Sugar Ray

story by Alan Goldstein
Holding the title “”boxing editor’’ of the Baltimore Sun for 40 years created a lot more baggage than simply covering fights. All calls to the sports department concerning the ancient sport were quickly transferred to my desk.  We were instantly cast in the role of final arbiter to settle all barroom debates, even if the fight in question took place some 50 years earlier.

  We soon prepared ourselves for the trick questions: “”Who was the last man to box John L. Sullivan?  A: The undertaker.

More often, however, we were asked to use our “expertise’’ to decide the eternal argument over who deserved to be called “the greatest fighter of all time,’’ (as Ali regularly boasted), or simply the best “”pound-for-pound..

  After our friends at the neighborhood saloon had downed a few beers, it was nigh impossible to buy time by arguing that it was illogical to compare fighters from the turn of the century to the leading boxers who followed in their wake..  How can Baltimore’s own legendary lightweight Joe (The Master) Gans, who required 42 rounds to subdue Battling Nelson in Goldfield, Nev., over a century ago, be honestly held up in comparison to such later 135-pound luminaries as Benny Leonard, who dominated the Twenties, and Roberto Duran, who ruled the division in the Seventies.

  Unfortunately, we got to see such greats as heavyweight Jack Johnson, Henry Armstrong, who won titles at 125, 135 and 147 pounds in the Thirties and Forties, only on film. We also relied heavily on the opinions of our elders, or veteran boxing trainers who had the good fortune of living long lives.

  One such gentleman we greatly admired was the late Ray Arcel, who had the privilege of mentoring both Benny Leonard and Roberto Duran, a span of over 60 years.  Arcel liked to tell the story of when Leonard was gaining a reputation as a classy small club fighter in the Lower East Side of New York, once dominated by Jewish immigrants. Like most parents, Benny’s wanted their son to enjoy a better life than their own.

  Boxing was frowned upon, so Leonard had to fight locally under different aliases. But a yenta spotted a picture of Benny on a billboard advertising a recent show. His parents were ready to confront him when he walked through the front door.  Benny headed right for the kitchen table and deposited a wad of $20 bills earned from his last conquest.

  His father looked his son in the eye and asked, “Nu, Benny, when’s your next fight?’

  Several legitimate candidates for the “”best ever’’ tag were robbed of their prime fighting years for various reasons.  Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion, whose unorthodox boxing style served as a model for Ali, was forced to flee the country because of blatant racism.  Joe Louis, our personal favorite heavyweight, lost three years serving in the Army special services, and Ali, of course, lost three years while refusing induction into the service based on his religious beliefs.

  Modern boxing fans will argue heatedly in behalf of such classic fighters as Sugar Ray Leonard, Marvin Hagler, Oscar de la Hoya, Roy Jones, Jr., and still unbeaten Floyd Mayweather, who has been in semi-retirement .  But the advent of multi-million dollar purses limited these recent champions to fighting only once or twice a year.  How can Jones, who fought a total of 53 bouts and lost 4 of his last 7 including a recent 12-round drubbing by Welshman Joe Calzaghe be regarded as a greater light-heavyweight than Archie Moore (194-26-8), who holds the record with 141 knockouts and won the 175-pound crown in his first challenge against Joey Maxim at the age of 36?

  But we have spent too much time in the clinches.  Our choice of greatest “”boxer’’ of all time is featherweight Willie Pep.  But the honor of “”greatest fighter ever’’ goes to Ray Robinson, who reigned as both welter and middleweight champion in the late Forties and Fifties when these two divisions boasted such rugged opponents as Carmen Basilio, Jake LaMotta, Randy Turpin and Gene Fullmer.

  We observed both Pep and Robinson in their prime years when boxing was one of the leading attractions on television, but met and saw them fight in person only when their lengthy ring careers were winding down.

  Pep was the perfect practitioner of the boxing creed: ””Hit and Don’t Get Hit.’’ He could land four or five rapid jabs and then deftly avoid his rival’s rally with such effectiveness to earn the nickname “”Will O’ The Wisp.’’ Over the course of his amazing 16-year career (1940-1956), he compiled an amazing 229-11-1 record, winning his first 62 pro fights.

