I knocked on the bedroom door and a voice you associate with misty New York dockside rasped: ‘Friend or foe?’ ‘Friend, I think.’ Inside there were blue whorls of cigar and cigarette smoke, a small crown of American lounge suits and a plump man in ragged trousers and short padding barefoot and swinging an arm as thick as your thigh. ‘… So I keep coming forward like this, left foot first, and I hit him a shot with the right, and I see his eyes roll up in his head and I give him the left to finish him…’ ‘Rocky, you remind me of a skunk…!’ Somebody interrupting. I backed quickly for the door. The Rock’s eyes widened below the stitch mark – one eye took thirteen stitches, seeing him through just one million dollar world title defence: ‘A skunk?’ ‘The way you fought, Rocky, like a skunk with a farm dog and the dog keeps backing away because he knows what a punch that skunk packs in his tail!’ ‘Right! Joe Louis couldn’t take my shot to the head – not even high on the head. I got to him with one high on the head and I see his eyes go “Great to meet ya!”’ The Rock comes for me. ‘Have a cup of coffee! You’re welcome!’ The Rock opens his fist and there’s a cup and saucer hidden in it. The honesty in the round, hearty face is humiliating. I told the Rock we’re talking of banning boxing in Britain. ‘Right! Well, it’s got to come! It’s got to – in fifty, twenty-five years’ time – no, less than that – it’s got to come; as people get more civilized, they’re going to ban boxing.’ ‘Rocco, my baby!’ A man lying full-length on a divan barks: ‘Whaddya sayin’…!’ ‘I tell you it’s got to. They will outlaw boxing. A hundred years from now we’ll be like the gladiators, something out of history.’ The sad, gentle eyes. ‘There won’t be any boxers any more – aw, boxing’s just got to go. Less than twenty-five years, ten years or less than that maybe. In America they let fighters go on till one of them’s half-dead – Joe Louis couldn’t take a shot to the head any more.’ ‘He couldn’t take one on the button, Rocky!’ ‘He couldn’t take a punch anywhere on the head any more. Even high on the head. People say to me, “Rocky, you made me scream watching you fight, you looked like you’re going to get killed the way you keep coming forward taking all those punches on the chin…”’ The Rock shakes his head amusedly. ‘But I never did.’ He tucks the bristling chin into the protective shoulders. ‘I always had my chin down here. I never used to take any punches on the chin. Nobody can take punches on the chin. ‘Rocky, baby…’ ‘Only time I left myself wide open was when they put wintergreen in my water bucket to try and stop me winning the world championship and my eyes stung so I had to lift my chin just to see and Walcott nailed me on the chin and nearly knocked me out.’ ‘Crooks! Wintergreen they put in his water bucket!’ ‘Talk about divine justice. The officials handling me in that fight, awhile after they all dropped dead.’ The Rock massaged his chin quickly. Are there punch-drunk boxers in America? ‘Not many. Ezzard Charles. Oh, he’s banged up, oh God yes he is. After he met me. ‘Rocco, baby! He is not! Charles is not.’ ‘Aw, yes. Aw, terrible, yes. He is.’ The Rock demonstrates with a press picture showing his victim’s face like a chocolate marshmallow crushed between the Rock’s fists. ‘Think! What kind of money Cassius Clay versus Rocky would take now! Rocky could take Clay right now!’ There is a famous story of the Rock’s pugilistic encounter in a wartime brawl in a British pub. ‘Right! That’s true. But if I get in trouble like that now I have to back away. Talk my way out of it. I have to … I never like to see people hurt. I was an old man when I won the world title – I was twenty-eight. That’s why Patterson can’t beat Clay! He’s an old man. He’s twenty-seven.’ The Rock’s finger’s play constantly with the poke of his English ratting cap on his head. Going bald has hurt the Rock more than anything could do in the ring. He wears the cap even indoors and, for public appearances, a well-made American hair-piece. ‘Over here in Britain boxing is so civilized anyway. They’d never let me become heavyweight champion of England – I bleed too easy. Sure there are fights that not quite right. But not the world heavy championship. There’s too many people like Norman Mailer – like you – watching us all the time.’ The eyes soften. ‘I don’t even go to the fights any more. Don’t like to see people getting hurt. I’m a bad fight referee even.’ The Rock admits it sadly. ‘I spoil the fights. Soon as one of the fellers starts bleeding a little even, I stop the fight. The crowd don’t like it. You hear the crowd yelling. Screaming. Go on! Let ‘em fight! Beat him to death, go on! That’s the really brutal part of the boxing. The crowd. Outside I met a sports writer. ‘You saw Marciano – what’s he like? More animal than man, I suppose?’ " (John Summers - 1965) https://www.facebook.com/classicboxingsociety/posts/529596997185318
Rocky was an interesting guy. He was a legendary cheapskate- to the point of the absurd. He carried a device with him to steal free calls from payphones, for example. He grew up in poverty during the Great Depression and never wanted to go back there.
Very interesting Dougie. as I have posted previously I saw Rocky batter a great HW prospect Carmine Vingo almost to the point of death in 1951 at old MSG. But what sticks in my psyche today was the time I and my pals, youngsters we were [yes I was once young], went to see Rocky train at Grossinger's in Sullivan County. I recall we paid 1 buck to get in the airplane hanger , the money taken by yes, Al Weill his manager who previously managed the great but woefully underated LW champion Lou Ambers. We sat in the first row about 3 feet from the ring where we saw Rocco Marchegiano shadow box and then go 3 rounds with some bigger sparring partners. I recall gigantic muscular thighs that gave Rocky a springboard to launch those powerful punches from his powerful frame and still recall the sounds of those thuds landing on every part of his sparring partners frames.. It sounded like a butcher pounding his steaks...I will never forget that long ago day. cheers D !...
Awesome Burt, I think you meant 1949, that's when the fight took place. What can you tell me about Vingo's style? Skillset? Power? 6'4 right?
burt has seen this many times.....but i have another friend who was at that fight...and he recalls his memories of it here.. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4wSvphrwRE
here's an article i scanned and uploaded to that blog of mine recently (marciano v vingo report with photos).....if images are too small, right click and open in a new tab and then click again on them to enlarge.. http://classicboxingsociety.blogspot.ie/2015/02/blog-post_8.html (or here.. http://goo.gl/TRoGbk )
Yes S, Marciano kod the terrific prospect Vingo in 1949 at old MSG. My dad and I sat in the first row side balcony overlooking the ring. I had seen Carmine Vingo fight before on our 12" Emerson tv set. Carmine was a very hard puncher from the Bronx [home of Jake LaMotta] and towered over Rocky... I recall vividly [yipes,66 years ago] that my dad and I were skeptical of this out of town sensation from Brockton, Mass. as we had seen so many hyped small town sluggers who failed in the mecca of boxing MSG. Well in the very first round the much taller Vingo landed a thunderous right hand uppercut on the crouching Marciano that seemed to lift Rocky off his feet, BUT Rocky turned out to be the real deal, survived that blow and proceeded to take charge...We in the audience saw a star in the making that night...And I will always recall that the terribly brave and battered Vingo laying on his back unconscious with one of his feet twitching violently on the canvas...Shades of Ingemar with Floyd Patterson...A night I cannot ever forget...
