Tell me about Denny Moyer

This was a great thread

 

Rocky Defazio was getting a lot of local press in neighborhood newspapers in the Melrose Park, Illinois area in suburban Chicago in the 1970s before his loss to Moyer. Melrose Park is a small village of about 20,000 people but it has produced some noted public figures from time to time, and there were high hopes for Defazio. The actress Carol Lawrence who did the stage version of "West Side Story" back in 1957 is from Melrose Park.

In recent years I have heard that Defazio is a popular boxing instructor for the Veteran's Park District in Melrose Park, Illinois.

 

This thread need not die just yet, if anyone wants me to post some more stories just say so.

 

yeh RB post more

 

SO!...

Laughed like crazy at the stories about Butkus, Csonka, and Jones.

 

Go for it...it's been great reading.

 

Allrighty then, here is one about Ray "Windmill" White who was quite the character as this storie tells it....


I knew Ray pretty well, and fought on the undercard of his 1971 fight against Roger Rouse, in fact I remember "Windmill" from the beginning of his mid-60'debut at the Olympic.

Like most in L.A., I got my first look at this most unorthodox boxer, when he appeared in a televised prelim. I was watching the fights with my grandfather, and we couldn't believe what we were seeing! This guy would flaps his arms by the side of his body like a bird and then let go of his famed "Rooster" punch, which was both gloves slapping against the side of his confused opponents body, repeatedly. He would then slowly step back, make a face, stick out his toungue and smile at them.

This, of course, would infuriate most boxers, and some would charge after him. Occasionally, he'd catch a solid shot, but if he did, he took it well. Once, I saw him catch a jab from Terry Lee, at the Valley Music Theatre. The punch hit Ray square in the face, he stepped back, and began to rub his nose, a ringsider told me he heard White scream, "OW! That hurts!" He'd make silly faces, usually exagerating his reaction to his opponents offense.

Was "Windmill" White crazy?

Well, I didn't believe the guy was crazy, that is at first. I could see that White was a very awkwardly tough boxer, one that was surprisingly hard to hit, he was able to gauge his distance, somehow appearing to be within the opponents range, but actually, perfectly positioned to make a guy look like a fool.

I thought Ray White was a great showman, and a deceptivly skilled fighter, that could take a punch if hit, and come back to take control.

However, one afternoon at the Main St. Gym, I guess around 1970 or so, Ray "Windmill" White convinced me that he was CRAZY.

One day, Ray White stepped into the ring with Jerry Quarry, for a couple of "light" rounds of sparring. I rarely saw Quarry go light on anybody, having brutalized little brother Mike in the gym on a regular basis for years.

To my surprise, Jerry just moved and jabbed against the lighter White, moving his head, not letting go with the jolting right cross, or lethal left hooks. Jerry was just going to warm up with "Windmill", and I guess Ray either assumed that Jerry's kindness was weakness, or that the "Bellflower Bomber" might have a sense of humor??? Who knows?

Shortly after the start of the second round, Jerry continued to jab & move, occasionally allowing White inside to throw body punches. The moment White stepped inside Quarry, he grabbed Jerry, turned his back, put his arm around Quarry's neck and hit him with a "behind-the-back" punch.

Quarry was furious. He picked up Ray at the waist, and literally tossed him into a corner, as "Windmill" bounced off the turn buckle, Quarry dropped his left shoulder and dug a short hook into the side of Ray's body. I still can hear the thud of the blow. White fell to his knees, holding his side in agony.

Quarry was fuming, he stood over Ray cursing him, daring him to rise. I thought he was going to kick the balding fool as he moaned in pain on the floor. Ray suffered a couple of broken ribs.

A year or so later, Mike Quarry defeats White over ten rounds. Ray wasn't considered a KO puncher, but a few guys I knew said he could crack pretty good. After the fighting White, I asked Mike about Ray's power. Quarry replied, "The only time the co__sucker hurt me, was when he bit me on the neck during a clinch."

I got to know Ray personally in 1969, while I was still amateur. Ray trained a couple of brothers, bantamweights I fought before turning pro. The brothers names were Florentino & Refugio Ramirez.

Ray was a very nice man, and a pain-in-the-ass for opponents to deal with. I had no idea when I first saw"Windmill" White, that the "Clown Prince" of boxing would actually defeat top rated contenders.

