Storyville! The Romance and Tragedy of Boxing.

May 15, 2017
976
1,056
Mr. Rudell Stitch came up in conversation yesterday. I hadn't thought about him in a long while. A true American hero.

https://www.courier-journal.com/story/news/history/river-city-retro/2014/09/11/celebrating-history-rudell-stitch/15433403/?from=new-cookie

Louisville Courier-Journal
Celebrating Our History | boxer Rudell Stitch
Martha Elson
LCJ Published 12:00 a.m. ET Sept. 12, 2014 | Updated 9:20 a.m. ET Sept. 11, 2014


Nearly 55 years after Louisville boxer Rudell Stitch drowned while trying to save a friend in the Ohio River, he was honored for his sports accomplishments and his heroism.

Stitch was inducted into the Kentucky Athletic Hall of Fame in June, a year after being honored with a Kentucky Pride Foundation "hometown heroes" mural on the 4th Street Live parking garage, next to the Cathedral of the Assumption on Fifth Street.

He also was awarded two Carnegie Hero Fund Commission medals — both for lifesaving efforts.

Stitch was one of the top-ranked welterweight boxers in the world when he died in 1960 at age 27. His widow, Rosa Mae Stitch, was shot and killed in her Prospect home four years later at age 31, leaving behind their six children, Rudell III, Donald, Rodney, Perry, Darryl Lamarr and Janet Lynn.

HISTORY

Stitch grew up in a poor neighborhood around 13th Street in west Louisville, near the railroad tracks, according to a 1978 Louisville Times story. He worked out at Bud Bruner's gym on Shelby Street and had a job at a meat packing plant, salting and stacking 90-pound cowhides, Bruner said in the story.

Stitch often went to the gym in the afternoon, after eight hours on the job, and sometimes got up at 3:30 a.m. to run in a park near his home.

"As a boxer, he was capable of imposing fierce physical demands on himself, and it paid off in the ring," the story said. Stitch "could punch, and he could box," Bruner said. "He was tremendously strong in the shoulders."

Stitch started his professional boxing career in 1956. A turning point came after Bruner got him a bout with Charlie Cotton, who was having trouble finding ranking welterweights willing to fight him, the story said. Stitch won in a knockout.

RIVER HEROISM

In 1958 Stitch was fishing beside the Ohio River when he rescued a stranger, Army Corps of Engineers worker Joseph Shifcar of Elizabeth, Ind., who was swept into the river near the McAlpine Dam, a Courier-Journal story said.

"Although the area beneath the dam was known to be very dangerous for swimming, Stitch plunged in and brought the injured man safely ashore," a 1962 Presbyterian Life story said. In 1960, according to the Louisville Times, Stitch was fishing with Bruner and his son and another friend, Charles Oliver, near the dam when Oliver slipped and pulled Stitch into the water. Stitch tried to rescue his friend, but neither man surfaced, and the Coast Guard brought up their bodies.

Thousands of people attended the viewing session for Stitch at Hope Presbyterian Church and 1,200 attended the funeral at Central Presbyterian Church, according to Presbyterian Life. A memorial fund was set up, and the National Boxing Association established the Rudell Stitch Sportsmanship Award in his memory.

STITCH'S RECORD

Stitch won 45 of 57 amateur bouts in his career. He won Kentucky state titles in 1951, 1952, 1953, 1955 and 1956. That last year he reached the semifinals of the Chicago Golden Gloves and the finals of the National AAU Tournament.

ROSA MAE STITCH

In January 1964, Rosa Mae Stitch was killed in what was thought to be a murder-suicide incident. Philander Bryant, 44, of S. 18th Street, was found next to her and died the next day at General Hospital.

Evie Rice, Rosa Mae Stitch's mother, had been living with her daughter and grandchildren but was spending the night with her sister the night her daughter was shot, according to The C-J.

In 1964, Cassius Clay talked of organizing a boxing exhibition with Stitch's brother, Rudy, to benefit the Stitch children, a C-J story said.

WWW.RUDELLSTITCH.COM

The website listed with the smiling visage of Stitch on the Fifth Street mural says he was one of Muhammad Ali's heroes and that Stitch sparred with him, then Cassius Clay, when Ali was training for the 1960 Rome Olympics. It ends with: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13

© 2017 www.courier-journal.com. All rights reserved.




 
Jun 11, 2014
6,654
6,487
scotland
A where are they now story great piece of investigative journalism by Dan Greene.. To locate the "worst Boxer ever".


The Worst Boxer Ever.




Whatever happened to ‘The Worst Boxer in the History of the World’?


