Man’s Best Friend!

By Felipe Leon



In the time that I have been running around in boxing circles, I have met my fair share of fighters. From “opponents” to up and coming prospects, to retired legends of old to elite boxers to world champions.

I can say with certainty that none of them are more cordial and generous than the man they call “Perro”, up and coming super welterweight Alfredo Angulo.

The first time I met Angulo, It was nearly a year ago at the place where every man wished they could go but many never will, the Playboy Mansion.

ESPN’s Wednesday Night Fights broadcast the return of Julio Diaz to the ring after being demolished at the end of 2007 by Juan Diaz. This time, Diaz easily defeated little known David Torres in the main event.

To reach the Playboy Mansion, all press and invitees needed to meet at a Beverly Hills hotel and then be shuttled to the house that Hef built. There I met for the first time the former Olympian from Mexico.

We broke the ice by talking about mutual friends from Tijuana and then moved on to telling jokes. Good thing Angulo can throw an excellent left hook because he is no threat for George Lopez. He is possibly the worst joke teller in the history of comedy and to refresh your memory, comedy goes back to the days of the greek philosophers.

Once at the Mansion, we went our separate ways, I to cover the fights and he to attend to the many fans who wanted to take their photo with the relentless puncher. Near the end of the night we bumped into each other again and he inquired what I was going to do with the rest of my night. Since I was in the mood to paint the town red (which is not often for those who know me) he graciously invited me to continue the night with him and the group which he had made plans with.

This is where things get interesting.

In the pursuit of keeping my nose where it is instead of another side of my head which would surely happen if I disclosed who else was part of the party, all I am going to reveal is that it was another L.A. based fighter, his manager and trainer, a HBO executive and his friend and yours truly.

By this time, the other unnamed fighter was way on his way to being in layman terms, ripped, along with the rest of his corner while Angulo had not touched a drop of alcohol and wouldn’t the rest of the night while I hadn’t enjoyed a mixed drink since I tend not to while I cover a fight card.

We made our way to a Hollywood club that is owned by a well known young actor and were welcomed as VIP and treated as such for the rest of the night.

As the well oiled fighter and his crew continued to enjoy themselves for the rest of the night with drinks, dancing and dames, “Perro” and I enjoyed the scenery while Angulo drank juice and I the same-except mine had an extra “kick”.

As we stumbled out of the establishment at 2 am, it suddenly occurred to me that I had to drive back to San Diego that night. As I shared this with the group, it took about a tenth of a nanosecond for Angulo to offer his humble abode to me, a person he had just met a mere 2-3 pineapple juices ago.

I hesitated to accept as I deliberated whether I would be breaking any writer-fighter ethical codes but I quickly imagined my drive back without any sleep so I rapidly accepted.

Before we bedded down for the night, we enjoyed that time honored tradition of party people everywhere: the late night Mexican food run.

As we devoured a dinner of too much salsa coupled with way too much cheese, we spoke of recently passed fights and upcoming ones that we were looking forward too.

Once at his one room apartment located behind a regular sized house in a suburb of Los Angeles, I went to use the restroom.

When I exited, Angulo was preparing a bedding on the floor that I was sure was for me since I knew that Angulo, ever the gym rat, was surely going to train the next day whose daybreak was a mere couple of hours away.

Much to my surprise, he proceeded to lay down on the floor himself among the scattered boxing equipment and tennis shoes as he offered me the ample bed pushed against a wall.

I immediately refused but when a professional fighter who at that time was riding a nine KO streak and has scored two more since then insists, you comply.

So I slept on the bed.

Four hours later my alarm went off and I began my short two hour trek back to San Diego.

The whole time I spent with Angulo, he made me feel like we had known each other for years and never did he put up the wall that many fighters do when they know that they are dealing with a member of the press.

Since then, I have bumped into Angulo several times and been around him when he has dealt with other boxing scribes and he is as genuine with them as he was with me.

When he offered his bed to me, I knew that I was dealing with a man that although humble in his beginnings had the wealth of an education that was taught to him by his beloved mother.

