Michael "Dynamite" Dokes eats an explosive right from "The Bionic Hand" Gerrie Coetzee in 1983. Coetzee would knock Dokes out in the 10th round to win the WBA Heavyweight title.
Luis Ramón "Yori Boy" Campas Medina, blood and guts Mexican warrior who competed from 1987 to 2019, brutal puncher, he held the IBF light middleweight title from 1997 to 1998, win or lose he always came to fight, the kind of fighter boxing fans love.
Campas began his professional career at the age of fifteen, winning his first thirteen fights by knockout. He built a record of 56-0 with 50 knockouts before challenging Félix Trinidad for the IBF welterweight title in 1994, losing by a fourth-round technical knockout.
After a second unsuccessful world title attempt against José Luis Lopez in 1996, Campas moved up to the light middleweight division. He captured the IBF light middleweight title by knocking out Raul Marquez in 1997 and defended it three times before losing to Fernando Vargas in 1998.
Throughout his career, Campas faced notable opponents such as Oba Carr, Tony Ayala, Daniel Santos, and Oscar De La Hoya. His 2006 fight against John Duddy was a candidate for the Fight of the Year.
On March 30, 2012, Campas achieved his 100th career win by knocking out Mauro Lucero in the second round. He continued fighting until July 29, 2023, when he retired at the age of 51 after knocking out Juan Carlos Parra Rodriguez in the 8th round. Campas finished his career with a record of 108 wins, 17 losses, and 3 draws.
By the way, it's Yori Boy Campus's Birthday today. My favorite fight of his is the fight against Tony Ayala Jr., a technical masterpiece, he wore Ayala out with body shots and just slowly and methodically took him apart until it was stopped.
Nigel Benn, the "Dark Destroyer", British middleweight in the 80s and 90s, training in London, England. I love these training photos, it really shows what it takes to make it in this sport. Here he is pictured doing exercises designed to strengthen his neck and upper body. Nigel Benn was one of the most ferocious fighters in the history of the sport, explosive as hell with brutal knockout power, they didn't call him the "Dark Destroyer" for nothing.
Henry Tuttle, "King Tut", 1920s-30s lightweight and welterweight, murderous puncher, took out the great Billy Petrolle in one round in 1931. He was Billy Petrolle's kryptonite, he and Petrolle fought six times, splitting their series, Petrolle never could establish complete domination over him. Their series was hellacious, they both iced eachother. Tut was a short guy, only about 5"5', his MO was to tear across the ring, work his way in on you, and through sheer aggression take you out with one of his bombs.
Minnesota Boxing
Hall of Fame - Old Timers
Back
He was a little man, maybe a whisker over 5-foot-5, a lightweight/welterweight full of steam and vinegar with balls of iron at the end of his arms, fists loaded with the explosive force of tiny grenades.
He was popular among the fight crowds nation-wide but particularly lionized in Wisconsin, his home state, and Minnesota where he frequently fought and was easily recognized on the streets of Minneapolis.
He was the one and only King Tut, one-half of a fight recog- nized at the time as the greatest ever in Minnesota. He was a friend to Jack Dempsey, Hubert Humphrey and even Al Jolson, He fought 125 times with 78 wins (51 by knockout), 26 losses and three draws. His total bouts included a 15-2 record in newspaper decisions. He won his first six fights by KO. His knockouts generally came after implementing his crouching style to take the fight inside where he could land one grenade after another on an opponent’s chin and midsection.
Henry Roland Tuttle fought under the name King Tut, an appellation he used to increase recognition, a name chosen after he already had been known as the Blond Tornado.
The legacy of Tuttle’s namesake, the Egyptian King Tut, was becoming popular throughout the world at the time. “So dad took that name when he turned professional,’’ said his son, Jack.
King Tut’s impressive number of bouts took place over a 10 1⁄2 year span, so he was fighting on average 10 times a year, a remarkable figure by today’s standards but not uncommon at the time. He fought professionally from August of 1928 to February of 1939.
His son Jack was born the year he retired but was witness nonetheless to some of his father’s fights.
“Oh, I saw him fight a few times,’’ Jack recalled. “They weren’t sanctioned fights though and none of them lasted very long.’’
Jack described his father as an easy-going fellow under most circumstances but his smallish stature made him an inviting target for saloon toughs and drunks.
“Those fights weren’t started by him and they were over fast,’’ Jack recalled.
Jack said his father rarely talked about himself but everyone else made up for it. “Growing up, he was just my dad,’’ Jack said. “But everybody seemed to know him and would yell and wave at him across the street when we lived in Minneapolis. They’d say things like, ‘Hey, you owe me $40 bucks after that quick kayo.’ I used to live with stuff like that.’’
King Tut established one of the best Upper Midwest (Minnesota really) rivalries of the time against Billy Petrolle of Duluth. The two of them fought six times, each taking three matches, some of them in decisive fashion. They were willing to fight almost anywhere.
The first two bouts took place at the Hippodrome in St. Paul. Then they met up in Minneapolis and after that in Detroit, then again in St. Paul and finally in Madison Square Garden.
His knockouts generally came after implementing his crouching style to take the fight inside where he could land one grenade after another on an opponent’s chin and midsection.
They went 10 hard rounds in 1928 in Minneapolis and Petrolle reportedly told Tut afterwards that “he would fight for the title and he would win.’’
Petrolle had won their first two fights, the first when Tut was disqualified for low blows and the second when Tut was too cautious and lost a 10 round newspaper decision.
Tut would win on points in 1929 in Detroit, taking eight rounds according to the Moorhead Daily News and by a first-round kayo in St. Paul on February 2, 1931. They met for a final time 25 days later in Madison Square Garden and Petrolle evened the score with a fourth-round kayo.
Jack Tuttle learned much about his father from people who knew him. One of them was the seemingly immortal Jack Dempsey, whose exploits are legendary even today.
Jack Harrison Tuttle in fact was named after Dempsey, who was born William Harrison Dempsey. Tuttle was not only named after Dempsey but was known throughout most of his life as the great fighter’s godson, although he has no evidence or real reason to support it.
Nonetheless, while stationed in New Jersey in the Army he took several trips to New York and on one of them paid a
visit to the Dempsey’s well-known restaurant. The former champ was seated in a booth by himself. Tuttle caught a glimpse of him about the same Dempsey saw him and motioned for him to approach.
“I looked just like my dad and he recognized me instantly,’’ said Tuttle. “He said ‘you’re King Tut’s kid aren’t you’.’’
Dempsey and Tut were in San Francisco together at the time of Tuttle’s birth, which he associates to his naming and other connections to the former heavyweight champion.
Tuttle recalls accompanying his mother and father to a function in Minneapolis at one time and Dempsey was there, being interviewed. “Who do you think was the best ever?’’ he was asked.
Dempsey replied that one of the best fighters ever lived right there in Minneapolis and his name was King Tut.
Tut was also on a first name basis with the future Senator and vice president Hubert Humphrey as well as Jolson, the actor.
“I remember our house was pretty sad for several days after word came that Jolson had died,’’Tuttle recalled.
Spike McCarthy wrote about some of Tut’s bouts, particularly those with Petrolle, the Fargo Express, calling one of their early bouts among the best ever in state history.
Tut’s reputation preceded him. During his days in the military, word got around that the man they knew as Tuttle was actually King Tut, the fighter. “When the other guys heard that, that he was a prize fighter, they all crowded into his room to hear whatever stories he could tell.’’
Tuttle said that his father’s career as a fighter actually got started after an episode at a local carnival. When he and his companions were cheated in a certain contest and not paid what they had been promised so they proceeded to tear up the place.
“They made a mess of the carnival grounds from what I heard,’’ said Tuttle, “and they had to hop a freight and get out of town. Dad was only a teenager then and he wound up working on ranches, in rodeos and on farms. But along the tracks where they caught trains, the hobos all had their fights and that’s how dad started.’’
Tuttle said his father had so many broken bones in his hands from fighting over the years that “they were like balls of iron on the end of arms. The bones were as if they were petrified. He could break tables with his hands.’’
Or, as it turned out, opponents.
With enough regularity over a distinguished career to earn a prominent place in the Minnesota Boxing Hall of Fame.
This is one of my favorite boxing photos, Henry Tuttle dressed up as King Tut, holding a pair of boxing gloves in the palm of his hand, really cool photo.
1927 York Caramel King Tut, one of the rarest boxing cards on Earth, would love to own one someday. I love what is says on the back of the card, "mummifies opponents."
Marvin "Pops" Johnson, three-time light heavyweight champion, one of my favorite fighters, always fun to watch, very aggressive, a big hitter, always came to fight and had one of the most infamous and brutal uppercuts in boxing history, it was a thing of beauty to watch him detonate that uppercut. He would throw that uppercut like a slingshot and it would snap his opponents head back, watch his first fight with Matthew Saad Muhammad if you want to see that uppercut at it's best, to this day I don't know how Saad Muhammad took those all those uppercuts and didn't die that night. Johnson should be in the Hall of Fame in my opinion.
A three-time world champion who's not in the International Boxing Hall of Fame: How can that be?
by John J. Raspanti
In a division loaded with depth, he fought em all. I was fortunate to spend the entire day with the champ and his family.
Born in 1954, he grew up in a crowded household of five boys and four girls. His older brother liked boxing and used him as a sparring partner. When he went into the military, his brother told him, “he better keep boxing because when he got out he’s going to beat me up.”
He went to a gym where he met trainer Champ Chaney, who said he’d work with him. He improved quickly.
In 1972, Marvin Johnson represented his country at the Olympic games, winning a bronze medal. He debuted as a professional in his home state of Indianapolis a few months after the games, scoring a sizzling second-round knockout. In his seventh professional fight, he dominated future contender, Gary Summerhays. He knocked out Tom Bethea to win his 15th consecutive match.
Johnson’s reputation as an exciting fighter grew. A southpaw, his left hand packed dynamite. In 1977, he was set to meet fellow up-and-comer, Matthew Franklin, from Philadelphia. The talk was the fight would be a war. The words weren’t cheap. Johnson drew first blood in round two.
Franklin hurt Johnson in round four. Johnson battled back soon after. Frankin’s face swelled up. The toe-to-toe action continued as Johnson landed some wicked shots.
“His ability to absorb punches,” Johnson told me during an interview in his home near Indianapolis several years ago. "He absorbed the punch and kept going. I had that attitude--he can’t keep on taking it. I’m going to hit him and I’m going to hit him again. I actually got tired of hitting him. And he didn’t fall.”
Johnson had a slight edge through seven rounds. He had stunned Franklin with hooks and uppercuts. But there was no denying Franklin. He knocked out Johnson in round 12.
Johnson’s first loss was devastating. But as he’d do throughout his career, he’d fight back through grit and determination. He won six of seven, earning a shot at WBC light heavyweight champion, Matt Parlov, in Italy. Johnson floored Parlov in round nine with a left hook. A round later, the referee stopped the fight.
Marvin Johnson is a world champion.
“I was so thrilled to be champion of the world,” said Johnson. “This is something I have worked for all my life. My wife was there and I was so happy that I won and that was just the greatest thrill ever.”
Johnson’s first defense would be against nemesis Franklin, soon to be Matthew Saad Muhammad. Johnson did well in the early going. Franklin was taking punishment and bleeding, but at this point in his career, his resiliency was super-human. He fought back, hurting Johnson in round seven.
“Muhammed wore me down,” said Johnson. “And that’s the bottom line. He wore me down because nobody has absorbed my punches like he did. And keep coming, and keep coming.”
