Pugilistic Pursuits

In late 1950, Rudy turned 20. He had grown into a handsome young man and like his father, quite a boxer. He had inherited the old man’s almost supernatural ability to take a pounding and coupled it with lightning speed and cat-like agility. It also helped that he packed a wallop that defied his slender 160-pound frame.

He started boxing at the behest of his pal, Timmy, a few years before, and to his surprise, immediately started having success, besting opponents that exceeded his weight and reach. A local gym owner noticed him and offered to train him properly. Rudy turned him down initially He couldn't afford to pay for training, not with room, board and giving his mother money for a brood of children that seemed to keep expanding. Since his departure, 5 siblings had been added to the Johnson clan.

Walter, the gym owner saw a champion in the youngster and cut a deal with him, training and all the ring time he wanted in exchange for cleaning the facility.

Rudy jumped at the chance. He thought maybe, just maybe, boxing would be his way out, his way to make something of himself. He was beginning to look toward the future now, about settling down, having a family and odd jobs, while fine for the time being, weren’t what he wanted for his future family. He figured times would be easier now, Black boxers weren’t quite as rare as they had been, so he was hopeful he’d get a fair shake.

Walter had his work cut out for him. Rudy was an explosion of raw talent, with no discipline and no real conditioning. He had won his first dozen fights with pure endurance and brut force. To make it to the top, he needed more; he needed to transform himself from a simple street fighting kid to a serious boxer.

Rudy, for his part, didn’t take well to training initially. He was fine with the exercises, but he had a difficult time being told what to eat, how to punch, and when to exercise, especially by a 5 foot tall, 250 pound white guy who seemed to love donuts and cigars more than life itself. He couldn’t argue with the results though. He soon found himself feeling stronger, faster, and more powerful than ever.

Chomping on a half-smoked cigar, Water threw out a suggestion one Saturday evening as Rudy swept the gym floor, “you ever think about the Olympics, there kid?”

Rudy paused. He hadn’t given it any consideration at all. The Olympics seemed like a far-off pipe dream, like something he’d lay in bed and wonder about, but never have. People like him didn’t go to the Olympics. He laughed, “yeah, right!”

His coach stood up, “no,” he said emphatically, “I’m serious, I think you could be a champ-een. I think we should put you on the trial circuit.”

Rudy continued to sweep and laugh. The Olympics! It sounded ridiculous to him, “yeah, sure,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his mouth, “let’s go to the Olympics.”

Walter clapped his hands in delight, “okay, son, now you’re talking!” he smiled, “training 6 days a week now, no exceptions, you understand me?”

Rudy paused. This guy was serious. “You crazy,” he told him.

“Nuts like a fox, young fella, nuts like a fox,” he replied, “you got the goods kid, I’m telling ya’, you got it!”

The youthful boxer allowed the possibilities to flood his mind, the cheering crowds, the press interviews, his picture in all the papers. Maybe it was possible. He began to entertain the notion. Maybe he could BE somebody! Fired up, he agreed, “let’s do it, Walt!”

Walter grinned, showing his joy. “Alright then,” he ordered, “see you at 6 am sharp tomorrow!”

Rudy stood firm, “nope, got work.”

“Well, what time then?”

The lanky youth pondered, “got work, gotta eat,” he said, “7, 7 at night. I can work out ‘till 10 and then clean up.”

Walter furiously shook the boy's hand. This kid was going to be his ticket. His ticket to the big time! His ticket out of a backwater nowhere border town. He was going to ride this kid as far as he could take him!

Training was gruelling, 3 to 4 hours 6 days a week. On top of working and cleaning the gym, Rudy was on the go 18 to 20 hours a day. It left very little time for fun, but at least he had his best buddies Timmy and Nelson with him. He had insisted that if he were going to do this, he wanted them in his corner at the matches. Walter was happy to oblige and both Timmy and Nelson were thrilled to help out.

Timmy and Rudy had known each other for years. He was diminutive and dark-skinned with a quick wit and ready smile. He excelled at almost every sport he turned his hand to, hockey, baseball, basketball, you name it. Despite his stature, he showed up heads and shoulders above his much larger competition.

Nelson and Rudy were old rivals. In their school days, Nelson used to hide behind the trees and yell racial slurs at Rudy. He was tall, slightly overweight and had the whitest hair and pinkest skin Rudy had ever seen. When the boys were 8, Nelson taunted Rudy for the last time. Although small at the time, Rudy gave him a pummelling he wouldn’t soon forget. After the fight, the boys became fast friends.

The first few bouts on the trial circuit were tough. Rudy’s technique and training weren’t yet up to par with many of his opponents who had years of formal training and paid coaches. But he managed to win each one. That old Johnson hard head came in handy; he could take more punishment than anyone Walter had ever seen. By the time the bell rang for the final round, Rudy always swooped in with a powerhouse right hook his exhausted opponent was unable to withstand.