QUICKLY
  • One Tuesday night in 1993, Brian Sutherland stepped into a ring and lasted just 56 seconds. But his short-lived bout lives on in infamy on the Internet.
By Dan Greene
August 01, 2016
The midday sun shines hard on Kings Mountain, a pickup truck town between the highways that cut through North Carolina’s southwestern hills. I ring the front doorbell twice, then the one on the side door under the overhang garage. There is no response but a small dog’s yapping on the inside. Minutes pass slowly outside the brick-and-vinyl split-level. I sweat a bit. I wonder if I’m in the right place.

I came here because of a YouTube video. When anyone asked why I was heading to Kings Mountain, I would show them the clip. Soon they understood.

That video, entitled The Man From Shelby and posted in 2008, has more than 90,000 views. There’s another version called THE WORST DEBUT IN BOXING HISTORY that has more than 330,000. Worst Boxer ever. Tidy Mullet has more than 60,000. The most popular version is called Worst Boxer in the History of the World ...epic mullet!!! and features Quebecois announcers, jump-cuts to a shocked Beyonce and to a cat fighting a chicken, as well as “Eye of the Tiger” playing in the background. In nearly six years online it has been viewed more than three million times.

It was The Man From Shelby that I came across one idle afternoon, while stumbling down an Internet rabbit hole of listicles about the worst boxers of all time. Even within that genre, so much of the video struck me: The man from Shelby’s mustache and, yes, his tidy and epic mullet above an everyman build and a patch of chest hair. The claim that he was making his professional debut. His flailing kangaroo punches. The open derision from the television commentators. The inevitable conclusion after 56 seconds, when he got tagged with a left hook and then nailed by an overhand right that spun him straight up like a Looney Tunes character. The way his assailant shrugged as he collapsed to the mat. The slight smile after he climbed back to his feet. That all of this was broadcast on national TV as part of the USA Network’s Tuesday Night Fights.

How could this have happened? What sort of process could produce such a mismatch on such a stage? And whatever became of “the world’s worst boxer,” whose real name was Brian Sutherland? I took to Google. I found blog posts from a few years ago yukking it up over the video, an ironic following on boxing message boards, comparisons to another mulleted Shelby native, the fictional Kenny Powers of HBO’s Eastbound & Down. I pulled up the entry for Sutherland on BoxRec, the sport’s online encyclopedia. He had no fights after this knockout in 1993, but there had been one 10 days before, another first-round KO loss, this one to a heavyweight with a career record of 17–102–2. There were no local newspaper stories on either fight from then or now. The only social media accounts I found belonged to other Brian Sutherlands or were obvious fakes made by jokesters taken with the YouTube clips. I couldn’t find a real trace of the man himself.

Over the next few weeks, my curiosity stayed piqued. Here was a man whose life briefly and bizarrely caught the light, who got knocked out, receded into anonymity, and was unwittingly thrust back into the public eye to be laughed at two decades on. The more I watched the clip, the more I wanted to find out: What was the story of the man from Shelby?

Read the rest of the article here.... https://www.si.com/boxing/brian-sutherland-worst-boxer-ever-youtube-video
@sugar ray sheepskin @Chinny
Read this article and watch the clip on YouTube that is featured......the Scouse boxer that wins the 'fight' is Kenny Rainford .....who featured in that article that was posted about Earnie Shavers in the ' Boxing News 100 greatest British boxers' thread.:deal:thumbsup
 
Reactions: Chinny
Oct 27, 2016
1,165
2,360
Tyrone Everett from Philadelphia,36-1 got robbed so they say in his one and only title shot at 130 lbs.

If you could buy a ticket for value for money cards in the States in the 70's the Spectrum housed so many unheralded but would go on to have great career fighters like Hagler,MS Muhammad etc.The promoter mentioned J.Russell Peltz put on competitive cards.matched fighters hard,but treated the fighters fairly purse wise and many thanked him after their careers as did the fans.

Everett was one of those forgotten fighters,interesting article and died young in unusual circumstances,short article worth a read with comments below.

http://phillysportshistory.com/2011/05/18/the-fast-rise-and-tragic-fall-of-tyrone-the-mean-machine-everett/
 
May 8, 2016
2,351
2,124
45
Five early foes recall fighting Tyson
Jun 11, 2005
  • Tim Graham
  • They go by many labels. The polite terms are trial horses, stepping-stones, gatekeepers, B sides. Others would dare to call them palookas, bums, stiffs, pugs, cadavers, cannon fodder – though maybe not to their faces.
These are the sort of men, practically anonymous to all but the staunchest fight fans, who compose the early portion of every champion's career. They build up confidence. They build up a record. And then when their usefulness has been exhausted, they usually fade away.Mike Tyson had the most prominent career launch of any non-Olympic fighter. The buzz generated by his early fights – the relentlessness, the explosive power, the don't-blink knockouts – made Kid Dynamite a crossover sensation.