  He finally found his nemesis in Sandy Saddler, an elongated featherweight with the strength of a lightweight.  Saddler whipped Pep in four rounds to become the 126-pound king in October 1948.

  But it was the rematch four months later at Madison Square Garden in which Pep earned my undying admiration.  Although both eyes were all but closed over the 15-round limit, Pep consistently beat Saddler to the punch and frustrated his stronger rival to earn a unanimous decision.  Their last two fights resembled tug-of-wars and featured every questionable ring tactic possible.  In the end, Saddler simply wore down his smaller opponent to win both by technical knockouts.

  But the oft-married Pep, who once boasted of “”betting on fast women and slow horses, had already earned his place in boxing’s Valhalla. We covered one of Willie’s last bouts in 1958 when he fought Hogan Bassey at the Boston Garden. For eight rounds, Bassey struggled to land a blow on his elusive foe.  But Willie’s 36-year-old legs gave out, and he was stopped in the ninth round.  Italian elders from the Hartford area where Willie learned his ring craft, openly wept at ringside, and we cried a little, too

  Ray Robinson (175-19, 107 KO’s) was a complete fighter, possessing speed, power and a strong chin. As one old-timer said, “”He’s the only fighter who could knock a guy out backing up.’’ His greatest asset was his “”killer instinct’’ which he dramatically demonstrated in regaining the title from rugged Randy Turpin in 1951.

  We finally got to cover a Ray Robinson match in April, 1960, our second year at the Sun. Three months earlier, Robinson had lost his middleweight title to a slick, light-hitting Boston southpaw named Paul Pender, A rematch was promised, and Robinson’s longtime manager-advisor, George Gainford, was seeking a rugged opponent who could get the ex-champion in prime condition for his reunion with Pender.

  Local boxing promoter Al Flora offered up Tony Baldoni, who as a teenager had fought main events in the Scranton area where Flora first staged bouts.  Baldoni was regarded as a real “comer’’ until he went to the movies to see John Wayne in “”The Sands of Iwo Jima,’’ and promptly enlisted in the Marines.  He was never the same fighter after his discharge, but still regarded as a stiff challenge. Flora told Gainford that you could drop a safe on Baldoni’s head with little damage, all but guaranteeing a tough 10-round match with the ex-champion.

  The day before the fight, Flora called a press conference to stir up ticket sales at the old Baltimore Coliseum.  Robinson spoke first.  He recalled his title bout with Jimmy Doyle in Cleveland in 1946.  Robinson had informed the Ohio boxing commission that he had a premonition that he would kill Doyle if the fight was not postponed.  But the commission, sensing Robinson was simply seeking a higher ring purse, threatened to suspend him if he failed to show for the match

  Sadly, as predicted, Robinson floored Doyle in the eighth round and the fallen fighter never regained consciousness.

  Now it was Baldoni’s time to speak.  Looking suddenly pale and shaken, he said, “”Ray, would ever you do, don’t have any premonitions tonight!’’

  Before the opening bell sounded the next night, Baldoni seemed to be suffering from rigor mortis. After a feinting a few punches, Robinson delivered a stiff punch to Baldoni’s ribs, and the ex-Marine began to sag.  Sugar Ray did his best to hold him erect, but finally let Baldoni drop to the canvas and be counted out after only 41 seconds had expired.

  We visited the frustrated Robinson in his dressing room and he repeatedly blamed Flora for falsely advertising Baldoni as a worthy adversary.  To which we replied, “Ray, you should have never told that story about Doyle.’’

  As things developed, Robinson lost his rematch with Pender three months later and never reclaimed the 160-pound crown he had worn four different times.
  P.S.: Way back in 1938, our two favorite fighters, Pep and Robinson, met as amateur featherweights in Connecticut.  Robinson out-pointed the hometown hero, and looked so good in doing so, his amateur status was questioned.  Both Robinson and Gainford spent the night in jail until a New York-based amateur boxing official vouched that youthful Sugar Ray was not a professional.
Last Updated ( Wednesday, 05 August 2009 11:52 )