than he bargained for in his opponent this day—Baltazar was clearly a more complete fighter than Mancini—and he had weathered the storm admirably. He had also showed a willingness to get into the trenches and trade punches if necessary, though that was certainly not his preference.
His flawed performance made a fight with Mancini even more intriguing, but it never happened. When he did get another title shot it was against Edwin Rosario for the WBC title. Rosario was a skillful boxer-puncher with good power, and he was at the peak of what would prove to be his athletic prime. Davis lost a split decision, with two knockdowns—both from left hooks—making the difference in the scoring. He retired in 1996 with his goal of becoming a World Champion in the pro ranks unfulfilled, but his legacy of being one of the finest amateur boxers ever to lace up the gloves remains untarnished.
Stepping in against Howard Davis marked the big-time debut for Tony Baltazar, and his outstanding performance instantly elevated him to genuine contender status. As he would further demonstrate in subsequent fights, Baltazar possessed a professional demeanor, a sturdy chin, a tremendous heart, great power, and one of the best left hooks in the sport. Just five months after the Davis fight he was in the ring with Robin Blake, a tall power puncher who was receiving tons of media exposure. Baltazar and Blake traded bombs back and forth in one of the most exciting fights of the year. Once again Baltazar raised his stock in a losing effort, this time by ninth round technical knockout.
Unfortunately, like Davis, Baltazar never brought home a world title, but his resume is littered with victories over world-class opponents, most notably a decision victory over Roger Mayweather in 1984. Regardless of such baubles, "Tony the Tiger" proved that he was one of the best lightweights of his generation. Howard Davis, one must assume, would agree with that assessment.
More so than probably any other sport, assessing a boxer's career by looking at the final tally of wins and losses barely provides even a clue as to the athlete's true worth. Perhaps that's a point for the rest of us—that simple two dimensional analyses are ultimately superficial and deceptive. On February 22, 1983, Howard Davis, Jr. was awarded a victory, and from that day forward Tony Baltazar carried an "L10" on his record. But the story is much deeper and richer than those simple facts illustrate. The story is one of growth and fortitude, of living and breathing. And so it is that a single boxing match in the career of two legendary pugilists can stand as a definitive moment for each, regardless of whose hand was raised after the final bell.
Phil Rice, a native of Tennessee, currently lives and writes in Pittsburgh, Pa. He may be contacted at phil@canopicpublishing.com.
The mid-1980s represent something of a golden age for televised boxing. ESPN and USA had weekly boxing shows that often included all of the preliminary matches as well as the main events, so fans got a chance to see the up-and-coming fighters alongside the hard-working club-fighters who might not ever get beyond four-round status. HBO and Showtime programs featured big name attractions, and if a fan watched the cable listings closely, other boxing shows could be found on more obscure channels. But cable television was new and, though the technology was spreading at an enormous rate, as late as 1984 the majority of homes in the United States still picked up their television signal via antennae, which meant their viewing options consisted of ABC, NBC, CBS, and sometimes PBS.
The good news for the boxing fans without cable was that some of the sports' biggest match-ups were still shown live on network telecasts for free, though the viewer was usually forced to wait through various competitions, such as figure skating or skeet shooting, to get to the boxing match. And this is why Sunday, February 22, 1983 found me sitting in front of the television with CBS Sports Sunday on the screen. The telecast featured an indoor track meet, which was not something that would have normally appealed to my tastes but I was willing to keep the show on in anticipation of the intriguing boxing match being offered afterwards. Howard Davis, Jr. was set to box Tony Baltazar in a lightweight match-up.
Davis was a well-known athlete even to the casual sports fan because he had won a gold medal in the 1976 Olympics and had received the Val Barker Award as the outstanding boxer at those games. Afterwards he was considered a star-in-the-making and accordingly signed a huge contract with CBS Sports, but unlike his teammates Ray Leonard, John Tate, Leo Randolph, and brothers Leon and Michael Spinks, as of 1983 Davis had yet to fulfill his promise by winning a professional world championship. Not that he hadn't tried. In 1980 he traveled to Scotland to wrest the WBC crown from Jim Watt, but Watt retained the title with a unanimous decision.
