Some people we meet in life change us so profoundly that we are never the same afterwards?that?s what happened to me the night I met Larry Giello?
I met Larry in Madison Square Garden in the middle of the ring. We stood inches apart and glared into each other. We were two tough middleweights who, each week, had been knocking out our opponents to reach the quarter-finals.
The name ?Larry Giello? might not ring a bell with too many boxing fans, but if you ever saw him fight, you?d remember him?and if you fought him in the ring you?d remember him forever.
I wasn?t too eager to fight Larry Giello. A large angry eagle was tattooed on his muscular bicep and everyone knew the sonofabitch was a damn liar. He had way more fights than he acknowledged in his A.A.U. fight book. But back in the dressing room, ?Larry Giello? was the name I picked out of a hat, so that was that?this hard-hitting, lying, experienced ex-Air Force sonofabitch was my opponent that night.
The Daily News reported our middleweight battle as being the most exciting bout of the entire 1971 Golden Gloves tournament.
The bell rang and we met center ring and started punching. Don?t give me this shit about blood clots or anything?I didn?t care. Neither did he. His cocky Italian face was grim and determined. Till that time, I had never hit a guy harder. Sure, I was getting nailed, too, with lefts and right and it was hard to tell my slamming heartbeat from his punches. But what the fuck?I got this far, I refused to lose. My mind was in a moonlit area beyond scared.
In round two I pushed him off with my shoulders and tried to finish him off with uppercuts and hooks. But military guys, if nothing more, have endurance. Larry was no different. He battered me with all he had.
For three rounds, he wailed into me, winging lefts and rights. The bastard was so damn strong and I could smell the odor of his strength oozing from his pores. Grunting and growling, he attacked, backing me up, making me clinch, and forcing me to weave and crouch lower than ever before?just to survive.
The sonofabitch was forcing me to dig deep, adapt, and become a better fighter than I actually was.
The bastard kept coming forward, growling, trying to kick my ass. He didn?t respect my nimble jabs?he ate them. Stiffly, he kept leaning forward, burrowing into me with both hands. I didn?t know it then, but Larry had a dream?The Olympics. I was merely a stumbling block to his Olympic Dream.
He refused to lose. But so did I.
By round three, I felt ninety-eight percent dead. Even thinking was exhausting. But a thick-skinned stupidity kept us punching. I clawed down even deeper and tried to coax out the furry thing that swung from branch to branch in the back of my brain.
Toward the end of round three, totally exhausted, I couldn?t lift my left arm. But I dug down deep and dragged a desperate right hand through the smoky air. It smacked onto his face at the bell.
I was so weak and faint after our fight I needed to sit down in the audience. I hadn?t enough strength to crawl back to my dressing room?or even to be happy about my victory. When I finally made it back, I slumped onto a bench and started dry heaving. ?Dehydration and exhaustion,? said my manager nervously.
It?s been many years since that fight, but part of me is stuck back there in the ring with Larry. Every once and awhile, I even revisit the fight on YouTube. It?s always the same?Larry?s still glaring at me during Randy Sandy?s instructions. His blond hair is still Vaselined in a smooth smear across his forehead?Larry is still pacing in place, eager to kick my ass?Larry and I are still beating the shit out of each other for three full rounds?My hand is still raised in victory.
Larry, I hope you don?t mind me calling you a lying sonofabitch and a bastard in this article. The truth is this: You are one tough beast and I am forever grateful to you for this experience. I have never needed to fight, or dig as deep?physically or psychically?as I did with you that night. You pushed me to become a better fighter and stronger person. But there?s more to it. I will hide nothing. That night, it was as if you helped me pull a black plug from the basement of my soul so I could look down deep into myself with a flashlight. And I finally liked what I saw down there. I wasn?t just a weak little, thumb-sucking, asthmatic with low self-esteem anymore. I was a tough sonofabitch?just like you.
I couldn?t have done it without you.
Two years later, Larry turned pro. After fighting four years and notching up an impressive 13-3-1 ring record, he retired from the ring. What happened next is anyone?s guess. He simply disappeared and had become one more unsung, tough-as-nails, pug who never got the recognition he deserved.
I recently tried to contact Larry. I was curious to know what kind of guy he was, so I planned to take him to lunch and ask him a bunch of questions?Did he remember our fight? Did he think he won? Why did he become a fighter in the first place? Why did he turn pro? Tell me about your family. What happened to your Olympic Dream?
I?m not nosy, and I didn?t want to trespass into his private life, but I?ve always been curious about Larry?s mental make-up. What made him tick? What was lurking in the dark fertile crevices of his mind?
I called his manager, Bob Rooney, living in Bayonne.
?Larry Giello!? shouted Rooney. ?Let me tell you a funny story about Larry Giello?After his ninth pro fight with Jackie Pough?a fight everyone thought Larry won?Larry calls me early the next morning from a motel room in Paterson, New Jersey and asks, ?Why am I in California?? He woke up, looked into the parking lot, and saw a car with a California license plate, so he thought he was in California.?
?Why did he call you up??
?He musta looked in his pockets and saw he had no money to get back to New Jersey.
?Ya know,? Rooney added, ?Giello?s real last name was ?Gigliello.? He was always a nice guy?quiet and didn?t talk much. He trained real hard?an honest, no-nonsense, meat-and-potato type fighter. What he lacked in talent he made up in courage. The guy had a jaw of granite.?
Rooney recalled a night back in the amateurs when Larry fought Chris Black. ?When we drew Black, I thought, ?Oh, shit?not Chris Black!? In the first round, Black put Larry down with a ten-punch combination. Larry got up and KO?ed him with one body punch?a first-round knockout!?
