From the 1950s through the 1990s, Bufano?s was a boxing hotbed, a big name in boxing circles. Now, it?s so small it fits only inside my head?
Bufano?s Boxing Gym doesn?t exist anymore. Its lockers and shower are ripped out, the ring torn down. I explore it now in the only place left for it?my memory. Bufano?s, formerly on the corner of Beacon and Oakland Avenues, is legendary?perhaps not as legendary as Gleason?s Gym in New York City or the Kronk Gym in Detroit?but it?s legendary to Jersey City.
Big Chuck Wepner trained at Bufano?s for his 1975 title fight with Muhammad Ali?Light heavyweight contender, Jimmy Dupree trained at Bufano?s for his 1971 title shot with the Venezuelan slugger, Vincent Rondon?Rubin ?Hurricane? Carter trained at Bufano?s for his electrifying 1963 first-round knockout of the great Emile Griffith in Madison Square Garden.
Bufano?s Gym is where former heavyweight champion, Sonny Liston, trained for his 1970 bout with Chuck Wepner, a gruesome slaughter, stopped after the ninth round due to severe cuts over both of Wepner?s eyes. Wepner required 72 stitches and also suffered a broken nose and a cracked left cheekbone.
Bufano?s is the last gym Sonny Liston ever trained in. He died six months later. His death was extremely suspicious, and many believe he was murdered. One theory is that Liston was supposed to take a dive against Wepner, and killing him was payback for his failure to do so.
Parts of Rocky, the 1976 Oscar winner, was filmed in Bufano?s Gym. From the 1950s through the 1990s, Bufano?s was a boxing hotbed, a big name in boxing circles. Now, it?s so small it fits only inside my head.
I?ll take you there, even though it no longer exists?You must imagine the darkness at the bottom of a long staircase. You climb up and enter a dimly-lit room with two battered, green-felt pool tables?a small wooden table sits by the window. Dom Bufano is sitting at the table, giving a fighter a tongue-lashing.
Up, one more step to the right, and you?re standing in a room with a wooden bench and dusty gray-metal lockers. It?s hot and humid and you hear?and feel?the pounding in the next room. It?s all there: the smell, the sweat, the vibration of bags being beaten, the radiators belching steam, the wainscot walls and high ceiling?Up in the ring is Big Chuck Wepner swinging wildly at Wild Bill Carlson?s head? Jimmy Dupree, the well-muscled light heavyweight contender is punching the leather heavy bag?Otho Tyson, the slender lightweight, is hitting the speedbag quicker with one hand than anyone could with two?
Bufano?s, like most boxing gyms was a redeemer of lost and violent souls?young and old. But?I must be honest?the gym lacked one redeeming quality, itself?a decent shower stall.
The shower stall in Bufano?s was filthy and fetid, and it gave everyone pause. It still pains the eye and chills the heart to think of it. We all feared that shower stall?even the toughest and most confident fighters. Everyone was secretly concerned about the germs, scabies and ringworms that lurked in there. Walking in naked, we arched our backs not to touch the flowery shower curtain encrusted with black mildew. Once inside, it was the thick cheese-like sludge on the concrete floor emitting a foul odor that disgusted us. After showering, we all tiptoed out, hoping for the best. I guess the smart thing to do would have been to wear rubber slippers, but that would have been admitting weakness.
But Bufano?s was still beautiful in an ugly sort of way?even spiritual and therapeutic.
Bufano?s Gym was right out of an Edward Hopper canvas, or a black-and-white film like Requiem for a Heavyweight. In fact, the gym was so colorful, it was used as the backdrop for George Thorogood?s hit song, ?Bad To the Bone.? The song?s video featured the revered blues musician, Muddy Waters, and billiard extraordinaire, Willy Mosconi, a man who still holds the world?s record for sinking an astonishing 526 balls in a row.
Bufano?s Gym was a magnet for people with personal problems. A boxer?s body is flesh and blood, but his mind is sometimes a twisted and unstable bolt of lightning. If it weren?t for a gym like Bufano?s, they would be in jail or dead, destroyed by their own destructive urges.
Eddie Parks, the pro lightweight and former A.A.U. national champ from Paterson, is a perfect example. He was a tortured soul who screamed after nearly every round when he sparred. It was very annoying.
If you turned Bufano?s Gym upside down and shook it, you would be amazed by the insecurities that would fall out?the personal demons, the self-destructive urges, the suffering, the depression, the personal traumas, the bitterness, the potent hate, the psychic wounds, the poisons, and the fear.
But everyone in the gym got along. Lifetime friendships were forged. Boxers are, basically, beautiful men?but sometimes self-destructive. Their deeply-rooted personal afflictions go well beyond ruffled feathers, petty family soap operas, or micro-aggressions. They are complex and conflicted men who rescue themselves with their own courage, determination, and talent.
Am I projecting my own personal demons here?
The ecosystem of Bufano?s Gym was decidedly baffling. It seemed to me highly improbable, if not totally incredible, that when brought together, all of these tough, carnivorous men would get along with each other. Perhaps it was because they all shared something?a fistic dream.
Bufano?s Gym is long gone, but it was beautiful in an ugly sort of way. It was more than a simple boxing gym?it was a safety-net, a psychiatrist?s couch, a playground, or ?a small factory where men?s muscles and self-esteem were forged,? wrote Norman Mailer, the fiery author.
The difference between an artist like Norman Mailer and a fighter like Chuck Wepner is that an artist suffers for his art, but for a boxer, suffering is his art. I don?t want to sound precious, but boxers are poets and philosophers with boxing gloves. A ten-round fight is a boxer?s novel.
Jersey City?s Frankie DePaula, West New York?s Arturo Gatti, Newark?s Marvin Hagler, and Brentwood?s Buddy McGirt?all world-class fighters?trained at the legendary Bufano?s Gym.
As a teenager, my drive down Kennedy Boulevard to Bufano?s was always gut-wrenching. I?d always be worrying myself sick. Was I really a fighter? Was I tough enough? I didn?t allow myself to actually think those thoughts because I pushed them down deep. But, yes, I was one of those deeply afflicted souls lucky enough to have discovered the beautiful ugliness that Bufano?s Gym offered.
Bufano?s is long gone?but not entirely?
? A few years ago, Secaucus?s Bob Rooney, a former pro boxer and fight manager, drove by the corner of Oakland and Beacon and noticed something. He stopped the taxicab he was driving and looked up. What he was looking at made him smile?it was the old Bufano?s Gym sign still hanging up on the condemned building.
?It was old and worn and paint was peeling off?it was beautiful! So I climbed outta my cab, stood on a garbage can, reached up, and yanked it off. I went home and gave it to my good friend.?
Who was his good friend?
?Chuck Wepner. I gave it to him for his birthday.?
?What did Chuck do with it??
?It?s hanging up in his trophy room,? said Rooney. I hear the smile in his voice.