Saad Muhammad stopped Johnson in round eight. In 1996, Ring magazine called the brutal contest the “35th greatest title fight in boxing history.” Johnson shook off the loss, and almost a year later, met defending champion Victor Galindez in New Orleans. Galindez was favored, but Johnson turned to Big Brother for help.
“I think that the training that I went through for the fight helped me out," Johnson said. “I went down to where my brother was. He was in the military, and he invited me down there to train with the military boxers. And I think it helped me. Helped me to actually focus and condition my body. I felt real good.”
The fight was another war. But this time underdog Johnson grew stronger as the bout progressed. He was tagging Galindez with lefts, until one sent the soon-to- be ex-champion staggering across the ring and on his back. The fight was over, and Johnson was a champion again.
Not resting on his laurels, Johnson, who was always eager to fight anyone, faced talented Eddie Gregory, (later known as Eddie Mustafa Muhammad). Gregory boxed well, breaking down Johnson with body shots and knocking Johnson down in round three. The champion hung in, trying to connect with his signature left, but Gregory was too much. The loss to Gregory still eats at Johnson.
“I allowed too much of my body to be accessible to him,” Johnson said. “He hit me. He actually separated my rib. That’s how I got my ribcage separated. He’s a great guy and I congratulate him because he’s a great fighter. I just know, when you know a thing yourself, you didn’t fight your best fight.”
A year later, future champion Michael Spinks brutally knocked out Johnson. He never saw the punch. Johnson was a month shy of his 27th birthday. Many considered him washed up. His nickname of “Pops” was never more relevant. But Johnson took the loss in stride. He looked at it as a religious wake-up call.
“Well, actually, you see, I’m spiritual,” Johnson said. “Nobody had ever hit me with a punch that I didn’t see. Never. But, I think there’s things that I’ve done that I shouldn’t done, not even related to boxing, OK? And there’s a payday. There’s something that I had to pay for. I could see that after the fight. “
Advised to retire, Johnson laid off for a year. He returned to the ring revitalized, scoring a knockout. He prevailed 14 times in a row, defeating rising fighters Alvino Manson, Eddie Gonzalez, Charles Williams, and Eddie Davis. He was now on the cusp of another title shot. WBA light heavyweight champion Leslie Stewart was confident he could beat Johnson. The venue was Market Square Arena in Indianapolis. Hometown hero Johnson had the crowd on his side. He took it to Stewart from the get-go, hammering the champion with body and head shots. Stewart hung in, but a series of punches hurt him in round seven, prompting the referee to wave off the fight.
Johnson was a champion for the third time. He defended his crown against Jean Marie Emebe, again at Market Square Arena. In 1986, he faced Stewart again, this time in Trinidad. Stewart got some revenge by stopping Johnson in eight. Johnson decided to retire after the fight. He was thirty-three.
There are regrets.
“When I retired, it was not hard,” Johnson said. ”It was disappointing. I was disappointed in retiring because I didn’t make the money that I thought I’d make. I wanted to buy my wife an amazing house. Tell her to stop working.”
But giving up something you love is always hard.
“I loved boxing to the point where it hated me,” said Johnson. “I mean it hurt me. I grew to love boxing more then I should have.”
It’s time the voters at the International Boxing Hall of Fame show Marvin Johnson some love by voting him into the hall. The way he battled back from losses is hardly common, it’s pretty dang extraordinary. He ignored those who said he was done, and in something that shocked most, won a world title for the third time. He was, and always will be, a fighter, who earned his titles through blood and guts.
Marvin Johnson was a hitter, here he is seen scoring a vicious left hand against Victor "The Animal" Galindez in their 1979 fight, Johnson would win by KO in the 11th round. This is one of my favorite fights, a real war of attrition, Galindez had been light heavyweight champion for 5 years and 5 months when Johnson dethroned him.
Marvin Johnson knocks out Victor Galindez, which is no small feat, Galindez wasn't called "The Animal" for nothing, he was one rough customer, you just didn't see Galindez hit the canvas like that.
31-year-old Marvin Johnson became a three-time world champion when he won the vacant WBA light heavyweight title with a 7th round TKO of Leslie Stewart at Market Square Arena in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1986.
Johnson previously held both the WBC and WBA titles at light heavyweight, but at separate times. Stewart, then unbeaten at 18-0, had defeated a few fringe contenders, but looked good doing it.
The southpaw Johnson connected with solid left hands early in the fight, but Stewart fought back and rocked the veteran. By round 3 both fighters were cut. Stewart was still dangerous, and Johnson had to battle through a number of exchanges. When Johnson realized he could land his left hand lead at will, the scales tipped his way.
In round 6, cuts over both of Stewart's eyebrows began to bleed heavily and the referee had the doctor examine the issue. The fight was allowed to continue, but in the 7th, Johnson rallied with a number of left hands and 1-2's, which prompted a referee stoppage when the referee said too much blood was getting into Stewart's eyes.
"I've got four kids to feed," Johnson said. "I needed the title to provide security for my family. That was the big incentive I needed."
Jorge Arce, "El Travieso", Mexican Gladiator. He competed from 1996 to 2014. Jorge is famous for being one of the few boxers from Mexico to win world titles in four different weight classes. He held titles like the WBO light flyweight title, WBC light flyweight title, WBO super flyweight title, WBO junior featherweight title, and WBO bantamweight title. The guy was so much fun to watch, he was never in a full fight. This is one of the greatest boxing photos ever taken.
May 1st, 1957, Sugar Ray Robinson becomes the only man in history to knock out the tough as nails Gene Fullmer. He did it with a perfectly timed left hook. This is one of the most famous knockouts in history, and has been called the perfect punch. It's insane because you just didn't knock out Gene Fullmer, he was that freakin' tough. Sugar Ray Robinson feinted like he was going to throw his right, it fooled Fullmer just enough and Fullmer never even saw the left hook that exploded on his jaw and put him down for the count.
Here is the left hook from up close, you can see the full impact. It's crazy because Sugar Ray Robinson was way past his prime when he did this, and Gene Fullmer was one of the toughest men in the history of the sport, Fullmer fought some bloody and savage wars and this is the only time Fullmer was ever KO'd. Sugar Ray Robinson was a scary puncher, very brutal, bad things happened when decided to let his hands go all the way, he knocked out 109 men in his career.
Jersey Joe Walcott, heavyweight in the 1930s, 40's, and early 50s, one of the trickiest and slickest boxers ever. He was built like a tree trunk from the waist up, broad shoulders and thick muscular neck, powerful guy, and that helped him develop brutal punching power. Before George Foreman became the oldest heavyweight champion in 1994, Jersey Joe Walcott held that distinction when he knocked out the great Ezzard Charles in 1951 with one of the most beautiful and legendary punches in boxing history, the famous "walking uppercut." Jersey Joe Walcott's story is a Cinderella story, an underdog story, a hard luck story, about how he battled back from the brink of nothing to become world heavyweight champion.
The Fight City
July 18, 1951: Walcott vs Charles III
July 18, 2025 Michael Carbert
If James Braddock is “The Cinderella Man,” then what do we call Arnold Cream, aka Jersey Joe Walcott? Braddock’s story of perseverance in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds eventually inspired Hollywood attention, but no movie has been made about Cream and his equally improbable triumph, perhaps because Walcott’s tale strains credulity to the breaking point. In truth, Jersey Joe’s story rates as even more exalting than Braddock’s when one factors in racial inequality in America before the Civil Rights movement, as well as the number of times Walcott had been written off by the pundits of the day. For years he couldn’t catch a break, in part because he was Black, but also because Jersey Joe was perceived as a no-hope journeyman, a perennial contender, who couldn’t, and wouldn’t, make the big time.
When he finally did get a shot for the title against “The Brown Bomber” in 1947, it was a double shock, first for his outclassing the great Louis, and then for not getting the decision he so obviously deserved, the verdict one of the worst in heavyweight history. But Louis knocked Walcott out in the rematch, and Jersey Joe went on to lose two more tries for the title against Ezzard Charles in ’49 and ’51, confirming the general feeling that there were some for whom fortune would never, ever smile. But while time and again the public thought they had seen the last of Walcott, Jersey Joe was nothing if not resilient. Heartbreaking setbacks were nothing new to him; he’d dealt with them his whole career.
Charles vs Walcott
Space does not allow for a detailing of all the misfortunes, crooked managers, and broken promises Walcott endured after he turned pro in 1930. It’s enough to say that by the time the winter of 1944 rolled around, Arnold Cream, living with his family in a dilapidated shack in Camden, New Jersey, had quit the fight game for good. He had already retired at least half a dozen times before that point to concentrate on steady work that didn’t threaten to drive him insane, such as hauling garbage or working in the shipyards, but this time it appeared it would stick. Joe had had only two fights in four years, now had six children to feed, and he lacked any kind of representation, no manager or promoter who believed in his talent.
Enter Vic Marsillo.
A New Jersey-based matchmaker hoping to develop a local heavyweight attraction in Camden, Marsillo approached the fighter and started talking up Joe’s talent, reminding him of his ability, his natural caginess, that slick move he had of walking away from an opponent before turning and ambushing him with a heavy right hand. But Walcott had heard it all before, had been sweet-talked many times by managers who eventually left him high and dry. Words alone weren’t going to get Walcott back in the ring.
So Marsillo hit upon what turned out to be the perfect gesture to give the crestfallen fighter the boost he needed. It was December, just before Christmas, and it was cold. Marsillo convinced his money man, promoter Felix Bocchicchio, to help him buy a ton of coal for Cream and his family. Marsillo delivered it personally, helped shovel it into the basement, and one Arnold Cream, family man and working stiff, was ecstatic. The security those black nuggets represented to him and his family could not be overstated. Buoyed by his new manager’s faith in him, Cream went back to being Jersey Joe Walcott and commenced training with renewed zeal.
From there, the old man’s career finally took off, a testament to what a little well-timed encouragement can do. He scored a series of big wins over Joe Baksi, Jimmy Bivins, Lee Oma and Joey Maxim, which in turn led, finally, to an overdue title shot. Robbed by the judges against Louis, knocked out in the rematch, still, Walcott simply refused to go away. After all, win or lose, he was finally making decent money.
When Louis retired, Jersey Joe was matched with Ezzard Charles to decide the Brown Bomber’s successor, and he dropped a close decision to the former light-heavyweight and all-time great. But Walcott kept fighting, kept winning, got a rematch with Charles where he again dropped a fifteen round decision, but this time he gave Ezzard the toughest of struggles and many thought Jersey Joe had been robbed again. So, four months later, in Pittsburgh, the two rivals met for a third time, Walcott a nine-to-one underdog, because a victory in a record fifth attempt at the world championship was deemed just too improbable, the stuff of fairy tales, not real life.
But there was Walcott, looking as good as ever, asserting himself in the third round with a hard right hand that stunned the champion and cut his cheek. In the fourth and fifth he had Charles covering up, and in the sixth Walcott started throwing heavy left hooks. Fighting with more fire than he ever did in their first two bouts, most ringsiders had him winning by a clear margin when the bell rang for round seven.
Charles came out aggressively, trying to reverse the tide, and he backed Jersey Joe into a corner where the fighters clinched. After the referee separated them, Walcott walked nonchalantly to ring center, as if he had nothing on his mind more menacing then taking an afternoon stroll to admire the summer flowers, and then, with perfect timing and rattlesnake quickness, he ripped a vicious counter left hook/uppercut, to Charles’ jaw, it would later gain fame as the "walking uppercut."