Even so, a quick glance at those early bouts will conjure up memories of … well, not much. Most of the names won't register.

Who are these guys? Where are they now?

Some fighters, like Tyson's first professional foe, Hector Mercedes, are tough to locate. Some, like Mitch "Blood" Green, are easier. Joe Ribalta won't do interviews without getting paid. Reggie Gross was imprisoned on murder charges.

Tyson will try to patch up his sagging career against Kevin McBride on Saturday night in Washington. This will mark Tyson's first appearance since losing to Danny Williams last summer.

So the time seems fitting – since McBride is about the same caliber of fighter upon which a 19-year-old Tyson feasted regularly back in the day – to track down some of those men who gamely stepped into the ring to face a skyrocketing phenom and helped create a legend.

Mitch Green
A weak, raspy voice, barely audible over the blaring television in the background, picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for Mitch Green. Is this him?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm calling from ESPN.com. I'm working on a story on some of Mike Tyson's early opponents, and …"

"Tyson's a knucklehead!" Green shouted, instantly evolving into a Chris Rock character from "Saturday Night Live." The TV quickly was muted. "Come on, man! He's getting knocked out by bums. That's all I can say about that because you're not giving me any money for this. I can't talk about that knucklehead. … But I got a lot to say."

Mitch "Blood" Green is flat broke. He's not afraid to admit it because if he doesn't let you know, you wouldn't think to offer him some money.
But if charisma were currency, Green would be watching "Judge Judy" while sitting on a beanbag chair stuffed with large bills.

Green, 48, lives alone in Queens and has no apparent means of income aside from receiving $5 for every autograph he sells on a Web page constructed in his honor. Benefactors apparently help him pay his bills.

Fans are still drawn to Green and his wacky tales, his hilarious one-liners and outrageous statements.

"I'm like a politician in Harlem," Green said. "Every time I go out it's "What's up, Mitch? Mitch, Mitch, Mitch! Bop, bop, bop! Blood, Blood, Blood!"

He does magic tricks for kids on the streets, and he's still famous enough to bail himself out of trouble with the law – sometimes – with a funny story or an autograph. He has been in and out of jail more often than Sideshow Bob and reportedly has had his driver's license suspended 54 times. But he recently avoided a ticket for turnstile jumping on the subway when two undercover cops accepted a signature instead.

Green fought Tyson twice. The first time was in May 1986. Green dropped a lopsided 10-round decision but became only the second opponent to last that long with Kid Dynamite, who rose to 21-0.

The second time, two years later, Tyson infamously brawled Green in front of a Harlem clothing store just before dawn.

Green is still begging to complete the trilogy, even though he hasn't fought since 2002, when he picked up a title from something known as the World Boxing Syndicate by beating Danny Wofford, a pug who came into the fight with a record of 17-94-2.

"Tyson's a punk. That boy is scared to death of me," said Green, who went 18-6 but fought only seven times in 16 years after losing to Tyson. "It's a damn shame Tyson's scared of me like that. We could make a lot of money. Aw, man!

"I could tattoo all these chumps. I could beat both them bums. Tyson's fighting a bride. Ha! It's like they're getting married. … They'll be hugging and kissing.

"You know, you asking me a lot of questions. I should get paid for this."

Toward the end of the uncompensated interview, Green started to feel antsy. All that boxing talk was giving him ideas, awakening dormant desires.

"I haven't been to the gym lately, but I'm going," he said. "I might just get me a fight.

"Sure you can't give me a couple dollars for this? I'm tapped."

David Jaco
The popular barroom debate generally starts with the following question: "How much money would you need to get in the ring with Mike Tyson?"

David Jaco's figure was not a king's ransom.

He took $5,000 to fight Tyson in January 1986. Tyson was only 15-0 at the time, but he had started to create a global ruckus with his thunderous hands and lightning-quick knockouts. Four months earlier, he had blitzed Michael Johnson in 39 seconds. Three months prior, he annihilated Robert Colay in 37 seconds.

But Jaco didn't care. He needed money quick, or else he would lose his family.

"That $5,000 I made from Tyson changed my life," the 48-year-old Jaco said from his home in Sarasota, Fla. "Who would think that kind of money could do that?"

Jaco was divorced in 1979 but stayed with his ex-wife, who had custody of their twin sons, in hopes of reconciling. He described his ex-wife as a hopeless drug addict, and when she split the Toledo area and took the boys to Florida, he was terrified.

But before he could track her down, he needed cash. And before he could get the cash, he had to survive Tyson.

Jaco was an imposing presence at 6-foot-6 and 217 pounds. He had a respectable record of 19-5 with 15 KOs and had already issued Razor Ruddock's first defeat.

Jaco wasn't about to spoil Tyson's unblemished record, too.