This was fascinating stuff, but Rooney was telling me about Larry?the fighter; I wanted to know about Larry?the man.
?Well, Larry?s long gone,? he said.
?Long gone??
?He?s dead. He died in 2015. Probably cirrhosis. He was a heavy drinker.?
His words bit into my ears. The bite of mortality stings hard.
With that one horrible phone call my proposed lunch with Larry also died. My long-awaited interview with penetrating questions was dead. He was forever gone. Now, I would never get to know Larry?the man.
How old was he, anyway? Did he leave a family? What did he do after he stopped fighting?
With the help of a resourceful friend, I discovered Larry?s obituary. It answered some of my questions?
Larry V. Gigliello, 66, of Sayreville died on Monday September 7, 2015 at Raritan Bay Medical Center, Old Bridge. Born in Brooklyn, he moved to Sayreville in 1955. Before retiring in 2011, he worked for J & P Construction, Morgan. He was a member of St. Bernadette R.C. Church, Parlin. As an amateur boxer, he was a finalist in the New York and New Jersey Golden Gloves after competing in 65 amateur fights. He participated in the Olympic trials in 1972 and completed 6 years as a professional boxer with a record of 22-1-1. An avid motorcycle rider he was also a fan of horse racing, the New York Yankees and the Oakland Raiders?
Larry?s obituary answered a few nagging questions, but it presented a few more: What happened to his Olympic Dream? A ring record of 22-1-1? Why no mention of the Air Force?
In search of more answers, I reached out to Larry?s brother, Mike, a used car salesman, with whom I once had a nasty confrontation. I had met Mike one hot summer night a few years after I beat his brother. I was in Manasquan, outside The Osprey, a popular watering hole at the Jersey Shore when he walked up to me, and with a shit-eating grin, picked a fight with me?but not with him, with the clueless middleweight standing beside him.
?Thanks, but no thanks, Mike.?
Now, years later, after learning about Larry?s passing, I left a message on Mike?s answering machine expressing my condolences and that I was writing a story about Larry and requested some information. He never returned my call?nor did any other member of Larry?s family.
Larry Giello?the man?seemed far out of reach.
Refusing to quit, I dug up a 1973 Flash Gordon ?Tonight?s Boxing Program.? On the front cover was a faded photo of Larry?then the tenth-ranked New Jersey middleweight. Flash wrote: ?Giello, the blond-haired Italian star of the gloves for so many enjoyable years, debuted last Nov. 8th at Embassy Hall with a short 1:10 one-round TKO over Jimmy Hall who folded up after a few body belts?Giello?s specialty.
?Managed by Bob Rooney, Larry meets another new face in Lem Jackson, a strong Bronxite who is also in his first punch-for-pay contest. The 22-year-old Giello isn?t the greatest of defensive fighters, usually taking punches to land his own, so anything can happen. No matter what, the Jerseyite is one of the most colorful young prospects around in the state today, and with work could mature into something. He?s got heart and takes a rap, and has good power. I can remember his classic bout in the 1972 NYGGs, dropped by Chris Black, Giello rose to kayo the New Yorker in one sensational round!!?
Once again, not much information about Larry?the man.
I remember back in 1975, from the safety of my ringside seat, I watched Larry lose a lopsided ten-round decision to a tricky Eddie Parks. Parks was quick and smooth and his skillful punching was almost elegant. It was Larry?s next to last pro fight and he seemed somewhat old and worn?just like that faded photo in Flash?s fight program a few years earlier. But Larry still fought like the honest, meat-and-potato fighter he always was?relentlessly aggressive, stiff and determined.
Larry?s last fight was three months later. He was pitted against slick Willy Capuano, one of my sparring partners at Bufano?s Gym. Did Willy know anything about Larry?the man? I called him up.
Willy laughed. ?Let me tell you a funny story about Larry?When I signed to fight him in Bayonne, his hometown, Augie Lio, the Passaic Herald News writer, predicted Giello was gonna knock me out. In his column, he even wrote an obituary for my boxing career, entitled, ?Send No Flowers?! He said Giello was a ?tough monkey? who was gonna kick my ass!
?Well, it was a wild brawl. Larry was a rough guy who threw everything at you. So I kept moving and jabbing. Larry didn?t believe in blocking punches. Please don?t make me sound cocky, but he didn?t block many of my shots. He wasn?t a sloppy fighter?in fact, he was a decent boxer, but all he wanted was to land his big right hand. He came on strong in the last round and won it?but I won the decision.?
Willy couldn?t offer me much more information about Larry. Once more, Larry had eluded me. I guess I need to give up hope. Larry?-the man?is a mystery.
Larry proved to be much easier to punch than to know.
I don?t want to get too philosophic, but how well?or deeply?does anyone get to know anyone else?even our family, close friends or co-workers?
My heart goes out to Larry Giello?he died too young. He was only 67. Did his life run amok? Was his problem alcohol, like his manager suggested? Was it drugs? Was Larry happy? Did he have friends?
What happened to Larry after boxing? He seemed to have thrived more as a fighter than as a man. Was the radiant Olympic Dream of Larry?s youth replaced by another dream? Or was it replaced by the pain, suffering, disappointment, and treachery of an unfulfilled boxing career. Was his life rewarding? I?ll never know.
I sit back in a chair and revisit our fight on YouTube. This is how I remember Larry?my fierce companion in the ring. I will never discover who he really was, or what was lurking in the dark, fertile crevices of his mind. But Larry helped me discover what was lurking in the dark, fertile crevices of mine.
I only spoke two words to Larry. They weren?t even words?they were exhausted syllables I gasped after our bout: ?Goo figh.?
Larry, I owe you more gratitude than I can ever express. You will always be with me, my friend. Peace.
