Later, in my thirties, I started to look at life a bit differently and realized what a great environment my dad had provided for us including everything the boxing world had poured into our family. So many of the people I knew and still know to this day were because of boxing. These are people who spoke into my life, even during my "you're an ass" years.
This is the story of just one of those folks.
Left: Duke Holloway, Middle: my father, Charles Casas, Right: not sure (sorry, whoever you are)
Background: George Latka
I was 5 years old in 1963 the first time I recall meeting Duke Holloway. My father had taken me to Main Street Gym in downtown Los Angeles. He was meeting one of his boxers there to watch him train with Duke. I can't remember which boxer exactly but I'm pretty sure because of the timing, it was probably Don Johnson.
I vividly remember riding in the front seat of my dad's Cadillac. Just the two of us, no seat belts because, hey, it was the 60's man. My dad was always so happy when he took you places. He would whistle and sing and talk to you like you weren't a dumb little kid. He was also pretty silly and would make sure the car was filled with laughter. I loved riding in the car with my dad when it was just he and I. Having him all to myself was an entirely different way of knowing him. It didn't happen often but when it did, it was amazing.
Arriving in downtown Los Angeles was always exciting. There were streetcars full of shoppers and business people sharing the road with us. Department stores, restaurants and theaters lined both sides of the streets with people pouring in and out of them. We would pass the Cathedral of St. Vibiana where my mother had taken us for Mass on numerous occasions. Later, after visiting the gym, my father would take me to Philippes for lunch. The Los Angeles of my youth was like New York City, full of life and excitement every where you looked.
The Main Street Gym however was in a bit of a different spot from all the shopping and excitement. It was near skid row. As my dad parked his car and then helped me out onto the street, he became quiet and protective, tightly holding my hand as we walked towards the gym door. There were always lost souls sitting on the street as we passed and some of the entry ways smelled of urine. I never felt afraid walking from the car to the gym door with my dad. I felt sad. Even as a small child, I remember wanting to help those men somehow. It left a lasting impression on me to this day.
The Main Street Gym or The Gym as everyone called it, was on the top floor of what use to be an old theater. There were two wooden doors on the street that opened up to marble steps leading to the second floor. At the top of the stairs an amazing world existed. There were boxing rings with men sparring, men jumping rope, men punching bags. Women and children were no where to be found. The walls were covered with posters of boxers and matches from years gone by and not yet fought. And then, there was Duke.
Duke was older than my father and had a huge lit cigar stuck in the side of his mouth. In all the years I knew and loved Duke, I don't recall ever seeing him without a fat cigar between his teeth. It was his trademark. He also had a voice like Louie Armstrong only deeper and rougher. My dad sat me on a bench, told me to stay put and went to the ring to talk to Duke. I didn't mind at all because of all the entertainment around me. When my dad finally returned to the bench I was glued to, he had Duke with him. I had just watched this man with the cigar barking at boxers, and wasn't quite sure what to think when they approached. Much to my surprise, after being introduced, Duke sat down next to me, smiled and started a conversation. With a 5 year old! I can't tell you what we talked about because I don't remember at all. What I do remember, is that same feeling I had when I was with my grandfather. The feeling a kid gets when they know they are safe and liked and welcomed into another persons space in this world. That was Duke.
Through the years, any time I knew my dad was heading to The Gym, I begged to go. Sometimes the answer was yes, sometimes it was no. But every time, my reason for wanting to go was Duke. Often, when my father would allow me to tag along, my mother would send some little gift or baked treat for me to give to Duke. I'd run up those marble stairs leading to The Gym and wait for him to notice my arrival so I could hand him my offering and receive his thanks and a hug. We'd always share a short chat before he was back in the ring, barking at a boxer.
When I reached my pre-teens, my father no longer wanted me at The Gym. I had made friends with a few of the younger boxers and he didn't like it. It was ok when they would come to our house and my mother, the eagle eye, could watch what was going on. But it was too much distraction for my dad having me at The Gym. So, I eventually stopped asking to go.
Years went by, and I married and moved away from Los Angeles. But every year, Bob and I would drive back down to L.A. for the World Boxing Hall of Fame Banquet. This was a big deal for my parents and they put everything they had into this banquet, year after year. Sometimes, we would work the tables selling the raffle tickets for them, or run errands grabbing more merchandise for the tables outside the banquet hall doors. More than once my dad had me hunt down a boxer that was lost and wandering the hotel. I never thought much about anything during those first banquet years other than I didn't want to be there, I didn't like boxing, and I hoped my parents understood I was only doing this for them. I always put up a good front but my parents, especially my dad, knew how I felt.
Everything changed, I changed, the year my dad gave me the greatest gift ever at the banquet. We had driven down and were fully engulfed in all the craziness of the event when my dad came and got me. He told me he wanted me to meet one of this years Inductees. I had already met the big names and told him so. He took me by the hand and led me into the banquet hall to the front where some of the Inductees were already seated. Finally, we stopped at a table and there, with his signature cigar was Duke. As I completely fell apart and threw my arms around him, I remembered what boxing was all about for our family.
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