As the months went on, Walter trained him on technical skills, blocking, and most importantly, getting in and out quickly. To his mind, the kid had fists of fury, there was no point in him wasting more energy than necessary. Better to get in and out quickly. If he could end the fight in the first round, there was no point in going all 12.

The opponents were more and more challenging as he proceeded through the process, but Rudy sailed through. Soon, he had become something of a sensation, the skinny young boxer with devastating good looks, an iron skull and deadly fists. He revelled in the attention.

Girls started hanging around. All kinds of girls, black girls, girls from the Reserve, even white girls. He didn’t have to ask them out, they asked him! He liked being liked, but if he ever told Grannie that a girl asked him out…! Well, there’d be hell to pay. He knew she wouldn’t approve of such forward behaviour, and he wasn’t quite sure about it either. It didn’t matter, Walter told him strictly, “no women during training,” it apparently had something to do with conserving energy. Rudy didn’t much like that. But Timmy and Nelson were delighted to entertain the ladies.

Timmy never said a word about any of the girls. Rudy knew full well he took some of them out, but it didn’t seem he took any one of them out more than twice. But Nelson, well, all he wanted to do was talk. He was never great around the ladies; he was crass and awkward and sometimes prone to having one too many libations. But he got his share of the groupies and he bragged incessantly about it.

Rudy knew that he was working toward something bigger than dating girls. But that didn’t mean that the fact that his friends were out having a good time without him didn’t sting.

The sacrifices paid off and Rudy found himself invited to the Olympic Trials in the spring of 1951. Walter was beyond excited! He decided the four of them would travel the 14 hours together in his Studebaker to save money. He also didn’t want the three boys unsupervised in Montreal. He knew none of them had been anywhere and he was sure the city would eat them alive. The truth was he'd never been to a large city either, but he figured he knew what went on there better than any 21-year-old kid.

Rudy couldn’t believe Montreal! He’d never seen buildings so tall or so close together. He had never seen so many people walking around. And the women! There were women everywhere, all over the downtown, dressed in fine clothes and hats, seeming to be in a hurry. “Where’s all them women going?” he asked.

Walter laughed at the silly country boy, “to work, son, to work,” he explained, “ya see, in the city, women work, as secretaries, telephone operators, stenographers, that sort of thing.”

Timmy chimed in, “they husbands don’t mind?”

“No,” Walter answered, trying on a fake big city air of sophistication, or at least what he figured one would sound like, “city folks are different that way.”

The 3 young men nodded. Everything looked so foreign. There were just so many people, so many cars, just a lot of everything, everything except fields and trees. Although Rudy’s eyes were big as saucers, taking it all in, there was something about it he found unsettling. He felt uncomfortable, squeezed somehow, like there was no room for him. “I don’t think I could ever live in the city,” he said.

Walter laughed heartily at his protégé’s naivete, “you hit the big time, kid, and you’ll learn to love the city!”

“Naw,” he protested, “I just want a wife and a house and about 14 kids, but in the country.”

“When you’re famous, you’ll change your mind,” Walter assured him.

Nelson agreed, “yeah, you sure will and if you don’t, I’ll take your place,” he stared out the window longingly, “I’d give anything to live in the city!”

Walter turned the car into the parking lot of a 12 story building as the boys gasped, “this here’s the Plaza Hotel, boys,” he announced, “it’s where we’re staying. We stay tonight, fight's tomorrow and we stay tomorrow night, get rested and leave the next morning.”

The boys grunted, they had no words, they’d never seen a real hotel. The closest thing to a hotel Woodstock had was Beatrice’s rooming house, an old farmhouse that rented rooms to people passing through and men coming for work, mostly for the annual potato harvest.

Timmy swallowed hard, sensing trouble, “Walt,” he whispered tentatively, “do these hotel people know me and Rudy are, you know, umm ... Black?”

Walter laughed again, “it ain’t Alabama, they don’t care, they know who we are and they know our money’s green!”

Timmy pressed on, “I just, we just ... well, we don’t want problems.”

Walter reassured him, “there won’t be any trouble. Now, we have 2 rooms, one for me, one for you 3. There’s 2 beds and a cot, Rudy gets a bed, he needs his rest, you 2 can fight it out over the other one.”

Timmy shrugged, “’tween me and Nelson, I’m the only one gonna fit on the cot,” he teased.

Nelson wasn’t going to argue with that, “sounds right to me, Tim.”

The boys stood several feet back as Walter approached the front desk to check them in, in awe of how at ease, how wised up and citified he seemed. He received keys and turned back and nodded. A porter picked Rudy’s bag up.

Rudy quickly snatched the bag from his hand, “ 'scuse me, sir,” he said, “but that’s my bag.”