 

QUE BARBARO

The first time he lost. The crowd knew it. The referee Berumen knew it. So did Sulieman. He gave the order to end it the way it did. And Mantequilla knew it. He was out of shape ,but he was in there with a hungry kid by the name of Armando Muniz.

Jose by that time did as little training as possible to get by. You'd see his genius. He'd win,but he wasn't pushin' it. Between the race track,his night club,his trumpet,and drinking late at night with Jose Alfredo,Jose Napoles had discarded the Spartan way of training.

However that night in Acapulco, that Muniz kid was kicking the poop out of him. He couldn't keep him off him. It was getting late and the Butter Man was melting. So Jose started swinging low. Figure Muniz would retaliate hitting below the border too,but Mando kept his cool. Do that and you lose on a DQ. So Sulieman sees his meal ticket waning and tells the ref to award Jose the winner on a foul anyway. It stunk. Even the aficanados knew it stunk.

They have to fight again. It's only fair. Right? This time the old master trains. He'll be in shape to catch him with hooks and uppercuts. His skill will determine victory. He'll train for this one. And the kid? He knows only one way. Put pressure on those old legs. But Mantequilla was his old self. It was the last time we'd see it.

I saw the rematch on the big screen in Tijuana at the auditorium. Jose looked fit. The definition showed. Mando pressed. Mantequilla used his craft expertly. Yes ,he was against the ropes,but he countered everything. After a few rounds began the blood.

Muniz knew the old man had him figured out this time around. He pressed like before hoping Jose would tire. They both fought for their lives. Napoles's eyes started to tear apart worse than ever,but so did Mando's. No DQ's tonight. Both guys were crimson. They were wearing their red badges of courage. It was all over the ring,the ringsiders,and we were bleeding with them. They were rocking each other. The announcer,the crowd,everyone watching the big screen was enthralled.
"Que barbaro!"
That was every other word from the mouths of the witnesses to this carnage.
"Que barbaro!"we were gasping.
Incredible. You want it to stop because you think one of them might get hurt seriously. Maybe die. But let it act out. Don't stop it. The conclusion must be seen. Painfull,but it must be seen to its conclusion.

The final bell. Both men standing impassively in the ring. Eyes shredded. Purple welts all over their bodies.Lips torn apart. Blood matted on their chests. Sweat and blood everywhere. To watch them after 15 rounds of attrition stand silently. The blood trickling down their faces. They seemed at peace.At peace after all they had given to each other.
"Que barbaro!"*

"que barbaro" means "wow" in Spanish.

 

I sat next to Eddie Gregory watching the Jerry Martin-Jesse Burnett fight at the Philly Spectrum.

Gregory commented to me at some point during the fight that Burnett was the “slickest” fighter he had ever fought.
I wish I had asked him to explain that in further detail, but we were watching the fight.

Both Burnett and Martin were tall light heavies.
Burnett landed his right hand repeatedly, round after round. Martin was so strong at that time that he just took it, round after round. I assumed Martin was losing the fight.

It was a 12-round fight. In the final round, showing great stamina, Martin came on strongly, drove Burnett around the ring, and knocked Burnett down.

The decision was a surprise to me--for Martin, the hometown fighter.

I always brought 4 one-quart wax containers of orange juice with me in a big paper bag when I went to a fight, and gave them to fighters I liked after their fights in the dressing room.

I went to Burnett’s dressing room. He was sitting there surrounded by some weirdly dressed pimp types. Also there was his manager, (white guy), the guy who had some connection with blacklisted basketball player Connie Hawkins..

I told Burnett that Martin was a friend of mine, but that I thought he [Burnett] won the fight.
Burnett commented that Martin was “strong,” but still had “things to learn.”

I gave Burnett one of my quarts of orange juice, which would be a godsend for a dehydrated fighter after a fight, as long as his mouth wasn’t cut. One of the pimp types grabbed at the carton as Burnett held it, saying “Why do you get all that? What about us?” and tried to take it away from him.
I got furious, and said, “This guy just fought and got robbed. What did you do? I gave the juice to HIM, not you.”

I was so angry every one there was afraid of me, even though there was only one of me and many of them.

