When A Boxer Dies . . .

By Rick Farris


I hate reading this. Less than two years ago, Gwen Adair invited me and an actress I was dating at the time, to the "Sage Brush Cantina" in Calabasas where a promoter was holding a pro card in the parking lot.

In a four round prelim, a mid-20's boxer from New Mexico, named Jackson Bruesell, fought on even terms with a featherweight from Oxnard. It was a good action fight, but neither appeared to be rocked, or taken any major blows. There was no blood. Both finished strong.

The decision was announced, a "draw", which was a good call. Bruesell met his opponent in the center of the ring after the decision, and the two hugged each other. He then turned and as he walked away, appeared to lose his balance. Suddenly he dropped to the canvas and lay on his back. The ringside physician, and ref Marty Denkin (who also had ref'd the Pintor-Johnny Owens ill-fated match) attend to the boxer. Others in the ring gathered around him. At first his eyes were open, then closed.

My lady friend didn't understand what was happening, but I was having chilling thoughts. I'd seen this before, more than once. We were sitting in the first row and I could see there was a problem. A stretcher was immediatly sent into the ring and the comatose young boxer removed to a waiting ambulence which had pulled within 50 yards of the ring.

My girlfriend had never attended a boxing match, and was enjoying the action until this happened. She was concerned for the boxer and I tried to calm her by saying that it was necessary to take him to the hospital "just to be safe". However, I knew the kid was in serious trouble. A tounge depressor had been put in his mouth and his face had turned blue. Oxygen was immediatly applied as carried him to the ambulence.

"Rick, let's go to the hospital, bring him flowers, or something." She said.
I told her not to worry, and that I'd call the hospital the next day, when he had time to recover. However, I knew he would never recover, not fully. I kept thinking of Johnny Owen, Kiko Bejines, Davey Moore and Richie Sandoval.

After the main event, we spoke with Gwen and Vince Delgado, who were judging the match. "Have you heard anything?" we asked.
Gwen shook her head, "Nothing yet." I could see the look in Gwen's eyes, and Vince's. They'd also seen this before.

My friend and I left, I changed the subject on the ride home, but she had been affected by what she had seen. We returned to my place, and about 3am the phone rings. It was Gwen. "Rick, he passed away. I was told he was dead on arrival."

My friend was shocked. "We were just going to see some fights, not somebody die," she said.
What could I say?