"He was quick, like a cat," Jaco said. "He came in so low to the ground. I was bent over, trying to hit him. But he just came up and bang, bang. He was for real back then."

The fight ended at 2:16 of the first round because of the three-knockdown rule.

"The referee came up to me and said 'Nice fight, David,' " Jaco recalled. "And I said, 'What the hell are you talking about?' He said 'You've been down three times!' I said, 'Bull----! I've only been down twice!' "

Jaco took his purse and bolted for Florida. He eventually won custody of his sons, met a registered nurse and was remarried in 1992. He and his second wife had four daughters between 1993 and '99.

He retired in 1994 after losing seven consecutive bouts, giving him a record of 24-25-1 with 19 knockouts.

"I went from boxing to being Mr. Mom for the first six years of our marriage. What can I say? My wife pays the mortgage," said Jaco, who last year put 26,000 miles on his Dodge Durango transporting injured workman's compensation candidates to hospitals throughout Florida.

His sons, Aaron and Adam, became prizefighters. A rotator cuff injury prematurely ended Adam's career, but now he trains and manages his brother. Aaron, a light heavyweight, is 13-0 with 4 KOs.

"I don't want to see him get all tore up for nothing," Jaco said. "I hope someone takes notice and helps him make some money so he can get out."

Jaco's ledger also lists defeats against Carl Williams, Tony Tucker, Buster Douglas, Mike Weaver, Oliver McCall, George Foreman and Tommy Morrison.

"People hear all the big names I fought and say, 'Wow, you got money.' I don't got no money because I never made no money," Jaco said. "I'm one of those guys on the B side. I was a palooka. I was put in there as a stepping-stone, for a win.

"But for an old palooka, life is pretty good. I got a nice house, a good woman, four new daughters and a great job."

Donnie Long
Donnie Long, even though he doesn't follow boxing anymore, is familiar with the sordid nature of Mike Tyson.

Long knows about the rape conviction and the numerous allegations of similar incidents. He is aware of the assaults, the ear-biting incident, the alleged marijuana usage, and on and on and on.

Long, the ninth opponent of Kid Dynamite's pro career, has faith Tyson can be rehabilitated despite zero supporting evidence over the years.

Stranger things have happened.Long knows this because his life story might be the strangest of them all. If this can be possible, anything is.

The convicted murderer and drug trafficker, who used to wear a dog collar at Akron's North High and once stabbed a classmate in the schoolyard, now is the associate minister at Mount Lebanon Baptist Church in Akron, Ohio.

And five years ago, after his first week at Mount Lebanon, the former boxer was reunited with a woman he hadn't seen in decades. A month later, he married her – while on parole for murdering her brother.

Donnie and Margaret Long never really dated and never were engaged. One afternoon, they were downtown and impulsively walked into the courthouse, where a judge, who had no idea he might be an accessory to a parole violation, married them.

"I asked her 'What will your family think?'" the 48-year-old Long recalled. "And she said 'I'll do what I want to do!' We said we better not tell everybody. We waited a couple weeks because we didn't want anybody to have a heart attack."

Long was only 18 years old when he killed Jeffrie Boyd during an altercation in an Akron pool joint in 1975. Long claimed self-defense, that he was cornered and was only trying to fire a warning shot when the bullet struck Boyd dead.

"My mother had some of the worst kids in Akron," Long said. "I was probably every bit of Jason, Chucky and Freddy Krueger all rolled into one."

Long's sentence was 15 years to life, but a higher court released him in 1981 on grounds his trial was unconstitutional. He began his boxing career in earnest that year and won his first dozen fights before losing to James Broad. "The Master of Disaster" rebounded in his next appearance, beating Dino Dennis on national TV.

But the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals reversed the decision again and sent Long back to prison in 1984. He said he got a second chance to make good in the ring when he was released in 1985.

Long won his first two bouts and received a $5,000 invitation to fight Tyson in Atlantic City in November 1985.

"I remember going to the fight, and I remember waking up in the hospital," Long said. "As far as the actual fight, I can't tell you a single thing."

Tyson floored Long three times in 88 seconds.

"After I fought Mike Tyson, my whole career went down the drain," Long said. "I went from thinking I was somebody great to being lost in the wilderness. I lost my faith in myself. I thought I was a loser and a failure again. I went back to the streets and the destruction."

He fought seven more times after the Tyson defeat, winning only once and taking lumps against Francesco Damiani, Renaldo Snipes and Buster Douglas. Long retired with a 16-10 mark.

Long also had a side job pushing drugs. He was charged with five counts of drug trafficking in 1988 and went on the lam for five years. He hid in Alabama for a while, but eventually decided to take control of his life and turn himself in to police.