One huge shot and the fight was over. The champion’s head recoiled as he sank to a crouch and then he toppled forward, landing flat on his face. Charles made a valiant effort to rise but collapsed again as the referee finished the count. The capacity crowd in Forbes Field looked on in stunned disbelief. Few had seen the punch, it was thrown with such sudden sharpness, and fewer still had expected such an outcome. Most had anticipated the younger, fresher Charles to win handily, further establishing himself as the man at the top of the heavyweight mountain; virtually no one foresaw the big underdog winning by knockout.
But, that’s what happened. Jersey Joe Walcott, after years of struggle, finally won the big one and, at 37 years of age, had become the oldest man to ever win the heavyweight title, a record that held until 1994 and George Foreman’s equally unlikely victory, also of the one punch variety, over Michael Moorer. Walcott would successfully defend against Charles before losing back-to-back bouts with Rocky Marciano, but those defeats, as memorable as they are, cannot erase the previous twenty-two years and all their twists and turns, nor Walcott’s Cinderella moment, his fairy tale victory, that huge left hook that finally brought not only the world title, but redemption. — Michael Carbert
One more article about Jersey Joe Walcott, he was a masterful boxer, he had all kinds of moves and tricks, slick as an eel covered in grease. Excellent at setting traps and luring you into his punches, excellent counter puncher, ridiculous footwork, it is said that Muhammad Ali studied Walcott's style.
Jersey Joe Walcott: Art on the Ring Canvas
By Jack Slack
Arnold Cream made his boxing début in 1930, at the age of sixteen. By the time he was approaching forty he had failed to win a world title on four separate occasions and he had compiled sixteen losses on his professional record by 1951. He had lost cumulative years off of his career due to a broken arm, typhoid, and the need to work multiple jobs. A boxer with his record wouldn’t even be allowed close to a championship in this day and age, but in1951, at age thirty-seven, Cream knocked out Ezzard Charles to win the world heavyweight title.
Cream’s tale stands out as one of the most depressing and beautiful in boxing. If William Dean Howells was correct in his assertion that the American public loves a tragedy with a happy ending, you would struggle to find one more fitting in the annals of boxing. Arnold Cream’s life was a smearing of tragedy, sprinkled with missed opportunities, set against a backdrop of constant poverty. His career both in the ring and out of it was a meandering mess. And yet, in the late 1940s Cream was able to turn around decades of miserable misfortune to claim what was still the most venerated title in sports. But it wasn’t young Arnold Cream at whose feet Ezzard Charles crumbled, nor was it Arnold Cream’s waist around which the heavyweight championship belt was strapped. No, it was those of Jersey Joe Walcott.
Due to the death of his father, young Arnold Cream was forced to take up work at the age of fifteen to provide for his ten siblings and mother. In spite of this he proved a promising youngster in the ring. Cream found himself under the tutelage of Jack Blackburn, a fearsome character who had spent time in prison for a shooting spree which killed three, but who had fought a litany of great boxers. In 1933, Blackburn had the idea to take Cream—now fighting under the Jersey Joe Walcott moniker in homage to the great Barbados Demon, Joe Walcott—around the country and figure out if he was ‘the one’.
By ‘the one’ Blackburn meant a black heavyweight who could finally re-break the color barrier which had been placed in front of the heavyweight title after the race relations disaster that was Jack Johnson’s heavyweight title reign from 1909 until 1915. Unfortunately, Jersey Joe was struck down with typhoid and Blackburn was soon tempted away by the prospect of working with another young black heavyweight, Joe Louis in Chicago. Louis turned out to be ‘the one’, and went on to become the greatest heavyweight champion in boxing history.
The Cream family suffered deeply through the depression and the early war years. With a wife and six children to provide for, Walcott’s boxing career was a means to gain five to ten dollar purses in hope that it would ease the difficulty of living. In 1936, a year in which Jersey Joe broke his arm and was trying to feed his children on nine dollars of welfare a week, he still managed to rack up nine fights—six in the last six months of the year. He would work in a factory all day, eat little, and box in the evenings with little preparation or training. Fatigue came quickly to Jersey Joe Walcott through this time and many of his bouts turned into a battle against his blood sugar and empty stomach more than they were against his opponent. When asked by the Saturday Evening Post about his many retirements from the ring, Walcott responded: “I had the ability to succeed in the ring, but you can’t do that with hunger gnawing at the pit of your stomach”. Walcott packed boxing in for the sixth time in 1941; it had taken too much from him and returned so little.
A racketeer named Felix Bocchicchio gave Walcott his big break, supplying Walcott with food and fuel enough to provide for his family and freeing the fighter up to train full time. The revolution in Walcott’s ability when allowed to train like a professional, combined with lack of quality heavyweights through and following the Second World War made him a local favorite and by 1946, he was a favorite at Madison Square Garden. Walcott took nineteen fights between 1945 and June of 1947, and performed so well that his management began seeking out fighters that the champion, Joe Louis, had been steered clear of. With a pair of victories over the all-time great light heavyweight, Joey Maxim, and a victory over Elmer Ray, Walcott moved into position for a bout with Louis in December of 1947.
Jersey Joe was the very definition of ‘savvy’. He lacked the physical gifts of many of his opponents, particularly as a small heavyweight and as an old man by ring standards. By the criteria of many coaches today, he wasn’t even a particularly solid boxer—rarely throwing in combinations exceeding two punches and placing little value on volume. But Walcott’s feet were magnificent. Reportedly a key influence on a young Cassius Clay, Walcott could do things in the ring that other men either couldn’t or wouldn’t dare do. And that was Walcott in a nutshell: he elevated boxing to an art. In the manly science of self defense, there are set methods, and things you never do. It is a game of rules of thumb. The art of boxing was what Walcott painted across the ring canvas as he broke every one of those rules and looked fancy doing it.
With Walcott’s ascendancy to recognition, an old story began circulating that in 1936 Walcott had been brought in to spar with Joe Louis (in preparation for Louis’ legendary first match with Nazi Germany’s Max Schmeling) as something of a favor by old Jack Blackburn. Knowing Walcott was living below the poverty, $25 for a couple of rounds was a godsend. While both sides disagreed on the details, what is known is that Louis ended up on the seat of his trunks and was mightily embarrassed. Walcott promptly lost his gig as a spar mate.
But that tale did nothing to sway the betting odds or the common consensus that old man Walcott was about to take a fearful drubbing. While he’d built his way up to recognition on the circuit, Jersey Joe was still largely unheralded. Nat Fleischer, founder of The Ring and a man who was up on all the happenings in boxing recalled Walcott at the time of his first bout with Louis in Fifty Years at Ringside in the simple triplet: “veteran negro boxer” and proceeded to write nothing else about the challenger, focusing instead on the life and troubles of the champion.
The Walcott Shuffle
This would be Louis’ twenty-fifth title defense. He hadn’t lost a fight in eleven years. The papers had been calling Louis’ title challengers the ‘parade of bums’ for years because if there was anyone decent out there, Louis had already beaten them. Jersey Joe was on the trailing end of that parade, and he’d been fighting since before many of them could walk. But Walcott, the 10-to-1 underdog, had been improved exponentially by being allowed to focus his efforts on fighting, while Louis was returning from fifteen months off. In fact, the bout was originally slated as a ten round exhibition until public pressure forced the bout to be changed to a championship fight over fifteen rounds.
When Louis moved Walcott to the corner and began his usual methodical combination punching in the opening round, Walcott rolled with the punches, ducked behind his shoulders, and returned with a wild salvo which put the champion on the mat. Eyebrows were raised, but Louis was always a slow starter. He’d been dropped numerous times by big bangers who caught him early, but invariably he battered them senseless after the opening minutes.
What Walcott showed that night was a revelation. In between his usual rhythmic bounces across the ring, and the occasional kicking out of his legs behind him as he jigged around to his left with his jabs, Walcott showed a very specific technique time and time again. It was one which worked perfectly on Louis precisely because he was so technically sound, and it demonstrated how much of an ‘anti-technician’ Walcott could be.
Louis’ had always been economical. His feet were a means of ferrying him across the floor, little more. He’d throw long, probing jabs out, but he didn’t like chasing opponents. Louis was at his best when they were either trapped against the ropes and unable to give ground, or stopped on their own terms and threw punches back. That shuffling footwork kept Louis on balance and in position to slip at all times.
From the first minute of the bout there was a noticeable pattern in Walcott’s movement—though it is one which has been largely uncommented on in the sixty years since the bout. Walcott would jab and lead hook as he moved around to the right, and after every handful of left moving jabs, he would cross his left foot in front of his right and retreat deeply on a slight angle to the right.
It seemed like a completely pointless movement. All crossing your feet does in a boxing match is put you off balance if you take a blow, gifting the other man an easy knockdown. Furthermore, at times Walcott was almost turning his back on Louis—his right hand was as far away from the target as possible until he had completely his return to stance. It wasn’t a questionable tactical decision, or arrogance. It was downright stupid.
But Walcott was crazy like a fox. This long retreating cross step placed Walcott on a slight angle, and a good distance from Louis, forcing Louis to turn and to take an extra step if he hoped to land his right hand. It encouraged Louis to chase. Each time Louis’ jab came out, Walcott slipped it and knew that Louis would be stepping in behind it to throw his right.
Consistently Walcott was able to slip the jab and beat Louis to the right hand, and this put a timidity in Louis which was rare to see. Following the fight, Louis gave a quote regarding slowing with age—but recalling that Walcott was older and slower than Louis, and seeing this strategy evidenced time and time again, the quote takes on new meaning:
“I could see the openings, but my right hand couldn’t see them.”
The baits became even more flamboyant in the later rounds as Walcott marched from stance to stance, comfortably ahead on points in his mind, and with a passive opponent. Walcott even brought out his cross steps—backhanding a southpaw jab at Louis as he mocked the champion by completely abandoning stance to dance. Finally, in the last round, Louis came after Walcott, and Walcott skittered out of the way and dodged out of corners—knowing he had already won.
While the referee gave his vote for Walcott, the two ringside judges sided, almost unfathomably, with Louis. The arena erupted in boos. The judges had not saved Louis face by gifting him an undeserved decision; they had drawn further attention to how poorly he had performed. A rematch was demanded and promptly signed.
This time around Louis wasn’t suckered in. Waiting on Walcott to lead, Louis slipped and attempted to land counter combinations. Suddenly, in the third round, Walcott lazily performed the cross step—now being touted by the press as ‘The Walcott Shuffle’—and Louis fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Louis moved in behind his jab and as his feet shuffled up to position him for the right hand, Walcott rocked back in and belted Louis with his own right which sent the champion to the floor.
Jack Blackburn was long since dead, and many of Louis’ closest advisers were no longer with him. Anyone who could have picked apart what Walcott was doing was certainly not in the champion’s corner that night. Yet Louis always had such composure and stoic discipline that it was often mistaken for slowness. Louis returned to conservative counter punching and Walcott became more eager to force the champion to lead. Walcott was never much for trash talk, but he could infuriate with his actions in the ring. As the bout wore on he used his alternating side steps or a ‘cakewalk’ to stand in front of Louis and call the champion on in hopes of countering.