The porter, a scrawny kid with sandy hair and pimples dropped the bag and took a step back, “I know, sir, just carrying it for you, is all.”

Rudy’s face reddened with embarrassment. He had no idea there was a job that required people to carry bags while wearing fancy suits. He apologized, “Sorry man,” he said, “I didn’t know.” He tried to explain, “I’m from the country, ain’t never been to a big fancy hotel, so I, well I thought you were stealin’ my bag or something. I really am sorry, I feel some foolish!”

The porter smiled, “it’s okay, man, you’re here for the boxing, aren’t you?’

Rudy nodded.

“Yeah, man,” the kid said excitedly, “I know you, you’re that Johnson cat, from back east! You’re smooth man, real smooth!”

Rudy smiled, “thanks.”

“Yeah, I’m rootin’ for ya’, I really am.”

Walter interjected, “thank you, young man,” he dismissed the porter, “we can manage, thank you, but I would be obliged if you could tell us where we could find a place to eat.”

The porter nodded and took a couple of steps back, “sure can,” he said, “about a block and a half down that way,” he pointed, “there’s a place called Hank’s Chophouse, steaks, ribs, potatoes, all that stuff, and really good prices and the food’s pretty good.”

Walter reached into his pocket and handed the young man a few coins, “thank you,” he smiled, “I’m sorry, your name?”

The young man grinned, “yes sir, my name’s David, if you need anything, call down and ask for me. If it’s okay with you, I’ll show you to your rooms now.”

Walter nodded and looked about at his crew who followed his lead.

When the boys got to their room, they were like kids in a candy store. They’d never seen anything like it, two queen-sized beds, a cot, folded in the corner, a huge wooden dresser and a desk with a telephone and a radio. Nelson threw himself on one of the beds and let out a whoop, “man, this is class!’ he squealed. Rudy sat carefully on his bed and let out a whoop of his own. The mattress was so firm, so comfortable and the carpet beneath his feet was so plush.

Rudy was the first to get off the bed, he walked to the first open door, “holy shit!” he exclaimed, “there’s a bathroom, a toilet, a sink and a tub! I think it’s just for us!”

Timmy got up and checked it out, and looking around the room, seeing no other doors connecting to the washroom reasoned, “yeah, looks like it’s ours.”

They bounced around on the beds like toddlers for a while, then checked out the tiny bottles of mouthwash, shampoo and lotion. Walter knocked on the door. Nelson answered, letting him inside, “Hey, Walt,” he asked, “the bathroom, that’s just for us, right?”

Walter giggled, placing a fat hand on Nelson’s chest, “yes, each room has its own lavatory.”

Nelson looked at him, confused.

Timmy hollered, “Walt, ya can’t talk classy to Nelson, he don’t know what a lavatory is.” He turned to Nelson, “shitter’s just for us, man.”

Walter couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Timmy was right. Nelson wasn’t one for graceful language. “It’s almost 6,” he said, “are you guys hungry?”

Rudy was famished, he was always hungry, training burned more calories than he could seem to get in. In fact, he had a difficult time maintaining his middleweight status, often dropping 2 or 3 pounds below the mark and then having to take drastic measures. “Starving, boss,” he replied.

Walter looked at him hard, “you, 2 steaks, baked potato, no booze, got it?”

Rudy nodded, “you know I don’t drink.”

“Milk,” Walter commanded, “milk to drink, you need all the protein you can get.”

Rudy pondered, “I want a hot hamburg, mashed potatoes, then a steak and a baked potato.”

Walter nodded, “you know it’s your dime, but yeah, that’ll work.”

Rudy nodded. He had saved plenty of money for the trip.

Timmy piped up, a mischievous grin on his face, “hey Walt,” he asked, “can we drink?”

Walter knew exactly what Timmy was up to, “I don’t care what you two do,” he quipped, “as long as you’re in the corner at 8 pm tomorrow, sharp!”

Timmy and Nelson giggled and nodded. They had plans for the night. Plans that didn’t involve going back to the hotel room with Rudy after supper. Walter knew what was on their minds, “watch yourselves, boys,” he warned, “some of these city girls, well, I’m not sure how to say it, but they’ll wanna be paid ...”

“How much?” Nelson blurted, “I got a whole $30 saved.”

Timmy reached out and snatched a few of the bills Nelson waved around, “yeah, well this room is 6 bucks a night, that’s $2 each, so take $4 outta that, and you hafta eat, not just tonight, but tomorrow too.”

Walter grabbed a dollar, “and this is for gas!”

Nelson grinned, “I still got plenty,” he said, “besides, I’m not paying for no woman, I’m going to meet my wife tonight.”

The entire room erupted in uproarious laughter. Nelson was always convinced he was going to meet his wife. Every woman he met was “the one,” until she wasn’t.

