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My Brush with Boxing Greats |
The
Warren Adler E-Sheet 51
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Greetings
From Publishing Central
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Update from
 |
It’s an exciting time here at
Stonehouse Press (publisher of Warren
Adler titles) with a lot going on. We’re
gearing up to celebrate the 25th anniversary
of the publishing of the novel,
The War of the Roses. Throughout the
coming year, we're planning several promotions
and events to celebrate this milestone, so
check back often. We’re also collaborating
with Amazon.com for the launch of
previously unpublished short stories, which
will be offered for only 49 cents! And we’re
counting down to the release of the new ebook
Reader from Sony, for which all of
Warren Adler's 28 published books are
available. And this just scratches the
surface! We’ll send email announcements, but
check the
website often for updates.
Thanks for reading,
Kirsten Ringer, VP Development
Stonehouse Press
Joe
Louis, Rocky Graziano and Me
 In
the seventies, when I was in the advertising
business, I spent a few days with two of the
most enduring heroes of my boyhood. One was
Joe
Louis,
the Brown Bomber, the undefeated
Heavyweight
Champion of the World. The other was
Rocky Graziano,
the former
Middleweight
Champion.
In
those depression years of my youth, the fights
were premier events. Huddled around our
radios, we listened with intensity and rapture
to descriptions of the matches that were far
more vivid in our imaginations than anything
we eventually saw with our own eyes in
newsreels at the movie theaters. The fights
were the most popular spectator sport on the
planet in those days.
It
was the golden age of the tough guy, of
Damon Runyon’s
Broadway, of
Walter Winchell,
Toots Shor,
the
Stork Club
and the old
Madison Square Garden,
of
Lindy’s,
the
Copa
and the
Brooklyn Bums.
The fighters and the gangsters were household
names. I could string them out to fill ten
pages.
Guys and Dolls
was real life.
Broadway
was the Great White Way. Being politically
correct was
LaGuardia
reading the comic strips on the radio during a
newspaper strike.
My
earliest recollection of the fights was of
listening enraptured by the radio account
rendered by the distinctive voice of
Clem McCarthy
of the championship bout of Heavyweight
Max
Baer
and Primo Canero, a giant fighter who could
barely box. Baer blew him away.
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The
fights were business, not personal and
ex-fighters loved each other’s company. |
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When I worked as a copy boy for the
New
York Daily News,
my job during the News-sponsored Golden
Gloves bouts was to attend the fights ringside
in various arenas around New York and bring
back the plates carrying the photographs of
the young boxers so that they could make the
bulldog edition.
Invariably I would return to the city room
spotted with the blood of the boxers.
One
of the bouts was with a young boxer who
reminded me of Joe Louis. His name was
Cassius Clay,
who later, inexplicably at the time, changed
his name to Mohammad Ali. As a copy boy I also
attended the big pro fights.
During and after my service in the Korean War
I edited a little magazine called Armed
Forces News. In addition to writing
everything in the magazine, I ghosted a
monthly column by the great
Lightweight
and
Welterweight
Champ
Barney Ross.
I mention these events as a prelude to my
spending time in person with Rocky and Joe.
The fights were a rich exciting part of every
young man’s life in those days. Sure it was a
brutal sport. It was supposed to be.
Joe Louis was strong, modest and
physically beautiful during his prime,
embodying everything that was considered manly
aspirations in my day. He beat Max Baer for
the Heavyweight Championship.
Seeing his picture in print or in
the newsreels with his great deadpan heroic
warrior stance can never be erased from my
mind. His first round knockout of
Max
Schmeling,
the Nazi favorite in 1938, who had floored Joe
in an earlier fight, made him not only my hero
but America’s hero.
Rocky Graziano was a tough New York
street fighter turned boxer who, for a brief
time, was Middleweight Champion of the world.
The three Rocky Graziano-Tony
Zale
fights were, by far, among the top fights of
all time. Zale won two and Rocky one, but they
were the most brutal fisticuffs ever exhibited
before a live audience. For Rocky to have
withstood that punishment and come out alive
endeared him to every one of us who loved the
fight game.
While owning an advertising agency
in Washington with the preposterous name of
Warren Adler Ltd, I was approached by someone
representing a soft drink called "Treet" based
in Lodi, New Jersey. My agency’s job was to
introduce this concoction that came in a
triangular plastic package to the Washington
market.