The man who used to wear a dog collar to school even surprised himself when recounting his life story to a reporter for the first time. He vowed all the old memories would be locked away at the end of the phone call. There won't be any more interviews about boxing.

Then Long imparted one last thought: "Through boxing, I learned to prepare for the battle of life. I can withstand against any storm. God knows how to put the puzzle together."

Read the rest of the article Here >>>> http://www.espn.com/sports/boxing/columns/story?id=2086508
 

Trail

R.I.P. Joe Rein
May 24, 2013
30,594
6,890
Five early foes recall fighting Tyson
Jun 11, 2005
  • Tim Graham
  • They go by many labels. The polite terms are trial horses, stepping-stones, gatekeepers, B sides. Others would dare to call them palookas, bums, stiffs, pugs, cadavers, cannon fodder – though maybe not to their faces.
These are the sort of men, practically anonymous to all but the staunchest fight fans, who compose the early portion of every champion's career. They build up confidence. They build up a record. And then when their usefulness has been exhausted, they usually fade away.Mike Tyson had the most prominent career launch of any non-Olympic fighter. The buzz generated by his early fights – the relentlessness, the explosive power, the don't-blink knockouts – made Kid Dynamite a crossover sensation.

Even so, a quick glance at those early bouts will conjure up memories of … well, not much. Most of the names won't register.

Who are these guys? Where are they now?

Some fighters, like Tyson's first professional foe, Hector Mercedes, are tough to locate. Some, like Mitch "Blood" Green, are easier. Joe Ribalta won't do interviews without getting paid. Reggie Gross was imprisoned on murder charges.

Tyson will try to patch up his sagging career against Kevin McBride on Saturday night in Washington. This will mark Tyson's first appearance since losing to Danny Williams last summer.

So the time seems fitting – since McBride is about the same caliber of fighter upon which a 19-year-old Tyson feasted regularly back in the day – to track down some of those men who gamely stepped into the ring to face a skyrocketing phenom and helped create a legend.

Mitch Green
A weak, raspy voice, barely audible over the blaring television in the background, picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for Mitch Green. Is this him?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm calling from ESPN.com. I'm working on a story on some of Mike Tyson's early opponents, and …"

"Tyson's a knucklehead!" Green shouted, instantly evolving into a Chris Rock character from "Saturday Night Live." The TV quickly was muted. "Come on, man! He's getting knocked out by bums. That's all I can say about that because you're not giving me any money for this. I can't talk about that knucklehead. … But I got a lot to say."

Mitch "Blood" Green is flat broke. He's not afraid to admit it because if he doesn't let you know, you wouldn't think to offer him some money.
But if charisma were currency, Green would be watching "Judge Judy" while sitting on a beanbag chair stuffed with large bills.

Green, 48, lives alone in Queens and has no apparent means of income aside from receiving $5 for every autograph he sells on a Web page constructed in his honor. Benefactors apparently help him pay his bills.

Fans are still drawn to Green and his wacky tales, his hilarious one-liners and outrageous statements.

"I'm like a politician in Harlem," Green said. "Every time I go out it's "What's up, Mitch? Mitch, Mitch, Mitch! Bop, bop, bop! Blood, Blood, Blood!"

He does magic tricks for kids on the streets, and he's still famous enough to bail himself out of trouble with the law – sometimes – with a funny story or an autograph. He has been in and out of jail more often than Sideshow Bob and reportedly has had his driver's license suspended 54 times. But he recently avoided a ticket for turnstile jumping on the subway when two undercover cops accepted a signature instead.

Green fought Tyson twice. The first time was in May 1986. Green dropped a lopsided 10-round decision but became only the second opponent to last that long with Kid Dynamite, who rose to 21-0.

The second time, two years later, Tyson infamously brawled Green in front of a Harlem clothing store just before dawn.

Green is still begging to complete the trilogy, even though he hasn't fought since 2002, when he picked up a title from something known as the World Boxing Syndicate by beating Danny Wofford, a pug who came into the fight with a record of 17-94-2.

"Tyson's a punk. That boy is scared to death of me," said Green, who went 18-6 but fought only seven times in 16 years after losing to Tyson. "It's a damn shame Tyson's scared of me like that. We could make a lot of money. Aw, man!

"I could tattoo all these chumps. I could beat both them bums. Tyson's fighting a bride. Ha! It's like they're getting married. … They'll be hugging and kissing.

"You know, you asking me a lot of questions. I should get paid for this."

Toward the end of the uncompensated interview, Green started to feel antsy. All that boxing talk was giving him ideas, awakening dormant desires.

"I haven't been to the gym lately, but I'm going," he said. "I might just get me a fight.

"Sure you can't give me a couple dollars for this? I'm tapped."

David Jaco
The popular barroom debate generally starts with the following question: "How much money would you need to get in the ring with Mike Tyson?"