But it was Walcott’s antics and eschewing of traditional boxing fundamentals which also served to undo him. As the match progressed, Walcott became more and more anxious to find an opening and ultimately overcommitted in his attempts to cajole a lead from Louis—eating a right hand which sent him to the ropes. Walcott went into his usual slipping and rolling, reportedly shouting to the referee that he was indeed fine. He then returned with a cracking left hook which hit Louis clean on the jawline. Except Walcott stood still to admire the effects. Louis was a combination puncher—it didn’t matter if he got hit, the punches kept coming. A right hook immediately rung Walcott’s bell, and a flurry of hooks followed.
As Walcott slumped to the mat, so did his dreams of the belt. He had been given two cracks at the world heavyweight title, he would certainly not receive another.
The Cincinnati Cobra
Yet another lay off followed as Walcott took a year to decide whether he was out of the boxing game for good. However, the retirement of Louis saw Walcott’s efforts against the long time champion rewarded with a fight against Ezzard Charles for the vacant belt. Charles, one of the finest technicians in boxing history, out boxed Walcott and took up the heavyweight strap. Walcott tried everything he could think of, but Charles was too smart, too polished, and too well acquainted with the footage of Louis being felled by Walcott to fall into lunging at old Jersey Joe.
Walcott returned with a streak of four knockouts—an incredible rate for him as he was a banger but not a tremendous finisher—before fighting Charles again. In the second bout Walcott showed a new, more aggressive side to his and hurt Charles’ body, but was punished for his many overcommitments in an aspect of the game in which he hadn’t fought much in the past. Charles took the decision. The boxing historian, John D. McCallum noted that Jersey Joe Walcott ‘had no license whatsoever to be getting a third shot at Charles”, but in one of the few turns of good fortune in Walcott’s life, Charles signed it anyway.
Perhaps Charles was out of challengers, the heavyweight division was desperately weak following the war and Charles had already defended his title eight times. Or perhaps he just appreciated the chance to hold the first heavyweight title fight in his home town of Pittsburgh, against a fighter he had already bested twice. The opening rounds were the same as in the other two bouts, with both men reluctant to lead and throwing non-committal jabs from too far away. Occasionally Walcott would sink a left hook to the body as Charles jabbed, but largely the fight was far from action packed. Finally, following the referee breaking one of the frequent clinches, Walcott strutted towards Charles, slipped the champion’s jab, and landed the terrific left uppercut he had been testing out all night.
Walcott was finally the world heavyweight champion after an unprecedented five attempts at the title. Life magazine called him ‘the most implausible heavyweight champion of the world’. The man who was living on nine dollars of relief a week was suddenly picking up a cheque for fifty thousand and being adored by the nation. In a fourth fight with Ezzard Charles, Walcott took the decision and had his first title defence in the books. Then it was on to new blood.
The Great White Hope
The heavyweight division had been in a pitiful state following the Second World War, but with Rocky Marciano’s victory over the returning Joe Louis, it seemed like there might be a ‘Great White Hope’ for the heavyweight title. Marciano was a clumsy boxer who lacked ringcraft and held one of the shortest reaches of any heavyweight boxer in history, but when the fight reached the inside, Marciano was one of a kind.
Marciano entered the bout as an eight-to-five favourite—a rare occasion of the challenger being the betting favourite in a heavyweight title fight—while the old timers of the sport tended to favour Walcott when pushed for an opinion. It was youth and aggression versus ringcraft and experience. Some pointed to the success of Lee Savold, a lesser boxer and also an old man by prize ring standards, who had given Marciano fits simply by using movement to facilitate his long blows, and tie ups to stall Marciano out in his preferred range. Others pointed to Walcott’s preferred pace being markedly lower than the one which Marciano put on his opponents even when losing bouts.
Walcott surprised everyone, including Marciano, by leaping straight in to trade blows with the crowding infighter. After hammering the notorious slow starter with some hard right hands, and tying him up, Walcott showed a new trick in his arsenal—a razor sharp short lead left hook. The champion had always played with the idea of leading with the left hook (a rare trait in true scientific boxers because of its slower path than the straight jab), but the left hook Walcott threw repeatedly against Marciano was different. Stepping in deep, as he would on his jab, Walcott threw the hook from almost chest-to-chest. It was a picture perfect technique for Marciano, because Marciano would always be stepping in to meet it. Walcott went to this technique time and time again after dropping Marciano with it in the opening minute, making sure to attempt to pivot off line each time he connected it.
As the champion and an underdog against a young upstart, Walcott was startling in his aggression but sharp on the counter. Between the heavy leather there was the usual Walcott craft. His shoulder roll and reverse shoulder roll saw Walcott effortlessly evade or weather many of Marciano’s blows. Indeed, Walcott fought off of the ropes with a rare efficacy in the early part of this bout. The last place one would want to be against an infighter ordinarily.
The reverse shoulder roll is a peculiarity, as it involves pausing in a position with the hips full rotated and the right shoulder thrust forward. But it protected Walcott from counters when he got lazy recovering his right hand.
But Marciano’s grinding work and pace, and the champion’s own decision to try for an early knockout soon caught up with Walcott. Where he had tied Marciano up with ease early on, Marciano’s commitment to nuzzling his head underneath Walcott’s and creating space to either wriggle his arms free or pound the champion’s body was paying dividends.
As Walcott began to look obviously exhausted in the sixth round, the two men clashed heads, opening cuts on both. The seconds hurried to close the cuts and the substances used soon rubbed into the fighters’ eyes as they got back to battling in the trenches through the seventh round. Marciano got the worse of it, and found himself reaching blind for Walcott. The next few rounds were an exhausting grind until the eleventh, when Walcott suddenly found his second wind and put together his best round of the fight. A right hand to the short rib had Marciano bent double as Walcott teed off against the Brockton Blockbuster’s block. A.J. Liebling recalled that Walcott versus Marciano had four changes of lead on the scorecards.
With Walcott leading at the end of the twelfth round, Marciano was in a hole. He had been made to look foolish for the last two rounds, the old man was no longer tired and even when Marciano got him to the ropes Walcott was even getting the better of the exchanges from there. As Jersey Joe backed himself to the ropes ready to counter punch—which Liebling termed “milling in retreat”—Marciano shuffled in and delivered the shortest right hand of his career. It wasn’t the old Marciano ‘blind right’, thrown overhead as he ducked into the clinch, it was a pure right straight thrown over a foot and a half. The purest of right straights by Jack Dempsey’s criteria: Marciano’s left foot stepping on the punch to ensure the transfer of weight from one foot to the other, in the direction of the blow.
Walcott melted along the ropes, and fell slowly to the floor. The referee continued counting even as Walcott’s body gave to gravity and slowly spread, face down across the mat. It was superfluous, the champion was a champion no longer. The reign of Walcott, a blip on the radar of the heavyweight division, was over. It seemed even more tragic to end a bout that many in the press considered the greatest heavyweight title bout they had ever seen witnessed with such a brutal knockout. Joe had done the work, he had survived Marciano’s pace and pulled the fight back, only to be knocked flat by one punch.
Years later, Walcott was asked to compare the power of Louis and remarked that while getting hit by Louis, one always knew there were more punches coming, Marciano had a special kind of power. The kind of power which simply took a fighter out of the game with no chance to recover.
But all was not lost for Walcott. The tremendous first fight, which made it into more movie theatres than even Joe Louis’ title bouts, led to the signing of a second. If Walcott could just avoid that one big blow for a couple more rounds, he could regain his title. He had the craft and he’d shown it through twelve rounds.
The rematch was one of the most peculiar fights in heavyweight title history. After the usual feeling out, and Walcott tying Marciano up as he moved in, Walcott was hit with another short right hand, this time as he was bending over. It travelled across Marciano’s chest and stiffened the legs of the elder man. Walcott fell to the floor, grabbed the rope, sat up and looked off into the distance as the referee counted him out. At ‘ten’, Walcott rose, complained that the count had been fast, and then congratulated Marciano. The spectators couldn’t get over it. What had happened?
They say that Walcott gave up. It’s more than likely that he did. Bert Sugar reported that despite being the challenger, Walcott was receiving two hundred thousand dollars more than Rocky Marciano. It was more money that Walcott had seen in his entire life. He took the count, he lost the fight, and he went home to the wife and family he had starved himself to provide for.
To the fight fan, that is abhorrent. It is sacrilege against the sanctity of the prizefight. To the man who knows the life of Arnold Cream, that might be the strangest happy ending in the business.
I was chatting with a guy on a boxing forum that met Jersey Joe Walcott and he actually told me that he was in shock when he met him in person, said his upper body was ridiculously strong, powerful. This is a great shot of Jersey Joe taking a break from chopping wood and you can see that his upper body was indeed big. Walcott was a brutal puncher, his upper body strength is probably one of the reasons he hit so hard.
This is the famous "walking uppercut" that Jersey Joe Walcott used to KO the great Ezzard Charles in 1951 to win the heavyweight title. Walcott just walked out at the beginning of the 7th round, like he was taking a stroll in the park, feinted, and unleashed a left hook/uppercut hybrid, and Ezzard never even knew what hit him. It's one of the greatest punches ever thrown, and one of the greatest knockouts in boxing history.
Here is the Jersey Joe Walcott "walking uppercut" as it happened. George Foreman would later use a "walking uppercut" punch to take out Gerry Cooney in 1990, the exact same punch except with the right hand.
Humberto "Chiquita" Gonzales, great great junior flyweight with knockout power in both hands. Gosh I love Mexican fighters, so damn tough, warriors down to the bone. Like I said before, you practically had to try to kill them to beat them.
The son of a butcher, Gonzalez was born March 25, 1966 in Netzahualcoyotl, Mexico.
In an 11 year professional career, Gonzalez reigned three times as WBC junior flyweight champion, once as IBF champion and registered 12 successful title defenses. Following an undefeated amateur career (23-0), “Chiquita” turned pro in 1984 in Mexico City. In 1987 the 5'1” fighter won the Mexican junior flyweight title and successfully defended it twice.
On June 25, 1989 Gonzalez won the WBC junior flyweight title with a 12-round unanimous decision over Yul Woo Lee in Korea. Five successful defenses, including a 12-round unanimous decision over Korean standout Jung-Koo Chang and a three round kayo over future world titlist Francisco Tejedor, followed. On December 19, 1990 he was upset by Rolando Pascua, but battled back to recapture the WBC belt with a 12-round win over Melchor Cob Castro in 1991. Four defenses followed before “Chiquita” signed to meet his IBF counterpart, Michael “Little Hands of Stone” Carbajal in a junior flyweight unification bout. “Chiquita” dropped Carbajal twice, but was stopped in the 7th round of the bout that was deemed 1993's “Fight of the Year.” He turned the tables in the rematch, scoring a 12-round split decision to regain the title. He would successfully defend the title three times, including a 12-round win over Carbajal in the rubber match, before losing the championship to Saman Sorjaturong in 1995's “Fight of the Year.” “Chiquita” retired following the loss with a 43-3 (31 KOs) record.
Known for exceptional punching power in either hand, “Chiquita” is widely regarded as one of boxing's hardest punchers “pound for pound.”
Comments
Michael "Dynamite" Dokes eats an explosive right from "The Bionic Hand" Gerrie Coetzee in 1983. Coetzee would knock Dokes out in the 10th round to win the WBA Heavyweight title.
Gerrie Coetzee lands a vicious uppercut on Michael Dokes.
Gerrie Coetzee's Bionic Hand distorts the face of Renaldo "Mister" Snipes.
Gerrie Coetzee with Don King after winning the WBA Heavyweight title.
Coetzee was a warrior.
I'm in the mood for a good song.
