Part 4

A few days before the fight, Aragon predicted that he would knock out Beltz with one punch in the first round.

Boo!

Fifty seconds, into Round 1, Aragon hit Beltz on the chin with a right hand and knocked him out.

Boo!

When Jimmy Lennon raised Aragon's hand, Aragon waved at the angry Beltz fans, and sneered.

Boo!

Aragon said in the locker room: "I'd feel sorry for Beltz, except for one thing. There was money at stake."

Boo!

Said Beltz's manager, Bill Gale: "The thing that really gripes me so much is that the . . . did just what he said he would."

Boo!

Aragon, on being an old fighter:

"My last fight (Jan. 21, 1960, at the Olympic) was against Alvaro Gutierrez. My legs were so far gone I was useless.

"In the first round, I gave Gutierrez my best shot, a right hand right on the chin, and I went down. He beat the hell out of me that night.

"Thank God the referee stopped it in the ninth, because I might have been killed in the 10th. You know, I was dizzy for a year after that fight."

At Golden Boy Bail Bonds, a nervous, distraught woman--not the same woman who knew Aragon when--arrives to bail out her son.

"Sit down, honey," Aragon says. He pulls out a tablet of bond forms.

"I've got some serious questions here. What is your name?"

He writes the woman's name on the top line, then sets his pen down. He locks his fingers, stares solemnly at the woman and says: "How long have you been a member of the Communist party?"

Thunderstruck, the woman is speechless. Then Aragon grins and she begins to break up.

Aragon says: "Just try to relax, honey. All we're doing here is getting your boy out of jail. No big deal."

Unpopularity can be lucrative.

Art, how come folks hated you so much?

"Because I beat Enrique Bolanos, on my way up," he said.

"Bolanos was an idol to the Mexican community in Los Angeles. He was a really good fighter, too, and he was an idol of mine when I was coming up. But I beat him bad twice, and they didn't like that.

"I didn't like it much, either. But then I started noticing that the more people hated me, the more they'd pay top dollar to come boo me."

Aragon's record stretches over three columns in the Ring record book. Between 1944 and 1960, he had 115 fights (one was later changed to no decision). He won 97 of them.

In 1951, he fought somebody named El Conscripto.

Art, who was El Conscripto?

"He was some bum from Tijuana somebody dug up, gave him a fancy name. He was supposed to be the champion of some island in the South Pacific. He was just a bum. I knocked him out.

"See, in those days, the idea was to build up the Golden Boy. Make the Golden Boy look good."

Aragon is going through a divorce, his third. Billie Dallum, who owns Aragon's answering service, was divorced two years ago. They'll be married when Aragon's divorce is final.

Billie, how did you meet Art?

"My business is a block away from Art's," she says.

"He signed up for the service and I sent him a notice, telling him that I required the first month's charge in advance.

"Art is not the greatest bookkeeper. He didn't send a check. A month later, I sent him a notice that said payment had to be received in one week or the service would be shut off. A week went by, and I shut him off.

"He called me up and yelled at me over the phone, called me terrible names. I didn't know him at all, and of course I thought he was a horrible man.

"Every time I drove by his office and he saw me, I'd stick my tongue out at him.

"I bought out another answering service, and I was studying the roster of clients and right at the top was Aragon, Art. I sent him a notice saying I would not provide him with service.

"Out of the blue, he walks right into my office one day, sits down and says to me: 'All right, is it money you want or my body?'

"Well, I nearly fell out of my chair. Then he said he wouldn't pay his bill unless I had coffee with him. We became great friends immediately. He's such a funny man, you can't help but like him."

Aragon starts talking about the memories, and his eyes glisten.

"You know, what I remember even more than my fights and all the boos when I fought, was the nights I'd go to the Olympic with some broad, just to watch a fight.

"Remember, in those days, I owned this town. It was just me and the Rams then. And all I had to do was just walk down the aisle to my seat. Right away, the boos would start coming down from the balcony.

"By the time I'd reach my seat, they'd have to stop the fight until everyone settled down. The entire crowd would be on its feet, booing.

"I loved it. I do miss that."