David Jaco's figure was not a king's ransom.

He took $5,000 to fight Tyson in January 1986. Tyson was only 15-0 at the time, but he had started to create a global ruckus with his thunderous hands and lightning-quick knockouts. Four months earlier, he had blitzed Michael Johnson in 39 seconds. Three months prior, he annihilated Robert Colay in 37 seconds.

But Jaco didn't care. He needed money quick, or else he would lose his family.

"That $5,000 I made from Tyson changed my life," the 48-year-old Jaco said from his home in Sarasota, Fla. "Who would think that kind of money could do that?"

Jaco was divorced in 1979 but stayed with his ex-wife, who had custody of their twin sons, in hopes of reconciling. He described his ex-wife as a hopeless drug addict, and when she split the Toledo area and took the boys to Florida, he was terrified.

But before he could track her down, he needed cash. And before he could get the cash, he had to survive Tyson.

Jaco was an imposing presence at 6-foot-6 and 217 pounds. He had a respectable record of 19-5 with 15 KOs and had already issued Razor Ruddock's first defeat.

Jaco wasn't about to spoil Tyson's unblemished record, too.

"He was quick, like a cat," Jaco said. "He came in so low to the ground. I was bent over, trying to hit him. But he just came up and bang, bang. He was for real back then."

The fight ended at 2:16 of the first round because of the three-knockdown rule.

"The referee came up to me and said 'Nice fight, David,' " Jaco recalled. "And I said, 'What the hell are you talking about?' He said 'You've been down three times!' I said, 'Bull----! I've only been down twice!' "

Jaco took his purse and bolted for Florida. He eventually won custody of his sons, met a registered nurse and was remarried in 1992. He and his second wife had four daughters between 1993 and '99.

He retired in 1994 after losing seven consecutive bouts, giving him a record of 24-25-1 with 19 knockouts.

"I went from boxing to being Mr. Mom for the first six years of our marriage. What can I say? My wife pays the mortgage," said Jaco, who last year put 26,000 miles on his Dodge Durango transporting injured workman's compensation candidates to hospitals throughout Florida.

His sons, Aaron and Adam, became prizefighters. A rotator cuff injury prematurely ended Adam's career, but now he trains and manages his brother. Aaron, a light heavyweight, is 13-0 with 4 KOs.

"I don't want to see him get all tore up for nothing," Jaco said. "I hope someone takes notice and helps him make some money so he can get out."

Jaco's ledger also lists defeats against Carl Williams, Tony Tucker, Buster Douglas, Mike Weaver, Oliver McCall, George Foreman and Tommy Morrison.

"People hear all the big names I fought and say, 'Wow, you got money.' I don't got no money because I never made no money," Jaco said. "I'm one of those guys on the B side. I was a palooka. I was put in there as a stepping-stone, for a win.

"But for an old palooka, life is pretty good. I got a nice house, a good woman, four new daughters and a great job."

Donnie Long
Donnie Long, even though he doesn't follow boxing anymore, is familiar with the sordid nature of Mike Tyson.

Long knows about the rape conviction and the numerous allegations of similar incidents. He is aware of the assaults, the ear-biting incident, the alleged marijuana usage, and on and on and on.

Long, the ninth opponent of Kid Dynamite's pro career, has faith Tyson can be rehabilitated despite zero supporting evidence over the years.

Stranger things have happened.Long knows this because his life story might be the strangest of them all. If this can be possible, anything is.

The convicted murderer and drug trafficker, who used to wear a dog collar at Akron's North High and once stabbed a classmate in the schoolyard, now is the associate minister at Mount Lebanon Baptist Church in Akron, Ohio.

And five years ago, after his first week at Mount Lebanon, the former boxer was reunited with a woman he hadn't seen in decades. A month later, he married her – while on parole for murdering her brother.

Donnie and Margaret Long never really dated and never were engaged. One afternoon, they were downtown and impulsively walked into the courthouse, where a judge, who had no idea he might be an accessory to a parole violation, married them.

"I asked her 'What will your family think?'" the 48-year-old Long recalled. "And she said 'I'll do what I want to do!' We said we better not tell everybody. We waited a couple weeks because we didn't want anybody to have a heart attack."

Long was only 18 years old when he killed Jeffrie Boyd during an altercation in an Akron pool joint in 1975. Long claimed self-defense, that he was cornered and was only trying to fire a warning shot when the bullet struck Boyd dead.

"My mother had some of the worst kids in Akron," Long said. "I was probably every bit of Jason, Chucky and Freddy Krueger all rolled into one."

Long's sentence was 15 years to life, but a higher court released him in 1981 on grounds his trial was unconstitutional. He began his boxing career in earnest that year and won his first dozen fights before losing to James Broad. "The Master of Disaster" rebounded in his next appearance, beating Dino Dennis on national TV.