Luis Ramón "Yori Boy" Campas Medina, blood and guts Mexican warrior who competed from 1987 to 2019, brutal puncher, he held the IBF light middleweight title from 1997 to 1998, win or lose he always came to fight, the kind of fighter boxing fans love.
Campas began his professional career at the age of fifteen, winning his first thirteen fights by knockout. He built a record of 56-0 with 50 knockouts before challenging Félix Trinidad for the IBF welterweight title in 1994, losing by a fourth-round technical knockout.
After a second unsuccessful world title attempt against José Luis Lopez in 1996, Campas moved up to the light middleweight division. He captured the IBF light middleweight title by knocking out Raul Marquez in 1997 and defended it three times before losing to Fernando Vargas in 1998.
Throughout his career, Campas faced notable opponents such as Oba Carr, Tony Ayala, Daniel Santos, and Oscar De La Hoya. His 2006 fight against John Duddy was a candidate for the Fight of the Year.
On March 30, 2012, Campas achieved his 100th career win by knocking out Mauro Lucero in the second round. He continued fighting until July 29, 2023, when he retired at the age of 51 after knocking out Juan Carlos Parra Rodriguez in the 8th round. Campas finished his career with a record of 108 wins, 17 losses, and 3 draws.
By the way, it's Yori Boy Campus's Birthday today. My favorite fight of his is the fight against Tony Ayala Jr., a technical masterpiece, he wore Ayala out with body shots and just slowly and methodically took him apart until it was stopped.
Nigel Benn, the "Dark Destroyer", British middleweight in the 80s and 90s, training in London, England. I love these training photos, it really shows what it takes to make it in this sport. Here he is pictured doing exercises designed to strengthen his neck and upper body. Nigel Benn was one of the most ferocious fighters in the history of the sport, explosive as hell with brutal knockout power, they didn't call him the "Dark Destroyer" for nothing.
Henry Tuttle, "King Tut", 1920s-30s lightweight and welterweight, murderous puncher, took out the great Billy Petrolle in one round in 1931. He was Billy Petrolle's kryptonite, he and Petrolle fought six times, splitting their series, Petrolle never could establish complete domination over him. Their series was hellacious, they both iced eachother. Tut was a short guy, only about 5"5', his MO was to tear across the ring, work his way in on you, and through sheer aggression take you out with one of his bombs.
Minnesota Boxing
Hall of Fame - Old Timers
Back
He was a little man, maybe a whisker over 5-foot-5, a lightweight/welterweight full of steam and vinegar with balls of iron at the end of his arms, fists loaded with the explosive force of tiny grenades.
He was popular among the fight crowds nation-wide but particularly lionized in Wisconsin, his home state, and Minnesota where he frequently fought and was easily recognized on the streets of Minneapolis.
He was the one and only King Tut, one-half of a fight recog- nized at the time as the greatest ever in Minnesota. He was a friend to Jack Dempsey, Hubert Humphrey and even Al Jolson, He fought 125 times with 78 wins (51 by knockout), 26 losses and three draws. His total bouts included a 15-2 record in newspaper decisions. He won his first six fights by KO. His knockouts generally came after implementing his crouching style to take the fight inside where he could land one grenade after another on an opponent’s chin and midsection.
Henry Roland Tuttle fought under the name King Tut, an appellation he used to increase recognition, a name chosen after he already had been known as the Blond Tornado.
The legacy of Tuttle’s namesake, the Egyptian King Tut, was becoming popular throughout the world at the time. “So dad took that name when he turned professional,’’ said his son, Jack.
King Tut’s impressive number of bouts took place over a 10 1⁄2 year span, so he was fighting on average 10 times a year, a remarkable figure by today’s standards but not uncommon at the time. He fought professionally from August of 1928 to February of 1939.
His son Jack was born the year he retired but was witness nonetheless to some of his father’s fights.
“Oh, I saw him fight a few times,’’ Jack recalled. “They weren’t sanctioned fights though and none of them lasted very long.’’
Jack described his father as an easy-going fellow under most circumstances but his smallish stature made him an inviting target for saloon toughs and drunks.
“Those fights weren’t started by him and they were over fast,’’ Jack recalled.
Jack said his father rarely talked about himself but everyone else made up for it. “Growing up, he was just my dad,’’ Jack said. “But everybody seemed to know him and would yell and wave at him across the street when we lived in Minneapolis. They’d say things like, ‘Hey, you owe me $40 bucks after that quick kayo.’ I used to live with stuff like that.’’
King Tut established one of the best Upper Midwest (Minnesota really) rivalries of the time against Billy Petrolle of Duluth. The two of them fought six times, each taking three matches, some of them in decisive fashion. They were willing to fight almost anywhere.
The first two bouts took place at the Hippodrome in St. Paul. Then they met up in Minneapolis and after that in Detroit, then again in St. Paul and finally in Madison Square Garden.
His knockouts generally came after implementing his crouching style to take the fight inside where he could land one grenade after another on an opponent’s chin and midsection.
They went 10 hard rounds in 1928 in Minneapolis and Petrolle reportedly told Tut afterwards that “he would fight for the title and he would win.’’
Petrolle had won their first two fights, the first when Tut was disqualified for low blows and the second when Tut was too cautious and lost a 10 round newspaper decision.
Tut would win on points in 1929 in Detroit, taking eight rounds according to the Moorhead Daily News and by a first-round kayo in St. Paul on February 2, 1931. They met for a final time 25 days later in Madison Square Garden and Petrolle evened the score with a fourth-round kayo.
Jack Tuttle learned much about his father from people who knew him. One of them was the seemingly immortal Jack Dempsey, whose exploits are legendary even today.
Jack Harrison Tuttle in fact was named after Dempsey, who was born William Harrison Dempsey. Tuttle was not only named after Dempsey but was known throughout most of his life as the great fighter’s godson, although he has no evidence or real reason to support it.
Nonetheless, while stationed in New Jersey in the Army he took several trips to New York and on one of them paid a
visit to the Dempsey’s well-known restaurant. The former champ was seated in a booth by himself. Tuttle caught a glimpse of him about the same Dempsey saw him and motioned for him to approach.
“I looked just like my dad and he recognized me instantly,’’ said Tuttle. “He said ‘you’re King Tut’s kid aren’t you’.’’
Dempsey and Tut were in San Francisco together at the time of Tuttle’s birth, which he associates to his naming and other connections to the former heavyweight champion.
Tuttle recalls accompanying his mother and father to a function in Minneapolis at one time and Dempsey was there, being interviewed. “Who do you think was the best ever?’’ he was asked.
Dempsey replied that one of the best fighters ever lived right there in Minneapolis and his name was King Tut.
Tut was also on a first name basis with the future Senator and vice president Hubert Humphrey as well as Jolson, the actor.
“I remember our house was pretty sad for several days after word came that Jolson had died,’’Tuttle recalled.
Spike McCarthy wrote about some of Tut’s bouts, particularly those with Petrolle, the Fargo Express, calling one of their early bouts among the best ever in state history.
Tut’s reputation preceded him. During his days in the military, word got around that the man they knew as Tuttle was actually King Tut, the fighter. “When the other guys heard that, that he was a prize fighter, they all crowded into his room to hear whatever stories he could tell.’’
Tuttle said that his father’s career as a fighter actually got started after an episode at a local carnival. When he and his companions were cheated in a certain contest and not paid what they had been promised so they proceeded to tear up the place.
“They made a mess of the carnival grounds from what I heard,’’ said Tuttle, “and they had to hop a freight and get out of town. Dad was only a teenager then and he wound up working on ranches, in rodeos and on farms. But along the tracks where they caught trains, the hobos all had their fights and that’s how dad started.’’
Tuttle said his father had so many broken bones in his hands from fighting over the years that “they were like balls of iron on the end of arms. The bones were as if they were petrified. He could break tables with his hands.’’
Or, as it turned out, opponents.
With enough regularity over a distinguished career to earn a prominent place in the Minnesota Boxing Hall of Fame.
This is one of my favorite boxing photos, Henry Tuttle dressed up as King Tut, holding a pair of boxing gloves in the palm of his hand, really cool photo.
1927 York Caramel King Tut, one of the rarest boxing cards on Earth, would love to own one someday. I love what is says on the back of the card, "mummifies opponents."
Marvin "Pops" Johnson, three-time light heavyweight champion, one of my favorite fighters, always fun to watch, very aggressive, a big hitter, always came to fight and had one of the most infamous and brutal uppercuts in boxing history, it was a thing of beauty to watch him detonate that uppercut. He would throw that uppercut like a slingshot and it would snap his opponents head back, watch his first fight with Matthew Saad Muhammad if you want to see that uppercut at it's best, to this day I don't know how Saad Muhammad took those all those uppercuts and didn't die that night. Johnson should be in the Hall of Fame in my opinion.
A three-time world champion who's not in the International Boxing Hall of Fame: How can that be?
by John J. Raspanti
In a division loaded with depth, he fought em all. I was fortunate to spend the entire day with the champ and his family.
Born in 1954, he grew up in a crowded household of five boys and four girls. His older brother liked boxing and used him as a sparring partner. When he went into the military, his brother told him, “he better keep boxing because when he got out he’s going to beat me up.”
He went to a gym where he met trainer Champ Chaney, who said he’d work with him. He improved quickly.
In 1972, Marvin Johnson represented his country at the Olympic games, winning a bronze medal. He debuted as a professional in his home state of Indianapolis a few months after the games, scoring a sizzling second-round knockout. In his seventh professional fight, he dominated future contender, Gary Summerhays. He knocked out Tom Bethea to win his 15th consecutive match.
Johnson’s reputation as an exciting fighter grew. A southpaw, his left hand packed dynamite. In 1977, he was set to meet fellow up-and-comer, Matthew Franklin, from Philadelphia. The talk was the fight would be a war. The words weren’t cheap. Johnson drew first blood in round two.
Franklin hurt Johnson in round four. Johnson battled back soon after. Frankin’s face swelled up. The toe-to-toe action continued as Johnson landed some wicked shots.
“His ability to absorb punches,” Johnson told me during an interview in his home near Indianapolis several years ago. "He absorbed the punch and kept going. I had that attitude--he can’t keep on taking it. I’m going to hit him and I’m going to hit him again. I actually got tired of hitting him. And he didn’t fall.”
Johnson had a slight edge through seven rounds. He had stunned Franklin with hooks and uppercuts. But there was no denying Franklin. He knocked out Johnson in round 12.
Johnson’s first loss was devastating. But as he’d do throughout his career, he’d fight back through grit and determination. He won six of seven, earning a shot at WBC light heavyweight champion, Matt Parlov, in Italy. Johnson floored Parlov in round nine with a left hook. A round later, the referee stopped the fight.
Marvin Johnson is a world champion.
“I was so thrilled to be champion of the world,” said Johnson. “This is something I have worked for all my life. My wife was there and I was so happy that I won and that was just the greatest thrill ever.”
Johnson’s first defense would be against nemesis Franklin, soon to be Matthew Saad Muhammad. Johnson did well in the early going. Franklin was taking punishment and bleeding, but at this point in his career, his resiliency was super-human. He fought back, hurting Johnson in round seven.
“Muhammed wore me down,” said Johnson. “And that’s the bottom line. He wore me down because nobody has absorbed my punches like he did. And keep coming, and keep coming.”
Saad Muhammad stopped Johnson in round eight. In 1996, Ring magazine called the brutal contest the “35th greatest title fight in boxing history.” Johnson shook off the loss, and almost a year later, met defending champion Victor Galindez in New Orleans. Galindez was favored, but Johnson turned to Big Brother for help.