For some reason that I can’t
recall, they wanted me to make commercials
with two famous old time fighters. Rocky
Graziano came down from New York and insisted
that the other fighter in the commercial be
Joe Louis. All it took was one phone call and
Joe joined us. He was broke at the time.
I can remember being tongue tied
with admiration. Both men were true pals. It
shouldn’t come as a surprise. The fights were
business, not personal and ex-fighters loved
each other’s company, particularly Joe and
Rocky. It was quite inspirational to see them
banter with each other. When the three of us
were together, I was the butt of their jokes
and I loved it. Taking them around town to
keep them busy and content while rehearsing
the few lines in the commercial was part of
the job and I reveled in it.
Washington in those days wasn’t
exactly a cornucopia of nightlife, although
there was one strip joint under the elevated
highway in Georgetown. For some reason this
looked like something I thought these guys
would enjoy. Everywhere we went, Rocky and Joe
were celebrities and on this visit, the
strippers joined our table.
Joe, who was mostly taciturn and
not very talkative, became, in the presence of
these luscious ladies, positively eloquent. It
was remarkable to see how both these men loved
the attention of women and felt easy and
comfortable in their presence. The women, too,
seemed to glow in their proximity. Perhaps it
was the macho image of these male champions,
legendary warriors, that attracted them. It
was just a passing moment and we left the
place after an hour or so, but the observation
sits oddly in my memory.
The contrast between the two
ex-champions was considerable. Rocky was
gregarious and funny with a knife-cutting New
York accent, a kind of parody of a punch-drunk
fighter, although he was extremely intelligent
and articulate. He walked like a dancer and
was proud of the fact that he had taught
Marlon Brando to talk like him in
On the Waterfront. The affection
between the two men was obvious in the way
they treated each other.
Making the commercial was both
hilarious and somewhat tragic since both men
had difficulty remembering their lines, which
were hardly more than a sentence or two. Each
was aware that they were suffering from a
disability of their boxing career. The
finished commercial in which my three children
also participated was a disaster.
One day I took Joe to lunch at
Duke Zeiberts, which was as near to
Broadway as you could get in Washington.
Politicians, newspaper guys and the old Irish
mafia during the Kennedy years lunched there
daily, swilling scotch and martinis and
munching on half done pickles. Duke stood at
the door and ladled out tables to the
politicians and celebrities of the era. The
fare was old New York,
21 Club-like and table-hopping. Having
lunch in the front room was like being among
the chosen.
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To this day I am sensitive to that first
person pronoun, especially if overused in
conversations by a long-winded monologist. |
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Shepherding Joe, I basked in his
glory. He was still recognizable to that crowd
and I felt the thrill of his celebrity glow as
I passed through the crowd with Joe in tow.
The thing about Joe Louis was that he had the
odd habit of referring to himself in the third
person. Joe wants this. Joe wants that. It was
as if his modesty precluded any use of the
first person pronoun. To this day I am
sensitive to that first person pronoun,
especially if overused in conversations by a
long-winded monologist.
At times, in a long life, an odd
nugget of profound wisdom inadvertently drops
into memory conveyed quickly and carelessly in
trivial conversation, like that famous moving
finger that writes and passes on. Duke joined
us for lunch and the chit-chat probably dealt
with other matters when Joe offered that
little polished diamond of wisdom that has
stuck with me through the years.
Joe Louis, after all, had moments
of ecstasy and misery, the greatly revered
champion had an up and down home life,
harassment by the tax people, bad advice,
victimization by sycophants and stooges, and
health problems. His fortune was squandered
and he was broke at the time of this lunch. He
said in passing. I don’t remember the context,
only Joe’s words.
"On Joe’s tombstone I want them to
put one word. "Even." Joe is even."
To me, this has always remained a
wonderfully wise and profound axiom. All of us
live lives buffeted by contrary winds and
tides, ups and downs, highs and lows, joys and
sorrows, as we step dance on the red carpet to
oblivion. For my boyhood hero the beautiful
Joe Louis, the great champion, to say that he
was "even" was to me a lesson in humility and
strength that has been a watchword all my
life. I would love be able to say that I ended
up, like Joe Louis, "even."
There is an addendum to this
little story. Not only was the commercial a
disaster, the product was terrible and was
quickly withdrawn from the market. Worse, I
never got paid for my services, which resulted
in a considerable financial loss.
It was worth every penny.
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Warren
Adler
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