But the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals reversed the decision again and sent Long back to prison in 1984. He said he got a second chance to make good in the ring when he was released in 1985.

Long won his first two bouts and received a $5,000 invitation to fight Tyson in Atlantic City in November 1985.

"I remember going to the fight, and I remember waking up in the hospital," Long said. "As far as the actual fight, I can't tell you a single thing."

Tyson floored Long three times in 88 seconds.

"After I fought Mike Tyson, my whole career went down the drain," Long said. "I went from thinking I was somebody great to being lost in the wilderness. I lost my faith in myself. I thought I was a loser and a failure again. I went back to the streets and the destruction."

He fought seven more times after the Tyson defeat, winning only once and taking lumps against Francesco Damiani, Renaldo Snipes and Buster Douglas. Long retired with a 16-10 mark.

Long also had a side job pushing drugs. He was charged with five counts of drug trafficking in 1988 and went on the lam for five years. He hid in Alabama for a while, but eventually decided to take control of his life and turn himself in to police.

The man who used to wear a dog collar to school even surprised himself when recounting his life story to a reporter for the first time. He vowed all the old memories would be locked away at the end of the phone call. There won't be any more interviews about boxing.

Then Long imparted one last thought: "Through boxing, I learned to prepare for the battle of life. I can withstand against any storm. God knows how to put the puzzle together."

Read the rest of the article Here >>>> http://www.espn.com/sports/boxing/columns/story?id=2086508
Thank you.
 
Oct 27, 2016
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I was going to post this in dkos 'Bizarre Side of Boxing' thread but it probably deserves a place in this great thread.

Iwao Hakamada 16-11-2 record spent a record 46 years on death row for a crime he didn't commit,released and then the case against him was going to be reopened.Very interesting story.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/qbx7k5/iwao-hakamada-life-after-death-row-kim-sungwoon-freedom-moon

They didn't in the end reopen the case against him but you can google and read a bit more about him here.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/jun/11/japan-man-freed-after-45-years-on-death-row-could-go-back-to-jail
 
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WHERE THEY ARE NOW: RANDY SHIELDS : Former Pugilist Hopes to Score Knockout With Movie Script : Boxing: He punches a keyboard instead of opponents trying for his big break in Hollywood.
FERNANDO DOMINGUEZTIMES STAFF WRITER