“I think that the training that I went through for the fight helped me out," Johnson said. “I went down to where my brother was. He was in the military, and he invited me down there to train with the military boxers. And I think it helped me. Helped me to actually focus and condition my body. I felt real good.”
The fight was another war. But this time underdog Johnson grew stronger as the bout progressed. He was tagging Galindez with lefts, until one sent the soon-to- be ex-champion staggering across the ring and on his back. The fight was over, and Johnson was a champion again.
Not resting on his laurels, Johnson, who was always eager to fight anyone, faced talented Eddie Gregory, (later known as Eddie Mustafa Muhammad). Gregory boxed well, breaking down Johnson with body shots and knocking Johnson down in round three. The champion hung in, trying to connect with his signature left, but Gregory was too much. The loss to Gregory still eats at Johnson.
“I allowed too much of my body to be accessible to him,” Johnson said. “He hit me. He actually separated my rib. That’s how I got my ribcage separated. He’s a great guy and I congratulate him because he’s a great fighter. I just know, when you know a thing yourself, you didn’t fight your best fight.”
A year later, future champion Michael Spinks brutally knocked out Johnson. He never saw the punch. Johnson was a month shy of his 27th birthday. Many considered him washed up. His nickname of “Pops” was never more relevant. But Johnson took the loss in stride. He looked at it as a religious wake-up call.
“Well, actually, you see, I’m spiritual,” Johnson said. “Nobody had ever hit me with a punch that I didn’t see. Never. But, I think there’s things that I’ve done that I shouldn’t done, not even related to boxing, OK? And there’s a payday. There’s something that I had to pay for. I could see that after the fight. “
Advised to retire, Johnson laid off for a year. He returned to the ring revitalized, scoring a knockout. He prevailed 14 times in a row, defeating rising fighters Alvino Manson, Eddie Gonzalez, Charles Williams, and Eddie Davis. He was now on the cusp of another title shot. WBA light heavyweight champion Leslie Stewart was confident he could beat Johnson. The venue was Market Square Arena in Indianapolis. Hometown hero Johnson had the crowd on his side. He took it to Stewart from the get-go, hammering the champion with body and head shots. Stewart hung in, but a series of punches hurt him in round seven, prompting the referee to wave off the fight.
Johnson was a champion for the third time. He defended his crown against Jean Marie Emebe, again at Market Square Arena. In 1986, he faced Stewart again, this time in Trinidad. Stewart got some revenge by stopping Johnson in eight. Johnson decided to retire after the fight. He was thirty-three.
There are regrets.
“When I retired, it was not hard,” Johnson said. ”It was disappointing. I was disappointed in retiring because I didn’t make the money that I thought I’d make. I wanted to buy my wife an amazing house. Tell her to stop working.”
But giving up something you love is always hard.
“I loved boxing to the point where it hated me,” said Johnson. “I mean it hurt me. I grew to love boxing more then I should have.”
It’s time the voters at the International Boxing Hall of Fame show Marvin Johnson some love by voting him into the hall. The way he battled back from losses is hardly common, it’s pretty dang extraordinary. He ignored those who said he was done, and in something that shocked most, won a world title for the third time. He was, and always will be, a fighter, who earned his titles through blood and guts.
He should be recognized, now.
Marvin Johnson was a hitter, here he is seen scoring a vicious left hand against Victor "The Animal" Galindez in their 1979 fight, Johnson would win by KO in the 11th round. This is one of my favorite fights, a real war of attrition, Galindez had been light heavyweight champion for 5 years and 5 months when Johnson dethroned him.
Marvin Johnson clobbers Victor Galindez with a sneaky left hand.
Marvin Johnson knocks out Victor Galindez, which is no small feat, Galindez wasn't called "The Animal" for nothing, he was one rough customer, you just didn't see Galindez hit the canvas like that.
31-year-old Marvin Johnson became a three-time world champion when he won the vacant WBA light heavyweight title with a 7th round TKO of Leslie Stewart at Market Square Arena in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1986.
Johnson previously held both the WBC and WBA titles at light heavyweight, but at separate times. Stewart, then unbeaten at 18-0, had defeated a few fringe contenders, but looked good doing it.
The southpaw Johnson connected with solid left hands early in the fight, but Stewart fought back and rocked the veteran. By round 3 both fighters were cut. Stewart was still dangerous, and Johnson had to battle through a number of exchanges. When Johnson realized he could land his left hand lead at will, the scales tipped his way.
In round 6, cuts over both of Stewart's eyebrows began to bleed heavily and the referee had the doctor examine the issue. The fight was allowed to continue, but in the 7th, Johnson rallied with a number of left hands and 1-2's, which prompted a referee stoppage when the referee said too much blood was getting into Stewart's eyes.
"I've got four kids to feed," Johnson said. "I needed the title to provide security for my family. That was the big incentive I needed."
Marvin Johnson training.
Marvin Johnson, forgotten warriors.
Jorge Arce, "El Travieso", Mexican Gladiator. He competed from 1996 to 2014. Jorge is famous for being one of the few boxers from Mexico to win world titles in four different weight classes. He held titles like the WBO light flyweight title, WBC light flyweight title, WBO super flyweight title, WBO junior featherweight title, and WBO bantamweight title. The guy was so much fun to watch, he was never in a full fight. This is one of the greatest boxing photos ever taken.
Jorge Arce was a savage, he just didn't give a crap.
Like most Mexican fighters, Jorge Arce had a great left hook to the liver.
May 1st, 1957, Sugar Ray Robinson becomes the only man in history to knock out the tough as nails Gene Fullmer. He did it with a perfectly timed left hook. This is one of the most famous knockouts in history, and has been called the perfect punch. It's insane because you just didn't knock out Gene Fullmer, he was that freakin' tough. Sugar Ray Robinson feinted like he was going to throw his right, it fooled Fullmer just enough and Fullmer never even saw the left hook that exploded on his jaw and put him down for the count.
Here is the left hook that took Fullmer out.
Fullmer tried to get up, only to fall again.
Here is the left hook from up close, you can see the full impact. It's crazy because Sugar Ray Robinson was way past his prime when he did this, and Gene Fullmer was one of the toughest men in the history of the sport, Fullmer fought some bloody and savage wars and this is the only time Fullmer was ever KO'd. Sugar Ray Robinson was a scary puncher, very brutal, bad things happened when decided to let his hands go all the way, he knocked out 109 men in his career.
Jersey Joe Walcott, heavyweight in the 1930s, 40's, and early 50s, one of the trickiest and slickest boxers ever. He was built like a tree trunk from the waist up, broad shoulders and thick muscular neck, powerful guy, and that helped him develop brutal punching power. Before George Foreman became the oldest heavyweight champion in 1994, Jersey Joe Walcott held that distinction when he knocked out the great Ezzard Charles in 1951 with one of the most beautiful and legendary punches in boxing history, the famous "walking uppercut." Jersey Joe Walcott's story is a Cinderella story, an underdog story, a hard luck story, about how he battled back from the brink of nothing to become world heavyweight champion.
The Fight City
July 18, 1951: Walcott vs Charles III
July 18, 2025 Michael Carbert
If James Braddock is “The Cinderella Man,” then what do we call Arnold Cream, aka Jersey Joe Walcott? Braddock’s story of perseverance in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds eventually inspired Hollywood attention, but no movie has been made about Cream and his equally improbable triumph, perhaps because Walcott’s tale strains credulity to the breaking point. In truth, Jersey Joe’s story rates as even more exalting than Braddock’s when one factors in racial inequality in America before the Civil Rights movement, as well as the number of times Walcott had been written off by the pundits of the day. For years he couldn’t catch a break, in part because he was Black, but also because Jersey Joe was perceived as a no-hope journeyman, a perennial contender, who couldn’t, and wouldn’t, make the big time.
When he finally did get a shot for the title against “The Brown Bomber” in 1947, it was a double shock, first for his outclassing the great Louis, and then for not getting the decision he so obviously deserved, the verdict one of the worst in heavyweight history. But Louis knocked Walcott out in the rematch, and Jersey Joe went on to lose two more tries for the title against Ezzard Charles in ’49 and ’51, confirming the general feeling that there were some for whom fortune would never, ever smile. But while time and again the public thought they had seen the last of Walcott, Jersey Joe was nothing if not resilient. Heartbreaking setbacks were nothing new to him; he’d dealt with them his whole career.
Charles vs Walcott
Space does not allow for a detailing of all the misfortunes, crooked managers, and broken promises Walcott endured after he turned pro in 1930. It’s enough to say that by the time the winter of 1944 rolled around, Arnold Cream, living with his family in a dilapidated shack in Camden, New Jersey, had quit the fight game for good. He had already retired at least half a dozen times before that point to concentrate on steady work that didn’t threaten to drive him insane, such as hauling garbage or working in the shipyards, but this time it appeared it would stick. Joe had had only two fights in four years, now had six children to feed, and he lacked any kind of representation, no manager or promoter who believed in his talent.
Enter Vic Marsillo.
A New Jersey-based matchmaker hoping to develop a local heavyweight attraction in Camden, Marsillo approached the fighter and started talking up Joe’s talent, reminding him of his ability, his natural caginess, that slick move he had of walking away from an opponent before turning and ambushing him with a heavy right hand. But Walcott had heard it all before, had been sweet-talked many times by managers who eventually left him high and dry. Words alone weren’t going to get Walcott back in the ring.
So Marsillo hit upon what turned out to be the perfect gesture to give the crestfallen fighter the boost he needed. It was December, just before Christmas, and it was cold. Marsillo convinced his money man, promoter Felix Bocchicchio, to help him buy a ton of coal for Cream and his family. Marsillo delivered it personally, helped shovel it into the basement, and one Arnold Cream, family man and working stiff, was ecstatic. The security those black nuggets represented to him and his family could not be overstated. Buoyed by his new manager’s faith in him, Cream went back to being Jersey Joe Walcott and commenced training with renewed zeal.
From there, the old man’s career finally took off, a testament to what a little well-timed encouragement can do. He scored a series of big wins over Joe Baksi, Jimmy Bivins, Lee Oma and Joey Maxim, which in turn led, finally, to an overdue title shot. Robbed by the judges against Louis, knocked out in the rematch, still, Walcott simply refused to go away. After all, win or lose, he was finally making decent money.
When Louis retired, Jersey Joe was matched with Ezzard Charles to decide the Brown Bomber’s successor, and he dropped a close decision to the former light-heavyweight and all-time great. But Walcott kept fighting, kept winning, got a rematch with Charles where he again dropped a fifteen round decision, but this time he gave Ezzard the toughest of struggles and many thought Jersey Joe had been robbed again. So, four months later, in Pittsburgh, the two rivals met for a third time, Walcott a nine-to-one underdog, because a victory in a record fifth attempt at the world championship was deemed just too improbable, the stuff of fairy tales, not real life.
But there was Walcott, looking as good as ever, asserting himself in the third round with a hard right hand that stunned the champion and cut his cheek. In the fourth and fifth he had Charles covering up, and in the sixth Walcott started throwing heavy left hooks. Fighting with more fire than he ever did in their first two bouts, most ringsiders had him winning by a clear margin when the bell rang for round seven.