Then I went to Martin’s dressing room and I saw something I have never seen before. Martin was sitting on a table in the room, and as I started to step in the room it almost felt like a force was pushing me back out. Martin’s face was so swollen on the left side high on the face from all the heavy right hands he had taken from Burnett, that the swollen side of his face projected out so that it seemed to take up most of the room. I NEVER saw a face like that. It looked like a space man’s face.

Martin’s local manager-trainer said that they had to go to the hospital to have the cut on the surface of the swelling stitched up, because although he was a medic, he didn’t know how to handle a cut like that on top a swelling so huge.

Burnett and his entourage then came into the room. Burnett grinned and yelled out loudly (and somewhat affably) as he entered, “How is that TURKEY?” to Martin. Martin sat there quietly and they talked a bit, with Martin complimenting Burnett about his abilities.

I followed Martin and his manager to the hospital in my car.
Martin wasn’t afraid of fighting, but he was terrified once we got inside the hospital and he went into an operating room with the Asian doctor on call there that late at night. Very interesting how someone can be unafraid of an area that would scare most people, but totally terrified in another.

I could see what a bad state of mind Martin was in as he took off his clothes to lie on the table, so I told him I would be around the corner, holding his clothes and his wallet for him.
In the next room I sat and waited, talking to Martin’s ‘manager.’

The doctor came out and said they were done, and as I went into the room I could see Martin was still totally terrified. Some comments he made as I handed him his wallet and clothes showed me he was in an extremely bad state of mind.
At the same moment the clueless manager started jabbering loudly and critically about what Martin should have done in the fight, completely oblivious to the condition Martin was in psychologically.

The jerk kept up his clueless barrage as we walked out. I could see Martin, in the state of mind he was in, was possibly going to go kill himself if he was subjected to that steadily in a closed car on a long ride home, so I took Martin by the arm and said, “I’ll give him a ride home.”
The manager said, “I’m his manager. I’ll give him the ride home.”

I said again I was giving him the ride home, and the guy decided not to fool with me.

On the ride I asked Martin about various buildings we passed in Philly, about people I had seen at the gym earlier in the day---all commonplace conversation—which eventually brought him back to a normal state of mind. By the time he was home he was in a perfectly good state of mind.

The manager must have talked about that, because the next time I called the Philly promoter to ask what he had coming up, when I said, “What about Jerry Martin? Does he have anything coming up?”
the promoter, paused and said to me very pointedly,
“That’s for his manager to decide—isn’t it.”

Martin had great equipment. They trained him to beat James Scott, because they wanted to get rid of Scott. They gave Martin the best sparring partners, and primed him to win that fight. He knocked Scott down with single right hands in both the first and seconds rounds, something nobody else ever did.

Then they told Martin to take time off (get out of shape) and that he wouldn’t fight until the end of the summer. I told him that didn’t make any sense, and that he shouldn’t get lax at that point.
Then, after he did stop training, they suddenly sprung on his him that he was fighting Eddie Gregory in a 15-round title fight in a couple weeks. In his ‘preparation’ for the fight, his stooge manager told him NOT to use any of his best punches, not practice them, etc. I talked to him only once before that fight, and he said he was “arguing” with his manager about that. Sick.
Martin’s chance of beating Gregory would have been NOT to allow Gregory to use his strengths—which were boxing at longer range, and to try to concentrate the fight in close where Martin would be using his strengths. Among other things, referee Tony Perez made sure there was no infighting.

Time stops me from going into detail re the Saad Muhammed-Martin title fight, where Martin was the only one involved who was not a member of the [muslim] club, with promoter Murad Muhammed, opponent Saad Muhammed, Saad’s managers, and referee Larry Hazzard-- all muslims. And of course the Larry Hazzard all time prize‘performance’ as so-called ‘referee’ in that fight.

Or Martin’s title fight with Braxton, where he wasn’t in condition to work out in a gym, much less fight, and showed up for that fight with stitches taken out of his lower lip two days before the fight and badly bruised ribs. And the lovely Eddie Futch there—the only time he was ever in Martin’s corner—just to make sure the fight did go on. And Futch didn’t even bother to go back to the dressing room with the badly beaten up Martin after the fight. On to his next ‘assignment.’

Some of these guys had great abilities and strengths, but were used a pieces in the overall ‘agenda.’