It was a scene straight out of a movie, but much more violent than the ones Randy Shields likes to write.
There were no cameras rolling, no director giving instructions, no actors in a make-believe world. This was real-life drama, with loaded guns and two hardened criminals looking for an excuse to use them.
And Shields, 38, a screenwriter and former top-flight boxer who grew up and still lives in North Hollywood, could see the ending was not going to play well in Peoria. Or anywhere else.
It happened on a late summer night two years ago at a small restaurant on Laurel Canyon Boulevard called Four 'N 20 Pie Shop. But for Shields, the images remain so vivid in his mind, it might as well have been yesterday.
"I was sitting right here," Shields said the other day, as he recounted the terrifying event. "I was writing a scene for a screenplay when they came in and fired four shots into the ceiling."
Two gunmen busted into the restaurant around midnight on Sept. 18, 1992, and demanded all the cash in the register. As they entered and blew out part of the ceiling with a shotgun blast, Shields dropped to the floor and crawled toward the back of the restaurant. One of the men saw Shields and fired a shot into the back of his left leg, but Shields escaped into a darkened back room.
When an employee, and then a customer, couldn't open the register as ordered, one of the gunmen threatened to kill someone. That's when Shields, who sometimes works as a bodyguard and has a license to carry a concealed weapon, realized he had to do something.
"I pulled my gun and went out," Shields said. "I started shooting at them and they ran out, but I hit both of them. I hit one guy in the chest and the back, and I hit the other guy in the back. They made it home and called 911 and said they had been involved in a drive-by (shooting), but their stories didn't fool the police. They also had pretty long rap sheets."
Both men, and the driver of the getaway car, are doing 18 years in prison. Shields, who possibly saved some lives that night, is still hanging out at his favorite eatery and churning out the stories he hopes to see on the big screen, usually from the table where not long ago he saw a Hollywood plot unfold before his eyes.
*
Unleashing his imagination into story lines that would hold an audience captive is what makes Shields tick nowadays.
Although none of his scripts has gone beyond the word processor, Shields spends hours--often late into the night--either at home or at the Four 'N 20 polishing his work. And he says he could be close to a breakthrough with one of his stories if the pieces fall into place in the next few weeks.
Shields says he has a financial backer who will put up around $13 million to produce his latest finished project, a movie titled "Bagdad" that deals with the plight of a homeless man who, by chance, encounters the two grown sons he abandoned years before.
The catch, however, is that Charlie Sheen must agree to play the role of one of the sons for the money to come through, Shields said. Martin Sheen, father of Charlie and actor Emilio Estevez, is interested in playing the role of the dad, Shields said.
"Charlie's publicist has the script and (Charlie) is considering it," Shields said. "The writers have a Catch-22. You need the actors to sell the work but the actors are afraid to put their names on something that won't sell because they don't want the stigma. Hopefully, this one will work out."
Almost all the scripts he has written, Shields said, have nothing to do with boxing. He wants to be recognized as someone who has more to offer than his connection to the sport.
"I have several boxing stories but whether I do anything with them, I don't know," Shields said. "It has a lot to do with me wanting to establish myself as a writer first, rather than people thinking of me as a dumb ex-boxer who can only write about boxing."
Still, Shields admits that boxing has helped him make contacts in the film industry.
"Luckily, I can break down a lot of doors because of boxing," Shields said. "But for (producers) to take me seriously as a writer is a tough sale."
*
Before trying his luck at writing films, Shields was a leading protagonist in a genre in which showmanship, sport and brutality blend to entertain the public.
As a youngster in the late 1960s and early '70s, Shields established himself as a promising fighter, one who could throw damaging blows and also take a punch.
"If you have a world-class talent, it shows even at 14 or 15 years old," said Joe Goossen, the veteran Valley-based trainer who has known Shields since each was a teen-ager. "Randy was definitely beating up pros in the gym when he was that age. He was one of the cleanest-living fighters I've ever been around. He didn't smoke or drink, and he never missed a training session."
With his father, Sonny, a former boxer and longtime stuntman as his manager and trainer, Shields cruised through a 92-bout amateur career with 67 knockouts among his 88 victories. He won the 1973 national Amateur Athletic Union junior welterweight title with a convincing decision over Sugar Ray Leonard and competed internationally with the U.S. team.
One year later, Shields turned professional and began a career that would pit him against some of the best fighters of his era--and in some cases, of all time. But Shields' career also was marred by illness and injuries.
In his pro debut at the old Olympic Auditorium in 1974, for example, Shields jumped into the ring against journeyman Victor Abraham despite a 102-degree fever. He won a six-round decision but was knocked down for the only time in his pro career.
"I had this cold and I couldn't breathe," Shields recalled, "so I went back for a breather and put my guard down. He caught me with a right hand."
At the time, Shields was trying to balance boxing with schoolwork at Valley College. But he had to give up the books because he was constantly training and fighting. In his first pro year, Shields fought 21 times. He devoted his spare time to writing poetry and short stories, and was already delving into screenwriting.
By 1978, Shields and Leonard were crossing paths again, this time with money at stake. Leonard, on his way to becoming a legend, beat Shields in 10 rounds in Baltimore in what Shields considers one of his most memorable and difficult fights.
"The fights with Leonard were the toughest, both as an amateur and a pro," Shields said. "The hardest I've ever been hit was by Leonard. Didn't do anything to me, but he had this sharp, stinging punch that really hurt."
Despite the loss to Leonard, Shields ascended the rankings. In 1979 he got a shot at the World Boxing Assn. welterweight title against Jose (Pipino) Cuevas, the hard-hitting Mexican champion who was considered virtually unbeatable. Shields lost a narrow and controversial decision to Cuevas in Chicago, and was preparing for a rematch when he faced Mauricio Aldana in a tuneup bout at the Sports Arena. He nearly didn't make it home in one piece.
After beating Aldana, fans chanting Cuevas' name turned on Shields when he left the ring. "The crowd started pummeling me," Shields said. "They threw a metal chair from the balcony and opened a gash on top of my head. Then someone slapped me on the right ear and perforated the ear drum."
Shields recovered, but not in time to fight Cuevas, who lost the WBA title to Thomas Hearns in 1980. Shields challenged Hearns a year later and fought essentially one-handed after he suffered a torn rotator cuff in his left shoulder while training a few days before the bout. Shields worked through the agonizing pain and was ahead on all three judges' scorecards until cuts over his eyes gave Hearns a TKO victory in the 12th round.
"I thought I could squeeze by, but I could hardly move my arm," Shields said.
The shoulder, in fact, never quite healed and Shields, tired of living on painkillers, retired in 1983 with a 41-9-1 record. He attempted a comeback in September, 1990, and suffered a broken jaw in a 10-round junior middleweight victory over Stewart Baynes at the Country Club in Reseda.
That convinced him to quit for good.
Shields remains connected with the sport by training two amateur boxers he says will soon turn pro. He also does security work, but his real passion is the movies.
"I love writing," Shields said. "I've had some job offers but this is what I want to do."
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