Charles came out aggressively, trying to reverse the tide, and he backed Jersey Joe into a corner where the fighters clinched. After the referee separated them, Walcott walked nonchalantly to ring center, as if he had nothing on his mind more menacing then taking an afternoon stroll to admire the summer flowers, and then, with perfect timing and rattlesnake quickness, he ripped a vicious counter left hook/uppercut, to Charles’ jaw, it would later gain fame as the "walking uppercut."
One huge shot and the fight was over. The champion’s head recoiled as he sank to a crouch and then he toppled forward, landing flat on his face. Charles made a valiant effort to rise but collapsed again as the referee finished the count. The capacity crowd in Forbes Field looked on in stunned disbelief. Few had seen the punch, it was thrown with such sudden sharpness, and fewer still had expected such an outcome. Most had anticipated the younger, fresher Charles to win handily, further establishing himself as the man at the top of the heavyweight mountain; virtually no one foresaw the big underdog winning by knockout.
But, that’s what happened. Jersey Joe Walcott, after years of struggle, finally won the big one and, at 37 years of age, had become the oldest man to ever win the heavyweight title, a record that held until 1994 and George Foreman’s equally unlikely victory, also of the one punch variety, over Michael Moorer. Walcott would successfully defend against Charles before losing back-to-back bouts with Rocky Marciano, but those defeats, as memorable as they are, cannot erase the previous twenty-two years and all their twists and turns, nor Walcott’s Cinderella moment, his fairy tale victory, that huge left hook that finally brought not only the world title, but redemption. — Michael Carbert
One more article about Jersey Joe Walcott, he was a masterful boxer, he had all kinds of moves and tricks, slick as an eel covered in grease. Excellent at setting traps and luring you into his punches, excellent counter puncher, ridiculous footwork, it is said that Muhammad Ali studied Walcott's style.
Jersey Joe Walcott: Art on the Ring Canvas
By Jack Slack
Arnold Cream made his boxing début in 1930, at the age of sixteen. By the time he was approaching forty he had failed to win a world title on four separate occasions and he had compiled sixteen losses on his professional record by 1951. He had lost cumulative years off of his career due to a broken arm, typhoid, and the need to work multiple jobs. A boxer with his record wouldn’t even be allowed close to a championship in this day and age, but in1951, at age thirty-seven, Cream knocked out Ezzard Charles to win the world heavyweight title.
Cream’s tale stands out as one of the most depressing and beautiful in boxing. If William Dean Howells was correct in his assertion that the American public loves a tragedy with a happy ending, you would struggle to find one more fitting in the annals of boxing. Arnold Cream’s life was a smearing of tragedy, sprinkled with missed opportunities, set against a backdrop of constant poverty. His career both in the ring and out of it was a meandering mess. And yet, in the late 1940s Cream was able to turn around decades of miserable misfortune to claim what was still the most venerated title in sports. But it wasn’t young Arnold Cream at whose feet Ezzard Charles crumbled, nor was it Arnold Cream’s waist around which the heavyweight championship belt was strapped. No, it was those of Jersey Joe Walcott.
Due to the death of his father, young Arnold Cream was forced to take up work at the age of fifteen to provide for his ten siblings and mother. In spite of this he proved a promising youngster in the ring. Cream found himself under the tutelage of Jack Blackburn, a fearsome character who had spent time in prison for a shooting spree which killed three, but who had fought a litany of great boxers. In 1933, Blackburn had the idea to take Cream—now fighting under the Jersey Joe Walcott moniker in homage to the great Barbados Demon, Joe Walcott—around the country and figure out if he was ‘the one’.
By ‘the one’ Blackburn meant a black heavyweight who could finally re-break the color barrier which had been placed in front of the heavyweight title after the race relations disaster that was Jack Johnson’s heavyweight title reign from 1909 until 1915. Unfortunately, Jersey Joe was struck down with typhoid and Blackburn was soon tempted away by the prospect of working with another young black heavyweight, Joe Louis in Chicago. Louis turned out to be ‘the one’, and went on to become the greatest heavyweight champion in boxing history.
The Cream family suffered deeply through the depression and the early war years. With a wife and six children to provide for, Walcott’s boxing career was a means to gain five to ten dollar purses in hope that it would ease the difficulty of living. In 1936, a year in which Jersey Joe broke his arm and was trying to feed his children on nine dollars of welfare a week, he still managed to rack up nine fights—six in the last six months of the year. He would work in a factory all day, eat little, and box in the evenings with little preparation or training. Fatigue came quickly to Jersey Joe Walcott through this time and many of his bouts turned into a battle against his blood sugar and empty stomach more than they were against his opponent. When asked by the Saturday Evening Post about his many retirements from the ring, Walcott responded: “I had the ability to succeed in the ring, but you can’t do that with hunger gnawing at the pit of your stomach”. Walcott packed boxing in for the sixth time in 1941; it had taken too much from him and returned so little.
A racketeer named Felix Bocchicchio gave Walcott his big break, supplying Walcott with food and fuel enough to provide for his family and freeing the fighter up to train full time. The revolution in Walcott’s ability when allowed to train like a professional, combined with lack of quality heavyweights through and following the Second World War made him a local favorite and by 1946, he was a favorite at Madison Square Garden. Walcott took nineteen fights between 1945 and June of 1947, and performed so well that his management began seeking out fighters that the champion, Joe Louis, had been steered clear of. With a pair of victories over the all-time great light heavyweight, Joey Maxim, and a victory over Elmer Ray, Walcott moved into position for a bout with Louis in December of 1947.
Jersey Joe was the very definition of ‘savvy’. He lacked the physical gifts of many of his opponents, particularly as a small heavyweight and as an old man by ring standards. By the criteria of many coaches today, he wasn’t even a particularly solid boxer—rarely throwing in combinations exceeding two punches and placing little value on volume. But Walcott’s feet were magnificent. Reportedly a key influence on a young Cassius Clay, Walcott could do things in the ring that other men either couldn’t or wouldn’t dare do. And that was Walcott in a nutshell: he elevated boxing to an art. In the manly science of self defense, there are set methods, and things you never do. It is a game of rules of thumb. The art of boxing was what Walcott painted across the ring canvas as he broke every one of those rules and looked fancy doing it.
With Walcott’s ascendancy to recognition, an old story began circulating that in 1936 Walcott had been brought in to spar with Joe Louis (in preparation for Louis’ legendary first match with Nazi Germany’s Max Schmeling) as something of a favor by old Jack Blackburn. Knowing Walcott was living below the poverty, $25 for a couple of rounds was a godsend. While both sides disagreed on the details, what is known is that Louis ended up on the seat of his trunks and was mightily embarrassed. Walcott promptly lost his gig as a spar mate.
But that tale did nothing to sway the betting odds or the common consensus that old man Walcott was about to take a fearful drubbing. While he’d built his way up to recognition on the circuit, Jersey Joe was still largely unheralded. Nat Fleischer, founder of The Ring and a man who was up on all the happenings in boxing recalled Walcott at the time of his first bout with Louis in Fifty Years at Ringside in the simple triplet: “veteran negro boxer” and proceeded to write nothing else about the challenger, focusing instead on the life and troubles of the champion.
The Walcott Shuffle
This would be Louis’ twenty-fifth title defense. He hadn’t lost a fight in eleven years. The papers had been calling Louis’ title challengers the ‘parade of bums’ for years because if there was anyone decent out there, Louis had already beaten them. Jersey Joe was on the trailing end of that parade, and he’d been fighting since before many of them could walk. But Walcott, the 10-to-1 underdog, had been improved exponentially by being allowed to focus his efforts on fighting, while Louis was returning from fifteen months off. In fact, the bout was originally slated as a ten round exhibition until public pressure forced the bout to be changed to a championship fight over fifteen rounds.
When Louis moved Walcott to the corner and began his usual methodical combination punching in the opening round, Walcott rolled with the punches, ducked behind his shoulders, and returned with a wild salvo which put the champion on the mat. Eyebrows were raised, but Louis was always a slow starter. He’d been dropped numerous times by big bangers who caught him early, but invariably he battered them senseless after the opening minutes.
What Walcott showed that night was a revelation. In between his usual rhythmic bounces across the ring, and the occasional kicking out of his legs behind him as he jigged around to his left with his jabs, Walcott showed a very specific technique time and time again. It was one which worked perfectly on Louis precisely because he was so technically sound, and it demonstrated how much of an ‘anti-technician’ Walcott could be.
Louis’ had always been economical. His feet were a means of ferrying him across the floor, little more. He’d throw long, probing jabs out, but he didn’t like chasing opponents. Louis was at his best when they were either trapped against the ropes and unable to give ground, or stopped on their own terms and threw punches back. That shuffling footwork kept Louis on balance and in position to slip at all times.
From the first minute of the bout there was a noticeable pattern in Walcott’s movement—though it is one which has been largely uncommented on in the sixty years since the bout. Walcott would jab and lead hook as he moved around to the right, and after every handful of left moving jabs, he would cross his left foot in front of his right and retreat deeply on a slight angle to the right.
It seemed like a completely pointless movement. All crossing your feet does in a boxing match is put you off balance if you take a blow, gifting the other man an easy knockdown. Furthermore, at times Walcott was almost turning his back on Louis—his right hand was as far away from the target as possible until he had completely his return to stance. It wasn’t a questionable tactical decision, or arrogance. It was downright stupid.
But Walcott was crazy like a fox. This long retreating cross step placed Walcott on a slight angle, and a good distance from Louis, forcing Louis to turn and to take an extra step if he hoped to land his right hand. It encouraged Louis to chase. Each time Louis’ jab came out, Walcott slipped it and knew that Louis would be stepping in behind it to throw his right.
Consistently Walcott was able to slip the jab and beat Louis to the right hand, and this put a timidity in Louis which was rare to see. Following the fight, Louis gave a quote regarding slowing with age—but recalling that Walcott was older and slower than Louis, and seeing this strategy evidenced time and time again, the quote takes on new meaning:
“I could see the openings, but my right hand couldn’t see them.”
The baits became even more flamboyant in the later rounds as Walcott marched from stance to stance, comfortably ahead on points in his mind, and with a passive opponent. Walcott even brought out his cross steps—backhanding a southpaw jab at Louis as he mocked the champion by completely abandoning stance to dance. Finally, in the last round, Louis came after Walcott, and Walcott skittered out of the way and dodged out of corners—knowing he had already won.
While the referee gave his vote for Walcott, the two ringside judges sided, almost unfathomably, with Louis. The arena erupted in boos. The judges had not saved Louis face by gifting him an undeserved decision; they had drawn further attention to how poorly he had performed. A rematch was demanded and promptly signed.
This time around Louis wasn’t suckered in. Waiting on Walcott to lead, Louis slipped and attempted to land counter combinations. Suddenly, in the third round, Walcott lazily performed the cross step—now being touted by the press as ‘The Walcott Shuffle’—and Louis fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Louis moved in behind his jab and as his feet shuffled up to position him for the right hand, Walcott rocked back in and belted Louis with his own right which sent the champion to the floor.
Jack Blackburn was long since dead, and many of Louis’ closest advisers were no longer with him. Anyone who could have picked apart what Walcott was doing was certainly not in the champion’s corner that night. Yet Louis always had such composure and stoic discipline that it was often mistaken for slowness. Louis returned to conservative counter punching and Walcott became more eager to force the champion to lead. Walcott was never much for trash talk, but he could infuriate with his actions in the ring. As the bout wore on he used his alternating side steps or a ‘cakewalk’ to stand in front of Louis and call the champion on in hopes of countering.
