Thomas Gerbasi (1937-1999) - A Boxing Fan

[fsteddi]

Thomas Gerbasi (1937-1999) - A Boxing Fan

By Thomas Gerbasi Jr.

Like many boys born in the late 1930’s, Thomas Gerbasi grew up as a boxing fan. And like some of them, he wanted to fight. At 17, he was in training for the New York Golden Gloves as a lightweight. His training consisted of throwing punches at a heavy bag non-stop for every second of a three minute round. But don’t think that this decision met with approval from his family. In fact, an uncle took him to a store in Brooklyn frequented by all-time great Tony Canzoneri. Canzoneri, with his ears cauliflowered, and nose spread across his face, put up his dukes and asked the teenager "So, ya wanna fight, kid?" The "kid" was undeterred. He wasn’t going to be Canzoneri, he was going to emulate his hero, Benny Leonard, "The Ghetto Wizard". Unfortunately, the day before his physical, he suffered a severe cut on his hand and had to withdraw from the tournament. The next year he was in the Marines, and his boxing career had ended.

He never lost his love for the sport though. He told me of watching Rocky Marciano battle Ezzard Charles in the Yankee Stadium bleachers, where the fighters resembled ants. He had seen Jack Johnson answering questions in an arcade booth on 42nd Street. And when boxing had its golden age on television in the fifties, he couldn’t be pulled away from the tube. "The Rock" was without a doubt his favorite fighter of all-time. But some obscure names also dotted his list, guys like Chuck Davey and Walter Cartier. And while Marciano was his number one guy, a crude, aggressive power brawler, I think his other favorites showed that he was more in tune to the quick and skillful boxers of the day.

In 1968, he had a son, and there was no question that I was going to be a boxing fan. While other kids got taken to Toys R Us on weekends, I was brought to Willoughby’s, a camera store near New York’s Madision Square Garden, to buy old fight films. There were racks of films there, to be used for the old 8mm, and Super 8 cameras. And while I wanted the modern fights, the "Thrilla in Manila" and Leonard-Duran, that was not going to happen. We picked up old newsreels called "Monarchs of the Ring", which contained tons of fights from the 20’s and 30’s. We grabbed Chuck Davey-Rocky Graziano ("Graziano didn’t touch him the whole fight"), and a couple of Kid Gavilan fights. He shut me up with Ali-Quarry II and Foreman-Frazier I, but the oldies were his favorites.

Many a Saturday afternoon in the 80’s was spent in front of the tube, watching the great selection of fights on display on a weekly basis. But now we began to clash. A close second in my father’s hall of fame was "Manos De Piedra" Roberto Duran. If you said something negative about Duran, you had a problem on your hands. Unfortunately for him, and probably very disappointing as well, I had developed my own tastes, and my favorite was "Sugar" Ray Leonard. And while I had a heap of good natured ribbing heaped on me after Leonard’s decision loss to Duran in Montreal, I had more than my share of revenge when Duran pulled his "No Mas" in New Orleans later that year (1980). The quitting by Duran shocked my father, and while he still rooted for him (he was in his glory when Duran stopped Davey Moore a couple of years later), it was never the same again.

After that my father grew more cynical of the fight game than the average person (in fact, he was more cynical than your average group of people). But like an addict, he couldn’t stop watching. He got a charge out of Mike Tyson, and thought that he had a chance to be one of the greats. My father was stingy with his praise, and not many fighters of my era could be compared to those of his era. Ali? I ran a computer tournament one time, and the final result had Ali beating Marciano. "What? Ali beat Marciano?" he bellowed. "Let me tell you, Rocky (they were on a first name basis by then) fought Roland LaStarza in a rematch. He hit him so hard he broke the blood vessels in his arms. Ali couldn’t stand in the same ring with him." At this point I didn’t argue. I could never win.

Among current fighters, the only one that I saw him really get excited about was James Toney. He raved about his skills, and said that "this guy could fight back in the old days". Another fighter he had hopes for was his son. He knew a guy who owned a gym in Manhattan. I told my dad that I wanted to fight in the Golden Gloves for an article. I was 28 at the time. He hooked me up with his friend in the gym, and I started to train. I pulled my dad to the side one day, and said "I’ve got my physical Sunday." "For what? You’re not feeling okay?" "I’m fine. The physical for the Gloves." "What? I thought that you just wanted to work out. I didn’t think you wanted to fight." Oops.

Next scene. My Dad, now in the role of "Soccer Mom", is driving his little boy of 28 to his physical. A few weeks later, I fought in a "White Collar Boxing" night at Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn. He was there, and he saw his son’s head somehow surgically attached to his opponent’s left glove. Though he didn’t tell me, my mother let me know that he was kind of upset, saying "That was something a father shouldn’t see."

It got worse. Before my big Golden Gloves debut, my Dad looked me in the eye, and said "No matter what happens, you got in there. Some guys just talk. You walked it. Now get an attitude, bust this guy up and let’s go home early." Well, we went home early. It was an inspiring speech, but unfortunately I fought more like Tom McNeeley than Tommy Hearns. I was kayoed in the first round, and the first one in the ring to attend to my unconscious form was my father. The year was 1997, and I think he died a little that day.

The last fight we saw together was the De La Hoya-Quartey fight. We even went to an all-women’s card I was covering in Atlantic City, and he came with me to Manfredy-Gatti in AC as well. My memory of that night was us walking past a strip bar in Jersey that said "Couples and Amateurs welcome". My Dad’s response: "Hey, that’s us, we’re a couple of amateurs."

Some children never knew their fathers or had a relationship with them. My father’s parents were separated when he was young. He never really knew his father. But instead of passing that neglect on to his kids, he became a father who should be an example to all fathers. He was always there for me and my sister, and you know what, when we had our clashes and run-ins, we could always talk about boxing, and that would pave the way for anything else. I’ve become a fight junkie like my father, and I owe boxing a thank you. Boxing also owes a thank you to my father, because even in the dark times, my dad was a fan.

I love you Dad, and I miss you already. This is my ten bell salute to you.

[Woobase]

Fantastic read Eddie...thanks for posting it.

Reminded me of stories my Dad would tell me....about visiting his Grandfather in the "east" end of Newark, OH (once flourishing neighborhood which fell on hard times with the "end of the railroad"), walking down to the corner carry out where his Grand-dad would purchase 3 beers and one rootbeer. They would walk back to the house, his Gramps would make some popcorn, and they would sit down and watch the "fights".....Pep, Gavilan, Basilio and of course "the Rock"!

thanks

[fsteddi]

Your welcome Woo, also made me think back to my childhood.

a little story...when i was a youngster my friends and i would wait till the fights started at St. Nicks and then we would sneak in and grab any empty seats, after the fights we would walk home, and of course we would rehash the fights of the evening and also each of us would take the identity of our favorite fighter, i always like to take Tippy Larkin as i had seen him fight but none of the kids had seen him fight in the ring only on the news reels at the movie theatre, and of course i made out like Tippy could walk on water, well one nite we were heading home after the fights on a warm summer evening and we had to go by a graveyard, well wouldn't you know it as we passed bye the grave yard someone said they heard something jeez we all took off like scalded cats, and literally flew home, the next day all the kids were ribbing me as they remarked that they never knew Tippy was a track star...