On May 30th, “Perro” Angulo will be taking on his biggest challenge to date when he faces former two time welterweight champion Kermit Cintron in Florida. Rest assured that I will be cheering for Angulo, journalist ethics be damned.

Tough Tijuana!

By Felipe Leon


CREA Gym

In my travels as a boxing journalist, I have visited my fair share of gyms. From the Wild Card gym before it was THE Wild Card gym to white collar training facilities in San Diego to seedy Barrio Logan holes in the wall. But no matter where these north of the border schools of hard knocks are located or what equipment they have, they are worlds away from the run down establishments their south of the border brethren like to call gimnasios.

If a San Diego white collar gym is a two story, three bedroom house, then a TJ gym is a cardboard shack.

Although there is one “white collar” gym in Tijuana which is located in the modern Sports World gym, no fighter of consequence has ever come out of there despite having former journeyman fighter “Zero” Sanchez as the man in charge.

I guess you can’t turn Tijuana bankers into world contenders.

The next best equipped gyms in Tijuana are the ones funded by the Municipal Institute for Sports which is helmed by former three time world champion Erik Morales.

The most well known is located next to the Municipal Auditorium and is inhabited by an array of amateur stars as well as professional fighters such as current IBF featherweight champion Cristobal “Lacandon” Cruz. The gym boasts a regulation size ring and rows of double end and heavy bags. Same thing can be said for the gym run by former bantamweight champion Raul “Jibaro” Perez who among the top amateurs who train there, you can also find former two time Jr. middleweight champion Alejandro “Terra” Garcia and former straw weight champ Roberto “Mako” Leyva. This gym also has a normal sized ring and plenty of heavy bags among others.

You might be asking why I keep bringing up the fact that both of these gyms have “regulation” or “normal” sized rings. It’s because as far as I have witnessed, these are the only two that do.

The CREA gym where many world champions have gone thru its doors such as the living legend himself Julio Cesar Chavez Sr, the afore mentioned Raul “Jibaro” Perez, Humberto “Zorrita” Soto, Jose Luis “Temible” Castillo and Jorge “Travieso” Arce has no such thing. Other fighters who have trained or train there are Antonio DeMarco, JC Chavez Jr and his brother Omar as well as the cream of the Tijuana’s crop of up and comers, in my humble opinion, all under the watchful eye of Romulo Quirarte and his two sons.

This gym has no regulation ring but two make shift areas that I would be hard pressed to even call a ring. Instead of a bouncy canvas you have what might have been the floor of a high school gym still marked with the Greco Roman wrestling boundaries.

The double end bags as well as the rest of the equipment is held together by the ever resilient duct tape that needs to be reapplied every evening before the doors are locked with a heavy lock.

This is Tijuana after all.

No fans are visible or felt anywhere in the gym and since the majority of the warriors inside are training to make weight for an upcoming bout, all the windows and doors are kept tightly shut. The temperature surely reaches 110 degrees during the summer.

Don’t get me started on the restrooms.

The Azteca Gym located in the Colonia Independencia wished it was as nice as the CREA. Located in one of the oldest neighborhoods of Tijuana, visitors need to go down a series of steps to enter the roughly double car garage sized room. The “ring” sits squarely in the middle of the room and since I didn’t stay long in fear of encountering a rat the size of my seven lbs. Chihuahua, didn’t notice much equipment. WBC #3 ranked featherweight Juan Carlos Burgos, and jr. welterweight Pavel Miranda among others train there. Three time welterweight champion Antonio Margarito also shakes down at the Azteca before traveling to Los Angeles for camp.

Even though many current, former and retired champions have come out of Tijuana and trained in these conditions, I often wonder what kind of fighters they would be if they trained in a high class facility such as the one Ivan Drago in “Rocky IV” trained in.

Will they still be as hungry? Will they still be as tough?

Who knows?

What I do know is that probably they wouldn’t be as happy since every time I visit one of these gyms, every fighter greets me with a smile as they continue to hit each other or the bag in front of them.

You can tell they wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

EVERY TRAINER

By Roger Esty

Lots of talk latlely on the thread about trainers. Fight trainers. Not many of them left. Put it this way,not many good ones anyway. When the guys mention McCoy and Steindler. Burke Emery,Charley Goldman,Eddie Futch. Go ahead ,add your names to the list fellas. We stop and think of who's left to school a kid properly when it comes to being a prize fighter.

