Beau Williford Appreciation Thread

Just looked him up after stumbling upon his Tyson-Frazier quote and I saw the sad news that he had been moved to an end-of-life hospice just last week. Seems like a colorful guy who led an interesting and successful life in the sport, from his days sparring with Ali to his success running his own gym, the Ragin’ Cajun Boxing Club in Lafayette, Louisiana for more than 30 years. He was even on hand to help Peter McNeeley wrap Tyson in his infamous cocoon of horror, but even the best cornermen can only do so much for a fighter.

I don’t know a whole lot about Williford but I’m pasting a few stories I found on his life and career.

 

Robert Mladinich, Beau Williford: A Carolina Boy, The Sweet Science, Jan. 12, 1997

While growing up in his native North Carolina, Beau Williford was a maniacal boxing fan. In 1968, at the age of 18, he wrote to the late manager and trainer Al Braverman in New York and told him he wanted to be a professional fighter.

At the time Williford had a year of college, as well as a North Carolina state Golden Gloves title on his resume. Braverman offered to send him a bus ticket to the Big Apple, but the ruggedly individualistic Williford opted to hitchhike instead.

“I really liked Al,” he said. “I know that a lot of people didn’t because he was very crude and very rude, but he was a freaking genius who always treated me nice.”

Williford took up residence in Jersey City and sparred daily with the likes of such popular local pros as Chuck Wepner, Randy Neumann, Bill Sharkey, Brian O’Melia, Wendell Newton, Al Brooks, Jimmy Dupree and Frankie DePaula.

He turned pro in 1968 and, according him and others, had about 40 fights. Box.rec.com lists his record as 1-3 (1 KO), which includes a third round knockout loss to Ron Stander in Oklahoma City in June 1976.

“Beau was fighting down south a lot in those days,” said longtime matchmaker Johnny Bos. “I remember seeing at least five or six times New Jersey, and none of those fights are on his record.”

Whether he’s regaling you with tales of the ring or the gym, Williford tells a good story. While he still speaks fondly of nearly all of his sparring partners, no one, it seems, is closer to his heart than Wepner.

“I really looked up to Chuck, still do today,” said the now 56-year-old Williford, who lives and trains fighters in Lafayette, Louisiana. “He was an ex-Marine, a real tough guy. And you couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“Beau is my dear friend,” added Wepner. “He’s a real happy-go-lucky guy, a big galoot, about 6’3” and 250 pounds. He’s a sweetheart.”

With the exception of DePaula, Williford speaks glowingly about all of his colleagues from that era.

He called O’Melia, who was a school teacher, “a beautiful guy who always had a smile on his face. He was a good fighter and a tough guy. He just couldn’t punch. If you didn’t like Brian O’Melia, you wouldn’t like Jesus Christ.”

On Dupree, he said, “He was a good guy and, like me, a Carolina boy so we had a little in common. The first time we sparred, Al Braverman told him to let me have it. He hit me with a right hand on the chin, his best shot. He told Al I guess he’s got a good chin, he’s still standing.”

Williford sparred with Newton, who was truly one of boxing’s nice guys, more than anyone else.

“He was the greatest guy in the world,” said Williford. “He never took advantage when it got to the point where I could hold my own. And he was never jealous of anyone else’s success.”

Brooks, said Williford, “Never trained a day in his life, but could knock a building down. We’d go running together and after a quarter mile or so, he’d say I’m finished. I’d get back after four miles and he’d say how far did we run today?”

Williford is not prone to speaking ill of the dead, but says that DePaula was a bully who lacked heart.

“He could hit like a freaking mule, but he wasn’t the bravest guy,” said Williford. “One time down south we had a confrontation and he said he’d whip my ass (in a street fight). I said, if you could you would. He had been in reform school so he knew a lot more about street fighting than me. He knew about knives and guns, but I wasn’t afraid of him.”

Williford, who is still good friends with Stander, jokes that the man known as the Council Bluffs Butcher because he hailed from Council Bluffs, Iowa, “hit like a sissy.” In actuality, Williford says, nothing could be further from the truth.

Still, he says that he had Stander’s face cut in two places and might have been en route to winning a decision. Instead, Stander landed one of his vaunted left hooks and Williford went down. He says he was up at the count of two when the fight was stopped.

He explains that promoter Pat O'Grady, who was known for his shenanigans, later told him, “We had to get you out of there” in order to salvage Stander’s upcoming bout with South African Gerrie Coetzee.

Williford wound up staying in New York for about eight years. In addition to boxing, he studied business at the College of New Rochelle and worked as a bartender at several popular nightspots.

“He’d ask what you were drinking and then say, ‘I’ll have one too,’” laughed Wepner. “Then you’d have to force him to take your money.”

One of those places, the Bells of Hell on West 13th Street in Greenwich Village, was frequented by writers and newspaper guys. In a 1995 article in the New York Daily News, longtime columnist Vic Ziegel recalled some wild nights, including one that landed Williford in the lockup.

At the time of the article, Williford was training Peter McNeeley for his fight against Mike Tyson. Ziegel recounted telling the former owner of Bells of Hell that Williford was by then a respected member of his community as a trainer, matchmaker, promoter, husband of a bank vice president, and father of four (now five) boys.

“Well, it took him bloody long enough,” snorted the recipient of the news.

The fact is that Williford has an awful lot to be proud of. His last fight was in 1979 and he began training boxers in 1982. His first pupil was a rough New York heavyweight named Bill Sharkey, an ex-convict who was later found murdered in Pennsylvania.

Sharkey, who fought both Mike Weaver and Kallie Knoetzee, had a fearsome reputation.

