I look back on the boxing people I’ve met over the past 20-plus years of writing, and even longer, attending fights before that.
Muhammad Ali (Cherry Hill, 1973 & Deer Lake Camp)
My first encounter with Muhammad Ali was in 1973, at his home in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, after the Ken Norton fight. His wife answered the door and let me in. When Ali came from the back room, I blurted out the most foolish question I could have asked:
“Why didn’t you give Doug Jones a rematch?”
Great start, right?
The next time I saw him was at his Deer Lake camp, about half an hour from where I lived. I sat down next to him and—apparently determined to embarrass myself a second time—asked, “Why are you fighting all these bums?” Ali just stared at me. Deservedly so.
Cus D’Amato, Mike Tyson & the Early Days
At a show in Scranton, PA, I met Cus D’Amato. He told me about a young fighter named Mike Tyson and invited me to stop by. The Hilton family from Canada was there, and when I met Mike, we watched film reels from Jim Jacobs’ Boxing’s Greatest Films collection. Mike loved Jack Dempsey—no robe, no socks.
Mike was 16-0 when he called me once, and I recognized the voice immediately. He asked about a future opponent. I told him, “Just a big white guy, no problem.”
Quick KO, of course.
Later, when he was champion, trainer Kevin Rooney asked if I wanted to say something to Mike in the dressing room before an Atlantic City fight. When I walked in, Mike ran over, grabbed me by the waist, and lifted me in the air.
All I could think was, “I’m glad he likes me.”
Joe Frazier & the North Broad Street Gym
At Joe Frazier’s gym in Philly, I once watched a fighter on the bag when I heard Joe bark behind me:
“Move, or I’ll use you for a heavy bag.”
I did not argue.
Another time, Joe’s brother Tom asked if I’d work with Team Frazier as they turned pro. I said, “Only if Joe has nothing to do with it.”
He brought me upstairs anyway. Joe saw me, pointed, and said, “Is this the guy?”
I saluted and walked straight out. Couldn’t stand him.
Years later, when I lived in Whitemarsh, PA, a cop friend suggested throwing Joe a surprise party. We tried coordinating through his secretary for six months—no luck.
So we went to Joe’s house. His wife, Florence, loved the idea. Then Joe walked in:
“What are you guys doing here?”
When I explained the plan, he demanded, “Who’s paying for this?”
I said we’d sell tickets—Fraziers would be free.
He snapped, “When Joe gives a party, nobody pays!”
He started for the back door. Florence asked where he was going.
“I’ll be back when I’m back, woman!”
Classy, huh?
Larry Holmes & the Easton Years
I met Larry “The Easton Assassin” Holmes in 1983 while promoting a show at the local high school. His brother Mark agreed to do an exhibition, but told me I needed Larry’s approval.
Larry’s response: “I ain’t putting my brother on some rinky-dink show.”
Later, while watching Larry spar, he suddenly stopped, pointed at me, and yelled:
“I ought to kick the shit out of you. You asked my brother after I told you no!”
I walked away, knowing his temperament—he’d knock you down and kick you in the head afterward.
A year later, at a press conference, I asked loudly, “Didn’t Nick Wells knock you out twice in the amateurs?”
He admitted it. I followed up from about ten feet away, shouting, “You don’t think you beat Tim Witherspoon or Carl ‘The Truth’ Williams, do you?”
Harold Johnson, Kid Gavilan & the Old Masters
I once asked former light heavyweight champion Harold Johnson, “How did that bum Willie Pastrano beat you?”
He answered calmly: “He was a good boxer.”
Jim Jacobs later told me it was the worst decision he’d ever seen.
I also met my second-favorite boxer ever, Kid Gavilan, living in a Harrisburg hotel. He was working on a book about the Philly mobster who managed Johnny Saxton—the man who robbed the Kid, and even Fidel Castro, stealing Gavilan’s property in Cuba.
I told him, “I hope you live to finish it.”
Marco Antonio Barrera, Alexis Argüello & the Spinks Brothers
When I met Marco Antonio Barrera, I told him I remembered him beating Naseem Hamed and grabbing his head, pushing it into the turnbuckle—costing him a point. He just smiled.
Alexis Argüello was pure class.
I met both Spinks brothers: Michael was quiet and polite. Leon was wild—missing teeth, but when he smiled, you wanted to hug him.
Sugar Ray Leonard, Howard Davis & Others
In Atlantic City, I told Sugar Ray Leonard, “You should have gotten the best boxer award in the Olympics, not Howard Davis.”
When I later interviewed Davis, I said I didn’t think he beat Aaron Pryor in the Olympic trials. He was not thrilled.
I interviewed Butterbean once. Nasty guy.
Tex Cobb & the Philadelphia Days
I remember seeing Tex Cobb at Frazier’s gym when he first came to Philly, kicking a heavy bag. He told me that when he saw all the fighters at the Holmes–Snipes press conference—every one of them a heavyweight—he walked in and said,
“Look at this—some of the baddest N——s in the world in one room!”
Snipes told him he’d fight him next. Tex replied, “You ain’t beating Holmes. Come down here and we can get it on.”
Snipes had nothing to say.
A North Philly Shooting & a Final Goodbye
Leaving the Front Street Gym once, two young fighters passed me on their way in. Half a block later, I heard rapid gunfire behind me. One of them was shot and died the next day.
That was the last time I visited the “City of Brotherly Love”—until October 2024, when I received the PAB Hall of Fame award for writing. I accepted it thanking my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and my mother—“a gift from God”—because without her, I wouldn’t have been standing there.
Last Updated on 12/10/2025
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