Hank’s Chophouse was a western-themed joint with pretty waitresses and a jovial atmosphere. The music was loud and the place was packed. Walter marched in as if he were a regular, “Reuben Johnson, Olympic Trials, table for 4.” He said it with such authority the boys felt important.

The hostess politely showed them to their table. Rudy and Timmy were so giddy they could hardly contain themselves. No one seemed to notice they were Black, and if they did, they sure did a great job of hiding it. Rudy began to think if that’s what the city was, maybe it wasn’t half bad.

Rudy’s 2 meals were delicious. Walter tried to persuade him to order his steak medium-rare, but he insisted on it being well done. He even ordered a nice slice of chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.

Nelson ordered lobster. He had heard of it. He’d never had it. He had no idea what to do with it once it arrived. It scared him a bit, that red dead thing, those eyes laying there. It was creepy, but it was the most expensive thing on the menu and the waitress was his future wife, he was certain of it. She was tiny, about 5 feet tall, with a perfectly starched uniform, blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun and huge soulful blue eyes. Her name was Madeline.

Timmy ordered something called lasagna. He wasn’t sure what it was either, he’d never had it, but it was meat, noodles, cheese and tomato sauce, how bad could it be? Turns out it was pretty darn good. Timmy also liked Madeline, but she seemed to be eyeing Rudy.

Madeline buzzed all around Rudy, asking about the following day’s fight, wishing him luck, fawning all over him. Walter kept inserting himself into the conversation, letting her know he was the man behind the man, the manager, the trainer. Rudy fancied her but he had no time for women on this trip.

The Colosseum was the biggest venue Rudy had ever seen. There was an electricity to the place, an excitement he couldn’t put his finger on. It was like a small city within the city, busy and full of endless possibilities.

Rudy’s opponent was a white kid named Lyle from Toronto, he had an 8 -pound advantage and an inch and a half reach on him. He was, according to Walter, a workhorse that needed to be taken out in the first round. He had a fancy promoter and manager, James Giles, a short, stout man with rings on all his fingers that smelled of bourbon and cigarettes.

Before the fight, Mr Giles called Rudy and Walter into the office he held at the venue. They obliged. In the dingy room, the men shook hands and chatted politely about the trip, the weather and other mundane things. He offered them a drink, which they declined. He offered them a seat, which they declined. Rudy wasn’t sure, but something about this Giles character felt off.

He began talking about “his boy,” Lyle, and how important it was for him to win. Walter picked up what he was putting down and slammed his fist on the pressboard desk, “my boy don’t throw fights!”

Giles opened his desk drawer, pulled out a revolver and set it on the desktop. He leaned back, folding his hands. He grinned a menacing grin, “I’m sure we understand each other, gentlemen?

Walter nodded meekly, terrified as Rudy stood silent, shell shocked. He’d never experienced anything like this before, but he didn’t like the taste of it. He and Walter walked back to the ring in silence, knowing what they had to do.

Rudy took a minute to speak to Nelson and Timmy. They nodded in understanding. Everyone appeared to be in agreement about what had to happen.

The first round was brutal. Rudy was beat six ways from Sunday by his opponent. He seemed, to the ring announcer, to be "off his game, not up to taking on the big city fighters."

Having taken the beating, Rudy summoned Walter over to his corner, “go have a smoke in the car,” he said, “I don’t want you to see me go down.”

Walter nodded, he knew Rudy was proud and he didn’t want to add insult to injury by watching the kid throw the most important fight of his life. Sad truth was, the young man wasn’t ready for the mean streets of the city and neither was Walter.

The bell rang and Walter went outside, Giles followed him, secure in the knowledge his boy would win. Rudy came out and met his opponent, quickly unleashing a flurry of snappy hard jabs to the body, backing him into the ropes. He pounded and pounded as the poor guy desperately tried to block the never-ending barrage to his midsection. Rudy then pulled back for the briefest of seconds and planted his patented right hook right onto Lyle's jaw, knocking him out cold! The crowd sprung to their feet, cheering and jeering and the trio bolted, running from the Colosseum as fast as their legs could carry them! They met Walter outside and Timmy hollered, “car, now!”

Walter waddled to the car as fast as his legs could carry him, which wasn’t nearly as fast as they wanted, but it was faster than James Giles could get inside and find out what happened.

Walter was confused, Rudy had to explain, “I don’t fall down for nobody,” he said, “I might not be going to no Olympics, but I knocked that clown clean out!”

Walter sat in the car, stunned. He was scared, terrified, visions of the gun flashing before his eyes.

“Drive, Walt!” Timmy yelled, “Drive!”

Walter hesitated, “what about our stuff?”

Timmy continued to yell, “you want some stupid clothes or you wanna live? Drive man!”

And with that, they drove away from the city and back to Woodstock. Rudy wouldn’t be credited with the win and he wouldn't be going to the Olympics, but he had something more important, his pride.