It was cold that afternoon in September in Spokane, Washington. Ice had crunched into small and jagged peaks in the gutters and flakes of snow drifted aimlessly down onto the slush rivulets on the blacktop. Inside the Eagle?s Boxing Club Gym Rick Welliver was preparing for an upcoming fight against Frankie Duran. Steam rose from him and his sparring partner as they pushed one another around the ring. They did not notice the lanky figure near the door, a man with copper-colored skin and bright eyes holding back his confusion as if he had mistakenly stepped into a stranger?s apartment yet somehow feeling he belonged there, as if a faint memory said he was home.
When Welliver saw him, he asked what he wanted. ?I?m here to train,? he said. Welliver explained that the gym was closed and sent the man away. Chauncy Welliver, Rick?s brother, was also in the gym. The stranger looked familiar. He certainly looked like a boxer, all smooth and loose muscles. He was too old to still be fighting but remained light on his feet. The man occasionally reappeared at the gym, always during a closed session, and was always sent away.
Chauncy was looking through an old copy of The Ring magazine. There was a picture of their number four contender, Rocky Mosley Jr. Chauncy immediately recognized him as the stranger who came to the gym. He went on a quest to find the man.
Rocky Mosley Jr. (38-8-1, 11 KOs) was a slick stylist, good balance, quick hands, and a decent chin. He was one of the best loved boxers in Las Vegas and constantly sold out the venues at Caesars Palace, the Aladdin, the Sahara, and the Silver Slipper Casinos. He considered himself a Las Vegas fighter. He loved the scorching heat of the day and the cooling desert air of the evenings. Long morning runs in the nearby hills were especially enjoyable. In Vegas, he did not suffer the insufferable and often subtle brutality of racism. Vegas accepted everyone, especially boxers. In Vegas a man could be someone, someone respected and admired, a man noticed amongst the glitter and flash.
Rocky was born to box. His father, Rocky Mosley Sr., was a boxer from the old school wandering about the country picking up fights wherever and whenever he could. His official record of 14-19-2 does not reflect the numerous unofficial fights he had and many sources claim he had well over 30 wins and probably 50 other fights. Mosley Jr. greatly loved and admired his father. They traveled everywhere together. Mosley Sr. taught his son all the tricks and gave him a punch on the shoulder to show his warm feelings. Naturally Rocky laced up the gloves and was soon in the ring. He traveled to his father?s matches and his father traveled to his. He quickly surpassed his father in skill. His father could not have been prouder. They were the first father and son boxers to appear on the same venue. In 1975 they fought together at Imperial Hotel in Everett, Washington. Mosley Sr. lost to Mike Lankester; Rocky Jr. knocked out Al Foster in two rounds.
Men show love and affection differently than women. Women often complain that men are cold and do not voice their love. Women do not understand. Men are not women. Women are verbal creatures. Men are physical creatures. Although studies have been done, psychologists, sociologists, humanists, and other ?ists? have done expensive and extensive research to understand what most males already know. Men show affection physically. They knock one another around, they push and shove, they wrestle, they shake hands, and they don?t hug. Almost every father takes his kid and wrestles around with him on the floor. Of course, the kid, weighing in at 25 pounds, often wins. As he grows older the matches occasionally end with the father saying, ?It will be a few years before you can beat the old man.? Rocky learned that praising an opponent was the way to show gratitude and respect. When Rocky won a fight his father often grabbed him around the neck and rubbed his head, the old ?Indian scalp rub? popular in the days when you could still use the phrase.
Mosley Jr. quickly caught the eyes of the big names in boxing. Don King signed him up to fight in a new series he had arranged with ABC television. As with most things concerning Don King, the series ended in controversy. King, with the help of Ring Magazine, manipulated the rankings. The ?Bible of Boxing,? the one source noted for its integrity and honesty, was severely damaged. King supposedly bribed many of the fighters and telling some of them that, if they knew what was good for them, they would taste the canvas. King, a man who is supposed to be so smart, never understood that if he were a bit more honest, he might make more money. He could still be the ABC king of television. Still, the event gave Rocky plenty of television exposure. He advanced all the way to the finals where he lost a controversial decision to Johnny Baldwin, Don King?s fighter. The loss was Rocky?s first.
Go into the world and find someone who is without sorrow. Impossible. Rocky was no exception. On September 30, 1978, Willie Lee Scott shot and killed Rocky?s father in the Owens Street Bar in Vegas, a dingy tan-colored affair that was recently put up for sale. He fell to the beer-covered floor as his life dribbled toward the door. Rocky was devastated. He had just beaten Wilson Bell. Two weeks after the death he beat 26-7-3 Alvin Anderson.
Because of his considerable skills, Rocky moved into the spotlight and received a shot at Sugar Ray Leonard?s title. He had already beaten Larry Bonds and Johnny Baldwin. In spite of his father?s death, life looked good. Unfortunately, Leonard suffered a detached retina and the bout had to be postponed. Doctors were not sure how to treat him. To stay sharp and keep active while waiting for the bout, Rocky signed to fight what was considered a perfectly safe novice, 7-2 Chris Linson. Unpredictability hovers around boxing like flies around apple pie. In the first round Rocky?s life changed forever.