But it was Walcott’s antics and eschewing of traditional boxing fundamentals which also served to undo him. As the match progressed, Walcott became more and more anxious to find an opening and ultimately overcommitted in his attempts to cajole a lead from Louis—eating a right hand which sent him to the ropes. Walcott went into his usual slipping and rolling, reportedly shouting to the referee that he was indeed fine. He then returned with a cracking left hook which hit Louis clean on the jawline. Except Walcott stood still to admire the effects. Louis was a combination puncher—it didn’t matter if he got hit, the punches kept coming. A right hook immediately rung Walcott’s bell, and a flurry of hooks followed.
As Walcott slumped to the mat, so did his dreams of the belt. He had been given two cracks at the world heavyweight title, he would certainly not receive another.
The Cincinnati Cobra
Yet another lay off followed as Walcott took a year to decide whether he was out of the boxing game for good. However, the retirement of Louis saw Walcott’s efforts against the long time champion rewarded with a fight against Ezzard Charles for the vacant belt. Charles, one of the finest technicians in boxing history, out boxed Walcott and took up the heavyweight strap. Walcott tried everything he could think of, but Charles was too smart, too polished, and too well acquainted with the footage of Louis being felled by Walcott to fall into lunging at old Jersey Joe.
Walcott returned with a streak of four knockouts—an incredible rate for him as he was a banger but not a tremendous finisher—before fighting Charles again. In the second bout Walcott showed a new, more aggressive side to his and hurt Charles’ body, but was punished for his many overcommitments in an aspect of the game in which he hadn’t fought much in the past. Charles took the decision. The boxing historian, John D. McCallum noted that Jersey Joe Walcott ‘had no license whatsoever to be getting a third shot at Charles”, but in one of the few turns of good fortune in Walcott’s life, Charles signed it anyway.
Perhaps Charles was out of challengers, the heavyweight division was desperately weak following the war and Charles had already defended his title eight times. Or perhaps he just appreciated the chance to hold the first heavyweight title fight in his home town of Pittsburgh, against a fighter he had already bested twice. The opening rounds were the same as in the other two bouts, with both men reluctant to lead and throwing non-committal jabs from too far away. Occasionally Walcott would sink a left hook to the body as Charles jabbed, but largely the fight was far from action packed. Finally, following the referee breaking one of the frequent clinches, Walcott strutted towards Charles, slipped the champion’s jab, and landed the terrific left uppercut he had been testing out all night.
Walcott was finally the world heavyweight champion after an unprecedented five attempts at the title. Life magazine called him ‘the most implausible heavyweight champion of the world’. The man who was living on nine dollars of relief a week was suddenly picking up a cheque for fifty thousand and being adored by the nation. In a fourth fight with Ezzard Charles, Walcott took the decision and had his first title defence in the books. Then it was on to new blood.
The Great White Hope
The heavyweight division had been in a pitiful state following the Second World War, but with Rocky Marciano’s victory over the returning Joe Louis, it seemed like there might be a ‘Great White Hope’ for the heavyweight title. Marciano was a clumsy boxer who lacked ringcraft and held one of the shortest reaches of any heavyweight boxer in history, but when the fight reached the inside, Marciano was one of a kind.
Marciano entered the bout as an eight-to-five favourite—a rare occasion of the challenger being the betting favourite in a heavyweight title fight—while the old timers of the sport tended to favour Walcott when pushed for an opinion. It was youth and aggression versus ringcraft and experience. Some pointed to the success of Lee Savold, a lesser boxer and also an old man by prize ring standards, who had given Marciano fits simply by using movement to facilitate his long blows, and tie ups to stall Marciano out in his preferred range. Others pointed to Walcott’s preferred pace being markedly lower than the one which Marciano put on his opponents even when losing bouts.
Walcott surprised everyone, including Marciano, by leaping straight in to trade blows with the crowding infighter. After hammering the notorious slow starter with some hard right hands, and tying him up, Walcott showed a new trick in his arsenal—a razor sharp short lead left hook. The champion had always played with the idea of leading with the left hook (a rare trait in true scientific boxers because of its slower path than the straight jab), but the left hook Walcott threw repeatedly against Marciano was different. Stepping in deep, as he would on his jab, Walcott threw the hook from almost chest-to-chest. It was a picture perfect technique for Marciano, because Marciano would always be stepping in to meet it. Walcott went to this technique time and time again after dropping Marciano with it in the opening minute, making sure to attempt to pivot off line each time he connected it.
As the champion and an underdog against a young upstart, Walcott was startling in his aggression but sharp on the counter. Between the heavy leather there was the usual Walcott craft. His shoulder roll and reverse shoulder roll saw Walcott effortlessly evade or weather many of Marciano’s blows. Indeed, Walcott fought off of the ropes with a rare efficacy in the early part of this bout. The last place one would want to be against an infighter ordinarily.
The reverse shoulder roll is a peculiarity, as it involves pausing in a position with the hips full rotated and the right shoulder thrust forward. But it protected Walcott from counters when he got lazy recovering his right hand.
But Marciano’s grinding work and pace, and the champion’s own decision to try for an early knockout soon caught up with Walcott. Where he had tied Marciano up with ease early on, Marciano’s commitment to nuzzling his head underneath Walcott’s and creating space to either wriggle his arms free or pound the champion’s body was paying dividends.
As Walcott began to look obviously exhausted in the sixth round, the two men clashed heads, opening cuts on both. The seconds hurried to close the cuts and the substances used soon rubbed into the fighters’ eyes as they got back to battling in the trenches through the seventh round. Marciano got the worse of it, and found himself reaching blind for Walcott. The next few rounds were an exhausting grind until the eleventh, when Walcott suddenly found his second wind and put together his best round of the fight. A right hand to the short rib had Marciano bent double as Walcott teed off against the Brockton Blockbuster’s block. A.J. Liebling recalled that Walcott versus Marciano had four changes of lead on the scorecards.
With Walcott leading at the end of the twelfth round, Marciano was in a hole. He had been made to look foolish for the last two rounds, the old man was no longer tired and even when Marciano got him to the ropes Walcott was even getting the better of the exchanges from there. As Jersey Joe backed himself to the ropes ready to counter punch—which Liebling termed “milling in retreat”—Marciano shuffled in and delivered the shortest right hand of his career. It wasn’t the old Marciano ‘blind right’, thrown overhead as he ducked into the clinch, it was a pure right straight thrown over a foot and a half. The purest of right straights by Jack Dempsey’s criteria: Marciano’s left foot stepping on the punch to ensure the transfer of weight from one foot to the other, in the direction of the blow.
Walcott melted along the ropes, and fell slowly to the floor. The referee continued counting even as Walcott’s body gave to gravity and slowly spread, face down across the mat. It was superfluous, the champion was a champion no longer. The reign of Walcott, a blip on the radar of the heavyweight division, was over. It seemed even more tragic to end a bout that many in the press considered the greatest heavyweight title bout they had ever seen witnessed with such a brutal knockout. Joe had done the work, he had survived Marciano’s pace and pulled the fight back, only to be knocked flat by one punch.
Years later, Walcott was asked to compare the power of Louis and remarked that while getting hit by Louis, one always knew there were more punches coming, Marciano had a special kind of power. The kind of power which simply took a fighter out of the game with no chance to recover.
But all was not lost for Walcott. The tremendous first fight, which made it into more movie theatres than even Joe Louis’ title bouts, led to the signing of a second. If Walcott could just avoid that one big blow for a couple more rounds, he could regain his title. He had the craft and he’d shown it through twelve rounds.
The rematch was one of the most peculiar fights in heavyweight title history. After the usual feeling out, and Walcott tying Marciano up as he moved in, Walcott was hit with another short right hand, this time as he was bending over. It travelled across Marciano’s chest and stiffened the legs of the elder man. Walcott fell to the floor, grabbed the rope, sat up and looked off into the distance as the referee counted him out. At ‘ten’, Walcott rose, complained that the count had been fast, and then congratulated Marciano. The spectators couldn’t get over it. What had happened?
They say that Walcott gave up. It’s more than likely that he did. Bert Sugar reported that despite being the challenger, Walcott was receiving two hundred thousand dollars more than Rocky Marciano. It was more money that Walcott had seen in his entire life. He took the count, he lost the fight, and he went home to the wife and family he had starved himself to provide for.
To the fight fan, that is abhorrent. It is sacrilege against the sanctity of the prizefight. To the man who knows the life of Arnold Cream, that might be the strangest happy ending in the business.
I was chatting with a guy on a boxing forum that met Jersey Joe Walcott and he actually told me that he was in shock when he met him in person, said his upper body was ridiculously strong, powerful. This is a great shot of Jersey Joe taking a break from chopping wood and you can see that his upper body was indeed big. Walcott was a brutal puncher, his upper body strength is probably one of the reasons he hit so hard.
This is the famous "walking uppercut" that Jersey Joe Walcott used to KO the great Ezzard Charles in 1951 to win the heavyweight title. Walcott just walked out at the beginning of the 7th round, like he was taking a stroll in the park, feinted, and unleashed a left hook/uppercut hybrid, and Ezzard never even knew what hit him. It's one of the greatest punches ever thrown, and one of the greatest knockouts in boxing history.
Here is the Jersey Joe Walcott "walking uppercut" as it happened. George Foreman would later use a "walking uppercut" punch to take out Gerry Cooney in 1990, the exact same punch except with the right hand.
Walcott was a brutal puncher.
Walcott floors the great Joe Louis.
Great shot of Walcott.
Jersey Joe deep in thought outside his training facility.
The artistry of Jersey Joe Walcott.
Humberto "Chiquita" Gonzales, great great junior flyweight with knockout power in both hands. Gosh I love Mexican fighters, so damn tough, warriors down to the bone. Like I said before, you practically had to try to kill them to beat them.
The son of a butcher, Gonzalez was born March 25, 1966 in Netzahualcoyotl, Mexico.
In an 11 year professional career, Gonzalez reigned three times as WBC junior flyweight champion, once as IBF champion and registered 12 successful title defenses. Following an undefeated amateur career (23-0), “Chiquita” turned pro in 1984 in Mexico City. In 1987 the 5'1” fighter won the Mexican junior flyweight title and successfully defended it twice.
On June 25, 1989 Gonzalez won the WBC junior flyweight title with a 12-round unanimous decision over Yul Woo Lee in Korea. Five successful defenses, including a 12-round unanimous decision over Korean standout Jung-Koo Chang and a three round kayo over future world titlist Francisco Tejedor, followed. On December 19, 1990 he was upset by Rolando Pascua, but battled back to recapture the WBC belt with a 12-round win over Melchor Cob Castro in 1991. Four defenses followed before “Chiquita” signed to meet his IBF counterpart, Michael “Little Hands of Stone” Carbajal in a junior flyweight unification bout. “Chiquita” dropped Carbajal twice, but was stopped in the 7th round of the bout that was deemed 1993's “Fight of the Year.” He turned the tables in the rematch, scoring a 12-round split decision to regain the title. He would successfully defend the title three times, including a 12-round win over Carbajal in the rubber match, before losing the championship to Saman Sorjaturong in 1995's “Fight of the Year.” “Chiquita” retired following the loss with a 43-3 (31 KOs) record.
Known for exceptional punching power in either hand, “Chiquita” is widely regarded as one of boxing's hardest punchers “pound for pound.”
Blood and guts warrior was Chiquita Gonzales. His wars with Michael "Little Hands of Stone" Carbajal, another Mexican warrior, were spectacular.
Chiquita Gonzales vs Michael Carbajal 1, my God what a war. The highlights.