But why were there so many good trainers back then? When Howie Albert asked Gil Clancy to train Emile Griffith,Clancy's job was a physical ed. teacher. So what did Gil know about boxing? Plenty. Plenty because part of being a P.E. teacher was teaching boxing. Most people back in the day lived in big cities back East.For the kids, there was no Little League and Pop Warner Football. Baseball was stick ball played in the street. Basketball was nothin'. So for juvenile recreational fun,it was down to the park rec center,neighborhood boy's club,the Y,or the local gym to lace on a pair of gloves and step into the boxing ring. All our dads did it. It was even a part of the phys. ed. programs in school.

After the war,things started to change. Suburbia,Little League,Pop Warner,basketball gymnasiums. Boxing was no longer a fit. The Sporting News(the sports fan's bible)dropped the reporting of boxing from its pages. It used to be baseball,horse racing,and boxing. Can't see that now. NFL,NBA has taken over.

But our dads knew boxing. If it came to push and shove,they could even teach it because they all did it in one degree or another. But our dads are gone. And most of the good trainers too. Hell anyone over 70 doesn't have the wind anymore to try to get across the techniques of throwing a jab properly to some kid who has a Wii.

Rita Moreno . . .

By Rick Farris

I had a hard time noticing Lalo Rios when he was playing opposite a teenage Rita Moreno.
I had the chance to work with the Puerto Rican star twice during my career.

In 1979, she was a guest star on "The Rockford Files", a series that I worked on.
A year later, I worked with her on a feature film, "The Four Seasons", with Alan Alda and Carol Burnett.
We were on location near the Virgin Islands for that one, and in New England.

Rita Moreno was the first of just a few actors who have won an Oscar, an Emmy, a Grammy and a Tony.
She's also won a Cleo, which is the TV commercial version of an Oscar.
No actor has surpassed her in the award department.

I have to say that she was very much a "method actress", and in one scene, where her charactor was a hooker, she proved she was also risque.
In the scene, Rita's charactor is in a phone booth making a call.
The phonebooth is in the parking lot of a gas station.
A car drives by and sprays the phonebooth with bullets.
The hooker is gunned down and lies outside the phone booth, dying in the arms of James Garner.

I was a young lighting director, always close to the lens when the camera was rolling.
I'd see eveything the camera sees, and sometimes more.

In this case, as Rita Moreno rolled onto the ground, her short dress pulled up over her waist.
A couple of us were caught by surprise when we noticed the actress was wearing nothing under the dress.
I mean, she knew she had this scene to do. She just didn't care. Bette Davis was the same way.
She was a pro, and nothing appeared before the lens. But there were a few smiles on the set.
That was exactly thirty years ago.

She was certainly a beautiful young woman as a teenager. And she was a cool old gal when I met her.

"Louie J."

By Rick Farris

The first time I saw Louie J. was on television, from the Olympic Auditorium.
He was working the corner of a bantamweight, appearing in one of two amateur bouts proceeding the professional card.
His fighter's name was Victor "Butch" Contreras, and the cornerman had "Teamsters Gym" embroidered on the back of his white button-down shirt.

He was stocky, about fifty-years-old when I first met him, had a powerful build, not tall, but soild.
He was balding, wore glasses. He had a big smile, and a deep voice.
He co-founded the Los Angeles Jr. Golden Gloves program, along with Johnny Flores, after WW2.
He had been a boxer, and for decades a leader in Southern California amateur boxing.
Several of his better amateurs went to the top as pros, such as Armando Muniz and Frankie Duarte, and dozen's more whom he worked with.

Over the years I fought a number of boxers from the Teamster's Gym.
Louie knew who I was, and when I was 17, I was starting to grow and get strong. I was getting better, too.
In 1969, during the summer, I'm 17 and fight one of the Teamster's 23-year-old bantams, I weigh about 114lbs.
His name is Gabe Gutierrez and he's a pretty good fighter. We fight at the Olympic on a thursday night pro card, July 1969.
We have a close one, he get's the nod.