Take a look at Martin against James Scott, when they did prime and train him to go all out and win.

Burnett was robbed royally in his fight with Leon Spinks.
(Larry Hazzard was the ‘referee,’ of course.)

 

I haven't seen Joey Orbillo since the 70's. Last time I saw Joey he was refereeing a kick boxing match at the L.A. Sports Arena. I know Joey had been with the L.A.P.D. Harbor division for awhile, but then left the police force.

I remember Joey from his first days as a pro, but I'm sure Frank can tell you more about his younger days. I recall seeing him train at Jake Shagrue's Hoover St. Gym in the mid-60's, when he was still a young, unbeaten heavyweight.

Joey was only about 5'10", or so, and weighed less than 190 lbs. A bit small for a heavyweight. Too bad there wasn't a cruiserweight class in those days. I remember he was vey fast, had good boxing skills and power.

As the older L.A. guys here remember, In the mid-60's, when Cal & Aileen Eaton brought big-time boxing back to the Olympic on thursday nights, there were a group of local heavyweights that were making quite an impression. There was Quarry, Orbillo, Jimmy Harryman, Manuel Ramos, Amos "Big Train" Lincoln, "Srap Iron" Johnson, etc.

Alenn used to tout the Olympic as "Home of the Heavyweights".

As Quarry & Orbillo racked up wins and unbeaten records, the talk of the town was a Quarry-Orbillo showdown. However, something kinda got in the way of this dream match; Orbillo received his draft notice, and in a matter of weeks he was in the Army.

About this time, Eddie Machen was attempting a comback in the twilight years of his career, and came to L.A. Machen lost a decision to Manuel Ramos at the Sports Arena on the undercard of the Raul Rojas-Pajarito Moreno rematch. It would seem as if Mahen were thru, however, part of the loss might be blamed on the fact that at 3am on the morning of the fight, Aileen Eaton was having him bailed out of jail after being arrested on a drunk driving charge.

Orbillo, in the meantime, had finished up Basic Training and was sent home on a short leave. He received permission from the Army to box during his leave and he took on Eddie Machen, after minimal training for the match. Eddie Machen was to be an "opponent" only. WRONG! Machen gave Orbillo a boxing lesson and sent him back to Fort Ord with a loss on his record.

This set up a another big L.A. heavyweight showdown, between Quarry & Mahen. Johnnie Flores wasn't happy that Quarry was very arrogant when it came to preparing himself for "old Eddie", and like Orbillo, found himself with a loss on his record, after being schooled by Machen over ten rounds.

Eventually, this led to the long awaited Quarry-Orbillo match, which would be held on one of Joey's Army leaves. Jery had his way with Orbillo, knocking him down en route to a unanimous decision win.

After that, Joey Orbillo's career kinda washed away. The time spent in the Army broke his momentum and he never came back with any success.

By the way, regarding Machen, after schooling the two L.A. boys, Aileen Eaton matched him with an unbeaten Philly heavyweight named Frazier. That was a helluva fight! MAchen huing in until the very last round before Smokin' Joe could take him out.

A couple years later, four top heavy's of Machen's era, including Eddie, were dead. All died within a year of each other under very starnge circumstances. These are the guys I'm referring to: Sonny Liston (no heroin overdose, as reported), Eddie MAchen (Eddie was a sleepwalker, and one night just walked out of his second story window, falling to his death?), Zora Folley, found dead in his family swimming pool (listed as an accident, nobody seems to explain what caused that bullet-sized hole in his head?), and Roger Rischer, I think he was found dead behind the wheel of his car, or something like that. All fought one another, all dead, all msteriosly. In boxing, dead men tell no tales.

 

A Mando Ramos memory . . .

A few years ago Mando told me this story . . .

When Mando Ramos was fifteen years old, he and his future manager, Jackie McCoy, attended a fight at the Olympic Auditorium. While strolling up Grand Ave. to the entrance of the Olympic, Mando saw a punchy ex-boxer selling programs in front of the 18th & Grand arena. Mando told me the old man was wearing dirty, tattered clothes and in addition to the trademark broken nose and scar tissue, was missing one of his eyes.

