“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works for its living, and a child that’s born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay.” — Old Devonshire rhyme, circa 1838
I don’t know what day Leon Spinks was born on, but if the above is any indicator, I’m betting on Wednesday. For openers, his life began in the long-gone Pruitt-Igoe Housing Project in St. Louis. By that time, his father had deserted the family. This was a crime-ridden, under-funded project, doomed to fail when funding was slashed and segregation flourished.
Mice and roaches were everywhere, vandalism left so many broken windows you could see through the structures. People had to choose between the elevators that perpetually malfunctioned or the murderous dark stairways. Muggings, prostitution, unabated drug sales and murder were commonplace. Police response was sporadic. Ruled as totally un-policeable, it was dynamited and razed.
Kate Spinks (known as Sister Kay because she always carried a Bible) and her large family were immediately homeless. But the bond between Leon and his younger brother Michael was forged of the stuff that lasted until Leon’s death last week.
Through life in the projects, Leon, older but asthmatic, a horrendous student and a target for bullies, was regularly smacked around. It was the younger, more intelligent Michael, who physically defended him and ultimately dragged him to a local boxing gym, where they both trained.
During the homeless time, Leon enlisted in the Marines and became a successful amateur boxer. Michael continued a successful amateur career. Leon turned pro first and both moved into trainer Butch Lewis’ home.
Eventually, Leon earned a fight against heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali in 1978. Secretly trained by the great George Benton over his regular trainer’s wishes, Leon worked on the technique of fighting inside, where he would not be vulnerable to Muhammad’s game-changing jab. Incredibly, he decisioned an out-of-shape, barely interested Ali.
Suddenly, Leon was the heavyweight champion of the world. Everything that happened in his orbit was an unmitigated disaster. Leon would have one shining moment ahead of a string of disasters he could not handle. He disappeared. The drinking, the womanizing, the drugs raged unabated. Concerned for Leon, Michael once again became brother’s keeper.
He put his own boxing career on hold. “I’m going with Leon to protect him,” he said. “At least I can count for him when he gets paid.”
With three promoters looking for Leon, I contacted Sister Kay and was told to come out there, “Michael will be here Friday and Leon will either be here or call here.”
It was a night of adventure on the edge. Mrs. Spinks had been relocated from the ashes of Pruitt-Igoe to the Durst-Webbe Housing south of downtown. I saw firsthand that it was a move from West Hell to East Hell.
She called me after midnight to tell me Michael was there and Leon would call in. It was now 1:40 a.m. I left the hotel and stepped into a cab. “Take me to Durst-Webb.” I said.
“Screw you,” the driver said and pulled away.
The second cabbie agreed but only because I paid him $100 in advance and understood he would not wait for me.
When I got there, the elevator was broken. I opened the door to the stairs and what I saw was complete darkness. Somebody had broken or unscrewed all the lightbulbs. I had to get to the third floor. When I reached the second, the building began to vibrate. I thought that maybe it was the knocking of my knees.
I never saw so many people in one room in my life. There was a baby in the kitchen sink. I saw Michael. I spoke with Leon and then Michael asked me how I planned to get back. “Cab,” I said with hope but not conviction.
“I’ll drive you.” Then I told him about the building shaking. He laughed. He was still laughing as he drove.
“What’s so damned funny?”
“Listen Mr. I., there’s only two kinds of white men in that building after midnight — crazy folks and Narcs. They figured you for DEA, and that shaking was the sound of all those toilets being flushed at once get rid of a lot of stashes.
About 30 years later, when I saw that at the Boxing Hall of Fame, they both reminded me of the laugh I gave them.
For Leon who fought like a convict being asked to decide on his last meal after he won the title was pure disaster — alcohol, drugs, a long string of traffic arrests. He lost the title to Ali seven months after winning it. He was mugged in such a brutal fashion in Detroit, they ripped the gold liner for his false teeth right out of his mouth.
But he was always a good guy, always a smile, a wide gap between his front teeth that one writer said had the look of a bowler’s 7-10 split. I never heard anyone get a cross word from him.
He may have played it badly, but he was simply playing the hand he was dealt.