Accounts vary as to what happened. Rocky does not fully remember. He knows the referee broke them from a clinch in the first round. Maybe Rocky thought the round was over (it wasn?t) but Rocky dropped his hands and turned. Linson nailed him in the back of the head knocking Rocky into an eleven-month coma. For a time his life was in danger and the doctors decided to ship him to Spokane, Washington where a medical facility specialized in his type of brain injury.
The doctors knew their business and each day Rocky continued to improve. His pleasant attitude and wide smile ingratiated him to the staff. He improved so much that he went to school and eventually graduated from the university. Although he could no longer box he could live a normal life. He got married and had a daughter. Life was looking good. It seldom stays that way.
His mind started to relapse. His wife left. Dementia set in followed by Alzheimer?s and he needed constant care. The mutability of life is constant and unforgiving.
I met Rocky at the Applewood Gardens convalescent home in Spokane; a very pleasant and clean facility nestled under shade trees. Two men were playing pool when I entered, one with long hairy arms, the other wearing a cowboy hat. Inside several old ladies were bowling. They held controls in their hands and motioned toward a screen on the wall. The screen rattled as the pins scattered. The lady bowling jumped up and down or started swatting at a fly; I?m not sure which since her feet rose only an inch off the floor. The smile and laughter were unmistakable. Other people dozed in corners and a few watched television, old episodes of ?Wagon Train.?
Rocky was in his room downstairs. Chauncy Welliver had made arrangements for us to take his picture, get an interview, and take him out to meet other boxers. Rocky had a friend in the home, Marc Costello, a former kickboxing champion. Marc later became a boxing trainer and had worked with many of the boxers in the area. He and Rocky did pretty much whatever they wanted at the home. They spent much of their time wandering the streets.
Rocky was sitting on the bed when we entered, a wide smile across his face. He immediately stood up and offered his hand. I was surprised to see a boxer so unmarked. He is a handsome man with sharp features. I have also never seen such a clean man. He was spotless and well groomed. The comfortable room was immaculate. Chauncy left me there to talk while he went down the hall to get Marc.
I did all the talking. Rocky mostly smiled. I could not understand what he said when he did speak. His voice was very low and the words jumbled. Chauncy told me he was very paranoid, but he did not seem suspicious of me. I concentrated on photographs. Whatever pose I asked he did. He finally said, in words I could understand, he was hungry. The cafeteria was just down the hall. Since it was morning I thought they might have breakfast. What they were attempting to unload were hamburgers. The lady told us to sit and someone would be over to help us. Chauncy appeared with Marc. Marc was hearing a headband.
A man came over and asked what we wanted. Rocky did not know. Marc asked for a carton of milk so Rocky said the same thing. He probably wanted food and had they brought some he would have eaten it. We tried to converse. Matt Sweeny, a boxer by default, soon arrived. He usually worked corners. At an event where an opponent dropped out, he stepped in. He eventually fought four fights under different names. Most of the conversation was between the three of us. Rocky either didn?t, or was unable to answer any questions other than to say he did not remember. He did not even remember Chauncy who had often taken him out to dinner over the last few years.
I had to rely on Chauncy?s version of various incidents. In his enthusiasm for boxing, Chauncy is not always correct. He often calls me to say he has discovered the next world?s champion, but when I attend a fight to see this marvel I realize what he has found is a candidate for McDonald?s. He said that Rocky was rated number 1 in Ring Magazine. The information I found rated him number 4. There is nothing wrong with that. I asked Rocky several times who he thought was the toughest boxer he ever fought. No answer.
Chauncy once decided to do something special for Rocky. He searched for months to find a picture of Rocky?s father. He, and his wife Sarah, took Rocky to dinner. Chauncy said, ?I have a picture of someone you might know.? Rocky took the picture and, with a quavering voice, said, ?That?s my dad, that?s my dad.? Rocky, hugging the picture, started to cry. So did Sarah. So did Chauncy.
A woman with a Twinkie addiction waddled our way. She had government lackey written all over her. ?You can?t take pictures in here. It?s against the law.? Chauncy explained we had permission. ?I?m the person in charge. You don?t have MY permission.? The world is filled with nobodies trying to be somebodies. They always manage to get into positions of authority, authority I never recognize because if you don?t recognize it, they don?t have it. Authority is a stick you give someone to beat you with. Don?t give them the stick. (Imagine the great time I had in the military.)
We stopped for several crates of doughnuts and orange juice on the way to meet with the other boxers. We all met at the Eagle?s Club for an amateur show. The new boxers were introduced to the old pros. I am sure they thought of them as relics from the past. The boxers spent a pleasant afternoon talking boxing, talking tactics, illustrating different punches, reliving the times they beat such-and-such or lost to such-and-such, and pretending to knock each other around.
I drove Rocky and Marc home after the evening show. The home worries about Rocky since he occasionally gets away. A year ago he disappeared and it took several days to find him. As Rocky started to get out of the car, he leaned over and grabbed my hand. In a perfectly clear and articulate voice he said, ?The toughest man I ever fought was my father.? I watched him walk up the ramp followed by Marc. The porch light briefly glowed on him before he walked ahead, growing dimmer and dimmer in the darkness.