“I didn’t know anything about training fighters, but I learned a lot with him,” said Williford. “He was a bit of a nut case who would ignore you if you were afraid of him. He had to have physical respect for you. I was able to get that from him.”

Williford moved to Louisiana for a job opportunity, never expecting to stay long. Instead, he met his wife Teri when she was a college senior and they have never left.

Their five sons who range in age from 22 to 8. The two oldest, twins Leslie and Wesley, both won state Golden Gloves titles.

Last year Christian, 17, won the State and Mid-South regional titles. Having just turned 16, he was the youngest entrant at the national tournament in Omaha.

Although he didn’t win there, his father’s old friend Stander was in attendance. Omaha is just across the bridge from Council Bluffs.

“That kid can fight,” said the Butcher.

Williford now runs the Ragin’ Cajun boxing club in Lafayette. One of his head coaches, Deirdre Gogarty, is the former undisputed women’s featherweight world titlist. She is best known for her epic battle with Christy Martin on the undercard of the second Mike Tyson-Frank Bruno fight in 1996.

In December, Williford took the relatively inexperienced Kasha Chamblin, an eight year veteran of the United States Marine Corps, to Germany to fight Ina Menzer for the Women’s International Boxing Federation featherweight title.

Although Chamblin lost the battle after being stopped in the eighth round, she won the war and Williford couldn’t have been prouder of her.

“She’s as pretty as any movie star, and she really can fight,” said Williford. “The fight in Germany was, realistically, the first real fight she ever had. Ina was the first real fighter she ever faced and she did well. I told her the pros and cons of taking that fight, and she said we can’t pass up this opportunity. That’s a fighter for you.”

Williford, who also works for the Beacon Financial Corporation, is living large. He’s doing what he loves, has a family that he adores, and looks forward to each and every day with the enthusiasm of a novice Golden Glover.

“Beau is good for the boxing business,” said Wepner. “He’s just a good, good guy with a great personality. And he developed a hell of a program in Louisiana. They don’t make them much better than him.”

Check out Williford on the web at: ragincajunboxing.com

 

Williford: Ali very different off camera
Kevin Foote,

This content is protected

10:02 p.m. CT June 4, 2016

When Beau Williford first met Muhammad Ali, he was still known as Cassius Clay to the world.

It was the summer of 1964.

In February of that year, Clay had conquered Sonny Liston to become Heavyweight Champion of the World.

A month later, Williford won a North Carolina State Golden Gloves championship.

As good fortune would have it, Clay and his camp were driving through Williford’s hometown of Fayetteville, N.C., on their way to signing the rematch bout with Liston when their bus broke down.

The town’s sports editor caught wind of the news and contacted Williford to see if he would be interested in taking advantage of this development to meet Clay.

After all, like so many boxing fans all across the world, Williford had watched Clay win the gold medal in the 1960 Olympics, and certainly had just witnessed his upset of Liston.

So Williford made up a good excuse to leave his home for a few hours and began a lifelong relationship after talking with him for “five or six hours.”

As it turned out, Williford would be a sparring partner for Muhammad Ali for six of his fights in the 1970s.

So when the news broke late Friday night that the legendary Ali had died at the age of 74, Williford certainly had a lifetime of memories to reflect upon when reviewing the life of the boxing icon.

“He was very nice,” Williford said of the unexpected meeting. “He was as nice as he could be. I was in awe of him.

“Adults didn’t like him because of his big mouth. But I liked him. That was before all the Muslim stuff.”

At the time, neither one had any way of knowing that informal meeting wouldn’t be the first between the two by a long shot.

Among the fights that Williford sparred for Ali were the bouts against Ernie Shavers, Ken Norton and Jimmy Young.

Williford certainly wasn’t shocked that Ali had trouble with Young.

“He was really messing around,” Williford said. “I don’t think he was taking Jimmy seriously. I knew Jimmy. Jimmy was slick. Jimmy couldn’t break an egg with a hammer. He wasn’t going to hurt Ali, but he outboxed him.”

Still, Ali got the nod from the judges anyway as the reigning champion.

“Jimmy Young knew he beat him, but believe me, he was also excited just to be in the ring with Ali.”

During the sparring sessions, Williford said there were times Ali was serious and times when he clowned around some.

“He would do the Ali shuffles, the rope-a-dope and he waved people in,” he said. “He had done that a ton of times before the (George) Forman fight.”

For all the showtime antics and being the trash talk king of all time, Williford said people shouldn’t forget Ali’s superior skills.

“His defense was excellent,” Williford said. “He was great at protecting himself. You were constantly hitting elbows.

“Ali and Gene Tunney were the two best heavyweights of all time. They were masters at not just standing there and getting hit.”

At 6-foot-3, Ali changed the philosophy of many trainers in the 1960s by showing that “a big man could get up on his toes and still go 15 rounds.”

While few doubt Ali’s prowess in the ring, Williford knows many will blow his on-camera antics out of proportion.

“If he saw you without the cameras on, it was, ‘Hey man, what’s happening?’,” Williford said. “He was very different when the cameras were off, but he still talked trash. He always talked trash. (Fellow Louisville native) Rudy (Macklin) told me that’s just the way it is at this certain park in Louisville.”

Williford said he also learned that Ali would offer help to any athlete out of Louisville.

“He did a lot of stuff that was completely unknown to the public,” Williford said.

For example, Williford told the story of Ali talking to a white man, who told the champion that his father was still a POW in Vietnam.

“He (Ali) said, ‘Let’s see if we can do something about that,’ and he went there and tried to get his father out,” Williford said. “I bet you 100 people know about that.

“We’d talk about some issues and we wouldn’t agree. But he was a good man.”