"You shoulda seen this guy. He had an eye missing and instead of wearing a patch or having it stitched closed, he just had an empty socket, you could look right into his head", Mando said. "I thought that was kinda cool, and as I passed by him, he reached under a stack of programs and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, took a swig, slipped the bottle back under the stack of papers and would shout, "Get your programs, get tonight's program here!"

McCoy told his future champion that the down-on-his-luck former pug happened to be former Filippino great Speedy Dado. Mando was amazed and struck up a conversation with the Filippino legend. The ex-pug told the impressionable future champ that he had earned over a million dollars in his careeer, had worn the finest clothes, driven the most expensive cars and had screwed some of the most beautiful women in the world.

McCoy could see that his young boxer was impressed and finally grabbed his wide-eyed future superstar by the arm and said, "We gotta go Mando." As the two entered the Olympic, Ramos told his future manager, "I want to be just like him, I want what he had!" McCoy just shook his head and asked, "But what does he have today Mando?" Young Mando didn't understand what Jackie was trying to tell him.

Mando Ramos finished his story with a smile and said, "Today I understand."

 

More on Mando . . .

As Mando Ramos was coming up in Los Angeles, another guy was also exciting fans, featherweight "Irish" Frankie Crawford. In the beginning, the two were rivals and L.A. begged to see a match between the two. Mando was the class of the new breed of L.A. prizefighters while Crawford was anything but class, a throwback fistfighter who'd use every dirty trick in the book to upset an opponent.

Eventually promoter Aileen Eaton matched the two at the Olympic Auditorium. Ramos was coming off a narrow decison loss, his first, to Korea's Suh Kang Il, and a win over Crawford was needed to put his winning streak back on course. Outweighed by seven pounds, Frankie Crawford upset the future champion by gaining a close decision win. In a rematch, Ramos reversed the loss in convincing fashion and continued on toward becoming the youngest lightweight champ in history. With the rivalry settled, Ramos and Crawford became stablemates and friends. After winning and losing the lightweight title, 22-year-old Mando was matched against his former stablemate, ex-WBA featherweight king Raul Rojas in a major grudge match that was proceeded by a lot of trash talk by Rojas.

The fight was held on December 10, 1970 at the Olympic Auditorium and Frankie Crawford was also featured on the card as well as Armando Muniz and myself (I opened the show in a four rounder). By this time Mando and Crawford were running buddies and spent a lot of time together "having fun". Crawford was known to drink his share of alcohol but wasn't into drugs.

One afternoon a few years back I was visiting Mando and Sylvia at their San Pedro condo and the two of us talked about that night. Mando told me that the night before the match he was sitting alone in his apartment in Belmont Shores and smoking a joint. He heard a knock at the door and it was Crawford who'd stopped by to visit. The former featherweight contender smelled the marijuana smoke and was surprised. "What in the hell are you doing that for, you gotta fight tomorrow?" Mando just laughed and told Crawford the pot relaxed him. Crawford told Mando he was crazy and left.

The next night I went on first and won a decision in the opener. Ater Armando Muniz flattened his opponent, Frankie Crawford defeating Jose Luis Martinez and then Ramos and Rojas took the ring. Mando settled all the bad blood when caught Rojas with a vicious left hook in the 6th round, knocking Raul out cold. Mando's victory was very impressive and after the bout Crawford visited him in the dressing room.

Ramos' KO had impressed Crawford so much he waited for all the reporters to leave the room before pulling Mando aside and asking, "Hey man, where can I get some of that marijuana?"

Classic Ramos & Crawford!

 

