I look back on the boxing people I’ve met over the past 20 years of writing, and even longer, attending fights before that.
Muhammad Ali (Cherry Hill, 1973 & Deer Lake Camp)
My first meeting 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 out of the back room, I had the dumbest question I could ask:
“Why didn’t you give Doug Jones a rematch?”
Good 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 with all these bums?” Ali just stared at me. So earned.
Cus D’Amato, Mike Tyson and 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 come visit. The Hilton family from Canada was there, and when I met Mike we were watching 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 anything to Mike in the locker room before an Atlantic City fight. As I walked in, Mike ran, grabbed me by the waist and lifted me into 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 was once watching a fighter on the bag when I heard Joe bark behind me:
“Move, or I’ll use you for a heavy bag.”
I didn’t argue.
Another time, Joe’s brother, Tom, asked if I would work with Team Frazier since they had 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 that the guy?”
I saluted and walked straight out. Couldn’t stand him.
Years later, when I was living in Whitemarsh, PA, a police friend suggested throwing Joe a surprise party. We tried to coordinate through his secretary for six months—no luck.
We then 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 asked, “Who’s paying for this?”
I said we would sell tickets—Fraziers would be free.
He snapped, “When Joe throws 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 and 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’m not putting my brother on some rinky-dink show.”
Later, watching Larry struggle, he suddenly stopped, pointed at me, and shouted:
“I should kick the crap out of you. You asked my brother after I told you no!”
I walked away, knowing his temperament—he would knock you down and then kick you in the head.
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 and yelled, “You don’t think you beat Tim Witherspoon or Carl ‘The Truth’ Williams, do you?”
Harold Johnson, Kid Gavilan and the Old Masters
I once asked former light heavyweight champion Harold Johnson, “How did that bum Willie Pastrano beat you?”
He calmly replied, “He was a good boxer.”
Jim Jacobs later told me it was the worst decision he had ever seen.
I also met my second favorite boxer ever, Kid Gavilan, who lives in a Harrisburg hotel. He was working on a book about the Philly mobster who was running Johnny Saxton—the man who robbed the Kid, and even Fidel Castro, who stole Gavilan’s property in Cuba.
I told him, “I hope you live to finish it.”
Marco Antonio Barrera, Alexis Argüello and the Spinks brothers
When I met Marco Antonio Barrera, I told him that I remembered him hitting Naseem Hamed and grabbing his head, putting it in the turnbuckle—which cost 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 and 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 excited.
I interviewed Butterbean once. Nasty guy.
Tex Cobb and 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 these—some of the worst N——s in the world in one room!”
Snipes told him he would fight him next. Tex replied, “You don’t beat Holmes. Come here and we can tackle it.”
Snipes had nothing to say.
A North Philly shootout and a final goodbye
Two young fighters were leaving the Front Street Gym once, and 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 by thanking my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and my mother—”a gift from God”—because without her I would not be standing there.
Last updated on 12/10/2025