Three months later we fight again, this time at the China Lake Naval base.
I'm weighing about 117, and have two KO wins since our fight in July.
Louie knows I'm going to be a problem for his fighter. So do I.

We all meet somewhere downtown, I forget where. We load into a nice charter bus that will take boxers, coaches, etc. up into the high desert.
China Lake is above Edwards Air Force base, and Marty Denkin had a connection that allowed him to promote up there.
Over three months, Marty held two cards at the China Lake. This was the first.

We load into the bus and I park myself in a window seat. Plenty of room to stretch out a bit, get some rest during the ride.
My opponent was seated about three rows behind me, and his coach, Jouie J., beside him.
The bus starts to pull away and all of a sudden I feel this body slide into the seat next to mine.
It's Louie.

As I close my eyes to take a nap, Louie wakes me to tell me a joke. And another one, then gives me the history of L.A. Jr. Golden Gloves.
I know what he's doing. He talks the entire trip.
When I arrive, I am ready to fight. I didn't really need the nap, and the coach really screwed his fighter by trying to be smart.
My frame of mind had never been better for a fight.

I got no rest on my trip, but that didn't work out in Gabe Gutierrez's best interest. I kicked his ass pretty bad.
After the fight, I thanked Louie. I told him if it wasn't for his motivation on the bus, I wouldn't have beaten his fighter so easily.
By the way, Gabe Gutierrez and I would fight six times. Three in the amateurs and three in the pros.
After the first bout, Louie could not help him.

Last time I saw Louie across the ring from me was in 1972. I was training at Teamster's for a week, boxing with Armando Muniz for speed.
Louie and Mel Epstein would visit. He'd laugh out loud and say, "I known Ricky since he was a kid . . ."
I said to Louie, "Hey, remember that ride on the bus we took up to China Lake? You talked all the way up and then I kicked your fighter's ass."

Louie says, "Oh yeah".
We both laughed

Sonny Ray & The Seaside Gym . . .

By Rick Farris

I remember seeing Sonny Ray at amateur boxing shows all thru the later 60's.
Sonny worked with Ernie DeFrance and company at Long Beach's Seaside Gym.
Jake Shagrue took over the place around that time.

In 1969, Sonny joined DeFrance, Jake Horn, and Memo Soto as a coach for our Southern Pacific AAU team.
We'd compete in the Nationals in San Diego in early April.
We'd all be lodged at the Le Baron Hotel on San Diego's Hotel Circle.

Sonny Ray was born in Tennesee in 1936. He grew up in Chicago but would begin his pro boxing career in California, at age 18.
From the mid-50's-to-60's, Ray fought some of the best lightheavy's of the era.
In 1959, he took on World Light Heavyweight champ, Harold Johnson, in a ten-rounder at Chicago Stadium. Losing by 10th rd. TKO.
A year later, he returned to Chicago Stadium to fight another light-heavy champ, Willie Pastrano. He lost a close decision.

Sonny wasn't afraid to fight the best in their hometowns.
He'd travel to Peru to face, Mauro Mina.
In London, he'd fight Chic Calderwood at Wembley Stadium.
In Hawaii, he'd face Bobo Olson.

Between ages 18 and 30, Sonny Ray fought nearly fifty pro fights.
When he joined our AAU team as a coach, he was 33, had retired three years earlier after losing to Matt Blow in San Bernardino.
He was quiet, spoke when it was necessary and wasn't afraid to bark at the Long Beach boxers.
Everybody liked the man, and respected him.

The only time I saw Sonny Ray smile was after the tournament finals.
The old men were all in one of the coach's room. They had a poker table set up, cards and chips out.
The bath tub was filled with ice and booze.

We'd leave for home the next day. More than 350 boxers were suddenly running wild thru the hotel, San Siego, and T.J.
The fights were over. The dogs were all let out for the night. No woman was safe.
However, the older guys let the younger guys go out and get themselves in trouble. They'd all been there, done that, no mas.

Our lightweight punched out a bartender in TJ. A couple days later his dad bailed him out of the Tijuana Jail
There were other adventures.