Following his loss to Watt, Davis fought sporadically against good but carefully chosen opponents. With his record stalled at 21-1, he was now looking to drum up interest in a title shot against Ray Mancini, who had won the WBA title from Arturo Frias in an exciting one-round donnybrook. Mancini, a power puncher with a tough chin and enormous heart, was a popular champion and a television favorite, but most boxing insiders gave the slick boxing Davis a comfortable edge in the match-up. Conventional wisdom suggested that Mancini's only chance would be to land a knockout punch, and Davis's skills were considered more than up to the task of keeping him out of harm's way while he piled up the points with combinations from the outside.
In the midst of the build-up to a possible Davis-Mancini battle steps Tony "The Tiger" Baltazar. According to the pre-fight commentary, the fundamental elements of a classic boxer versus puncher encounter were present: a highly skilled defensive master with quick feet and fast hands against a powerful and presumably plodding tough guy with a big punch. The fact that the flashy boxer had shown a questionable chin in previous fights added the necessary element of suspense to the match-up, but the odds still heavily favored the supremely-skilled boxing master over the rugged slugger.
On paper Baltazar was an obvious choice as a tune-up for Davis because he brought many of the same weapons into the ring as Mancini—he was a tough power puncher with an excellent left hook who could be expected to last the distance in a losing effort. To again borrow the old boxing cliché, he only had a puncher's chance in the contest. At least that is what the boxing pundits suggested going into the bout. But, unbeknownst to most of the television viewers, "The Tiger" was much more than a rough brawler. The first clue came when commentator Gil Clancy mentioned that Baltazar "had a great amateur background. He was the National AAU champion . . . ."
Once the bell for round one rang, the Olympic champion began to discover what patrons of the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles had known for years—that Tony Baltazar was a well-trained, fine-tuned fighting machine with good defensive skills. And, as advertised, he also had power to spare.
My casual round-by-round summary of the fight:
Rd 1: Baltazar wins the round by confidently coming after Davis and landing a few punches. Davis moves around but does little offensively, apparently content to use the opening round to size up his opponent.
Baltazar's round, 5-4.
Rd 2: Davis comes out more assertive, throwing combinations and trying to take control of the fight while keeping the action on the outside. Baltazar is aggressive but seems to be impatient and anxious.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 3: Davis is moving, throwing double and triple jabs followed by a right hand, using the ring; Baltazar is throwing a good jab but it's obvious that he's no match for Davis on the outside. He lands a good hook towards the end of the round but not much else.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 4: Baltazar does not seem frustrated by Davis's speed and movement. Davis stays in command for the first minute and a half of the round, but then Baltazar lands a combination that changes the tenor. Suddenly Davis is not moving as much and Baltazar is able to get inside more effectively. With fifteen seconds to go in the round, Baltazar lands a thudding left hook to the body that gets everybody's attention.
Baltazar's round, 5-4.
Rd 5: Baltazar comes out in the fifth and lands a tremendous hook that sends Davis sprawling on the canvas. He struggles to his feet on unsteady legs as the referee counts. Baltazar comes right after him, and Davis immediately shows his world class sprinting ability. At first Baltazar seems a little overanxious, then he calms down—but he calms down a little too much. Davis is able to move around the ring and by mid round his head seems clear and he is throwing combinations again. As the round winds down Baltazar shows his own boxing skills with a powerful jab followed by precise combinations.
Baltazar's round, 5-3.
Rd 6: The first half of the round is evenly contested with Baltazar continuing to come forward and Davis skillfully moving. In the final minute of the round Baltazar slows down slightly and Davis flashes several combinations to gain an edge in scoring.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 7: Another evenly contested round in the opening minute, but this time it's Baltazar who lands the more effective combinations to close the round. He bulls Davis in the corner on occasion and uses his superior strength on the inside.
Balatzar's round, 5-4.