Many remember Ernie Lopez the older brother of Danny "Lil Red" Lopez.
A real solid fighter in the 60s and early 70s out of L. A.
Ernie came up short in two title shots against Jose Napoles.
He had a very tough life from day one.
Born on a Ute Indian reservation with 7 siblings, his Mom cared for the kids while his Dad drank and was abusive.
The kids were taken away by Social Services andscattered about to different foster homes.
The Mother heartbroken, wound up wandering the streets.
After Ernies boxing career Lopez would work odd construction jobs and he would occasionaly disappear, hitchhiking across the country for no apparent reason.
He would always turn up eventually.
However one day in 1993 that changed.
Ernie asked his sister (who he was living with) to drop him off at the Bus station.
She probably figured he would be gone for a while , like usual.
Noone in his family heard or saw him again for 11 years.
It was not until The California Boxing Hall of Fame decided to enshrine him , that anyone was able to locate him.
That was in 2004.
He was found living in a homeless shelter in Fort Worth Texas.
When someone told him that he had been lost for 11 years , Lopez said "Im not lost, Ive been here all along".
Hes back with his Family in L.A. now.
Hes forgetfull from all the tough fights but it seems like hes doing ok.
Looking back, his Sister said that Ernie never really was able to get over his losses to Napoles.
He had put so much of his identity in being a fighter that he had a helluva time getting back on track.
Sometimes losing like that is very tough to deal with emotionaly I guess.
Although in the end it turned out ok, its still a harrowing experience for the people who cared about Lopez.
Sometimes fight fans dont realize the toll it takes on guys who climb them steps.
Im sure there are many many more stories similar to this.

His story is incredible.

 

Crawford, Conrad and "The Wild, Wild, West" . . . (PART ONE)

Actor Robert Conrad wished he could be a fighter, a guy who people would consider a "tough guy". It's not uncommon in Hollywood, actors are a strange lot, and the dimunitive size of Conrad perhaps led to his Napoleonic complex. Whatever, this is basicaly an essay on pride, passion and the danger of a weak ego.

I was born in a family of Film Industry professionals, not actors, but technicians. My family background dates back to 1927, the year Warner Bros. Studios opened in Burbank, Cal. The depression was right around the corner, and my grandfather needed work, so a neighbor informed him that the studio was hiring. "Just go down every morning at 5am. and wait by the gate, if they need extra help they might hire you off the street.

My grandad got hired, and would go on to become Warner's top lighting gaffer during his near forty year career. A few of the major films he lit were "The African Queen", "Shangri La", Rebel Without A Cause, Ocean's 11 (with the Rat Pack), "My Fair Lady", and his last, "Who's Afraid Of Virginia Wolf".

At the end of his career, my grandfather did TV, half-hour Warner's westerns such as Maverick, Sugar Foot, The Law Man, 77 Sunset Strip, Hawiian Eye, Surf Side Six, and others. This is where he would meet Robert Conrad.

A few years later, just weeks before his retirement, Conrad began production on a new TV series, at the CBS Studio Center, in nearby Studio City. The CBS Studio lot was formerly Republic Pictures, the home of all those B-Westerns, where Gene Autry and John Wayne got their start. The studio was built in 1928 and opened as The Mack Sennett Studios, named for it's owner, the silent era comic actor.

My grandad was under contract to Warner Bros. however, the studio honored the request of the CBS cinematographer who wanted my grandad to light the pilot for the new Robert Conrad series, "The Wild, Wild West".

At Warner's I was a frequent visitor to my grandfather's film sets, and the guards knew me when I'd ride up to the gate on my bike. At CBS, when I did the same thing, the guards got a little excited as I peddled thru the gate, like I owned the place. When I arrived at stage five, two security guards pulled up behind me in a golf cart and "apprehended" me. Luckily, one of the guys on my grandad's crew recognized me and told the security I was OK. They told me my next visit would require a pass.

I went on the set and had a blast. The pilot sold, and the show became an instant hit, right to #1, in an era of Western classics such as Bonanza & Gunsmoke.

With Conrad riding high on the success of "The Wild, Wild West", he formed his own version of Elvis Presley's "Memphis Mafia". Conrad's cronies were mostly friends from the film industry, such as his wardrobe man, Jimmy George, and a few stuntmen, such as Tommy Huff, who would box professionally briefly, and even marry Frankie Crawford's sister Chris, or "ChooChoo" as Frankie, called her.

Conrad's mafia would take on Elvis's mafia in touch football every sunday, and one of Elvis's body guards, Red West, would often hang with the Conrad group in the Valley. Conrad was married, and his home was on Hayvenhurst Dr. in Encino. However, Conrad was a player and also kept an apartment close by.

The Conrad group needed a club house, and that would be the home ofwardrobe man Jimmy George. The house was located in a typical North Hollywood neighborhood, had three bedrooms and a pool. After a long week of shooting, Friday nights would start out, and often end up at "the party house".