The old guys played it smart. Drank all night, poker all night. Eventually they went to sleep.
The next day, all coaches were ready to leave early.
Some of us were suffering pain that had nothing to do with punches.

Sonny Ray just shook his head.

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling . . .

Photo and caption courtesy of Rick Farris

1969 Southern Pacific A.A.U. Champions, El Monte Legion Stadium

(top row) Pete Despart, ?, ?, Mike Quarry, ?, ?, James Dick, Jake Horn, "Kit" Boursse', Manny Diaz, Memo Soto.
(bottom row) Ernie DeFrance, Pete Vital Sr, Pete Vital Jr., Florentino Ramirez, Rudy "Porky" Acuna, Rick Farris, Tommy Coulson, Henry Verastique.

As this photo was taken, the Quarry family, and the family of Mike Quarry's opponent, James Dick, were involved in a little disagreement at ringside. It was settled by the riot squad of the El Monte Police Dept.


When Irish Eyes Are Smiling . . .

By Rick Farris

I can be seen in the photo with the rest of our AAU Team for 1969, however, Frank was also there.
As the photographer snapped photos, the team and Frank Baltazar (off camera) enjoyed the safety of the ring.

There was big trouble brewing at ringside.
A Quarry won the last bout. Mike got the nod over a Hillbilly, and the Clampett family wasn't happy.
Lots of things being thrown at ringside- punches, purses, cups of beer, men rolling around the ground in head locks.
A woman's wig suddenly flys thru the air like a platinum pigeon, a cherry bomb explodes.
The majority of the battle is being waged by the women, lots of biting scratching and kicking, somebody gets stabbed.

Ma Quarry is brought in to settle the mess, she's wearing high-heels for the first time ever and she ain't happy.
Hard enough to walk in the damn things, now she's gotta fight in them.
A moment later the two old broads are on the ground, Ma Quarry vs. Granny Clampett.
The Riot Squad bursts in, pulls the men apart and cuffs them.
Elly May is maced before she can level Wilma Quarry with a fold-up chair.

The riot squad sees that it's best to deal with the men first, and are slow to approach Ma Quarry as she pounds Granny.
Ma suddenly pins Granny Clampett and jumps to her feet.
A policeman attempts to cuff the mother of the world's #2 ranked heavyweight.

"Get your friggin hands off of me. Can't you see I am a lady?"

Without blinking an eye, the policeman replies, "Yes Mam."
He then moved away to deal with another suspect, brother Jimmy. The Quarry men aren't as dangerous as the women.

Just a typical Saturday evening at the El Monte Legion Stadium.
Irish eyes were smiling.

COPING

By Roger Esty

Spud Murphy's Gym was named after the fallen fighter who had his licensed revoked because of a bad brain scan. His father let him workout in the gym still, and after a sparring session,Spud collapsed in the shower and died.

I remember Irish Spud Murphy fighting preliminaries at the Coliseum. From the start you could tell that the kid didn't have it. There was a lot of talk about the father trying to make something out of his son when it would have been best to leave him alone. But Spud kept plugging along although he didn't have anything going for him. He didn't have a punch. He was frail looking. And he cut easy.

It wasn't until much later that I found out about his death. Terry Norris told me about it when I went up to Spud Murphy's gym to watch him train for a fight.

The parents still kept the doors open. I remember that there were always a lot of fighters working out. The gym was upstairs above a pool hall.

The father ,I think, went a little crazy after his son's death. He'd talk about his son like he was still alive. He also went on about how his son was a great fighter. There were newspaper clippings of his son's short boxing career,I remember,pasted on the wall. I also remember the mother. She was an elderly heavy set gal with gray hair. Looked like someone's grandmother. She wore a plain plaid dress. She stayed mostly behind the counter. She sold sodas and candy. I'd see her limp around carrying cases of beer and keepng things straightened out. Towels stacked high. Sweeping the floor. Cleaning the lockers.

While her husband was talking everyone's head off about his son and whatever,I never heard his wife say anything. Maybe that was their ways of dealing with Spud's death. The father trying to keep ahead of the power curve by talking all the time. The mother just trying to keep moving and stay busy.