Rd 8: Davis starts the round looking determined to take back control of the fight. He moves less and keeps his hands busy. Baltazar doesn't keep up the pace but he does land some solid punches to the body. In the final minute a perfect left hook drops Davis on his seat.
Baltazar's round, 5-3.
Rd 9: Sensing the fight slip away, Davis comes out aggressively looking to trade, but Baltazar is ready for him. It's a spirited round with Davis taking a very slight edge thanks to his speed and quantity of punches.
Davis's round, 5-4.
Rd 10: Davis continues to be aggressive, and he again gains a very slight edge in an exciting round.
Davis's round, 5-4.
The fight is officially scored on the round system with a supplemental points system to be used in the event of a draw. Because I was, as a fan, pulling for Baltazar, my scoring gives Davis the benefit of the doubt on the close rounds to offset my favoritism. My scorecard shows the fight even at 5 rounds apiece. Using the supplemental scoring system, Baltazar wins 45-43, thanks to the two knockdowns. But the official scorecards were 7-3, 8-2, and 5-4-1 for Davis, thus rendering the supplemental scoring system moot. The Olympic champion is still on course for a title shot.
Baltazar shakes his head when he hears the lopsided scoring as if he senses what is about to happen. When the final verdict in favor of Davis is announced he looks over at Frank Baltazar, his father and chief second, who flashes a cynical and resigned expression that seems to say "well son, we knew you'd have to knock him out to get the win."
Despite being on the victorious end of a highly debatable verdict (most observers felt Baltazar earned the victory), Howard Davis, Jr. proved that he was not only a brilliant boxer but that he possessed a champion's heart. He received more than he bargained for in his opponent this day—Baltazar was clearly a more complete fighter than Mancini—and he had weathered the storm admirably. He had also showed a willingness to get into the trenches and trade punches if necessary, though that was certainly not his preference.
His flawed performance made a fight with Mancini even more intriguing, but it never happened. When he did get another title shot it was against Edwin Rosario for the WBC title. Rosario was a skillful boxer-puncher with good power, and he was at the peak of what would prove to be his athletic prime. Davis lost a split decision, with two knockdowns—both from left hooks—making the difference in the scoring. He retired in 1996 with his goal of becoming a World Champion in the pro ranks unfulfilled, but his legacy of being one of the finest amateur boxers ever to lace up the gloves remains untarnished.
Stepping in against Howard Davis marked the big-time debut for Tony Baltazar, and his outstanding performance instantly elevated him to genuine contender status. As he would further demonstrate in subsequent fights, Baltazar possessed a professional demeanor, a sturdy chin, a tremendous heart, great power, and one of the best left hooks in the sport. Just five months after the Davis fight he was in the ring with Robin Blake, a tall power puncher who was receiving tons of media exposure. Baltazar and Blake traded bombs back and forth in one of the most exciting fights of the year. Once again Baltazar raised his stock in a losing effort, this time by ninth round technical knockout.
Unfortunately, like Davis, Baltazar never brought home a world title, but his resume is littered with victories over world-class opponents, most notably a decision victory over Roger Mayweather in 1984. Regardless of such baubles, "Tony the Tiger" proved that he was one of the best lightweights of his generation. Howard Davis, one must assume, would agree with that assessment.
More so than probably any other sport, assessing a boxer's career by looking at the final tally of wins and losses barely provides even a clue as to the athlete's true worth. Perhaps that's a point for the rest of us—that simple two dimensional analyses are ultimately superficial and deceptive. On February 22, 1983, Howard Davis, Jr. was awarded a victory, and from that day forward Tony Baltazar carried an "L10" on his record. But the story is much deeper and richer than those simple facts illustrate. The story is one of growth and fortitude, of living and breathing. And so it is that a single boxing match in the career of two legendary pugilists can stand as a definitive moment for each, regardless of whose hand was raised after the final bell.
Phil Rice, a native of Tennessee, currently lives and writes in Pittsburgh, Pa. He may be contacted at phil@canopicpublishing.com.
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