A young lighting technican, John Brumshagen would end up renting a room at the party house, when George's previous tenants moved out. John was barely 21, and had just started in the film business. Like so many kids right out of school, who become film tech's, John suddenly was making a lot more money than most his age. John would be the youngest of the men who frequent "the party house", most were in their 30's, like Conrad, and many were worn out, as the film world fast lane tends to do to people.

The older guys liked having John around, but John wished somebody was closer to his age.

One Friday evening, after John had come home from work, he found the house empty. He showered, and prepared for the party that would slowly get underway during the night. There was a knock on the door, and when John answered, he got the surprise of his life. Standing on the other side of the screen door was a familiar face, one that John had seen several times on TV, and it wasn't an actor.

"I think I know you", John said. "Aren't you Frankie Crawford?"

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

 

Crawford, Conrad, and "The Wild, Wild West" (Part 2) . . .

"Irish" Frankie Crawford had made quite a name for himself in L.A. boxing, by the time actor Robert Conrad purchased his contract. Crawford's long-time trainer, Jake Shagrue, would remain the voice in his fighter's corner, however, the actor wanted to be part of the action, and would carry the bucket and towel.

Crawford had proven himself among the best in the world, including future lightweight king and L.A. superstar, Mando Ramos. Crawford handed the young Ramos his second loss as a pro in a grudge match held at the Olympic. The bout was very close, but Crawford got the nod.

Having weighed in seven pounds lighter than the growing Ramos, Crawford stood his ground, and used every trick in the book, legal or otherwise, to control his strong, young opponent. In the end, Crawford got the nod, and Ramos would get revenge later in a rematch.

Crawford was close to a title shot, and he offered actor Conrad a chance to be seen with one of the roughest small men in boxing. Conrad would take Frankie everywhere, especially on Friday nights, where he'd show off "his fighter", like he was a champion race horse. Conrad began to take a noticeably more aggressive posture when in the company of guys who could "back him up". He thought nothing of starting a beef, and then relying Crawford, or one of the stuntmen he ran with, to intervene.

Those of you who remember Robert Conrad, when he was doing this show, recall he was a very good looking man, and he and his boys loved the women (and who doesn't). In Crawford's presence, Conrad felt as big as any man. Suddenly, Bob Conrad decides he's going to take out a pro license and give pro boxing a go. He boasted of an amateur career in Chicago, back when he went by his real name, Conrad Falk. Little eveidence could be found to support this, and his claim of having won the open class middleweight title in the Chicago-N.Y Golden Gloves tourney, back when he was a teen.

Suddenly, Bob Conrad decides to have the studio set up a boxing gym on an adjacent sound stage. A gym where his new stallion, Frankie Crawford, could train side-by-side with the actor, who would take a break each day to train under the guidance of Frankie's assistant trainer, Jimmy Gambina. All of Crawford's sparring partners would get extra parts in the TV series, this made Conrad happy, and further insulated his ego from reprisal.

Conrad had the studio publicity dept. take B&W still photos of him in a boxing pose. I saw one in the office of Mickey Davies, in 1971. I laughed when I saw the photo and read the inscription:

To my pal Mickey,
Keep punchin' pal . . .

BOBBY CONRAD . . . Chicago/165 pounds.

Pretty strange, I thought. Mickey Davies waved off the picture, "The man is crazy", he said.

About this time, Crawford is invited to the "party house", and this is when he and John Brumshagen met for the first time.

When John answered he door, he knew exactly who Crawford was. John had grown up in North Hollywood, where he had been a standout track athlete at N.H. High School. Brumshagen had just turned 21, and was a couple years younger than Crawford, and remembers noticing the featherweight because he was introduced in the ring, on TV, as being from North Hollywood.

From this meeting, thru the rest of the boxer's life, John Brumshagen would stick by the featherweight contender thru thick and thin. That's the kinda guy Brumshagen was, and still is. In later years, he and I would become close friends, and would also work together in the film industry.

The experiences I share, are a combination of personal memories and John Brumshagen's recollections. I've interviewed my buddy extensivly on Crawford, and his tales combined with mine, create an image of somebody that is both briliant and tragic. He was a hard guy to get to know. He was different, even more so than most boxers. He had a very strong sense of honor, but often, he'd confuse things, and he loved to fight. The bigger the opponent, the better, at least in the street.

Anyway, more to come . . .