I am standing outside the gym feeling a little uneasy. I only know two people here, my nine-year-old "little brother," whom I've been mentoring for a little over a year, and his father. His father is talking with Curtis Johnson Sr. only a couple of feet away. They are laughing and joking but I can't quite hear what they are saying. I am standing next to Curtis Johnson Jr. but we aren't really talking. I just stand there and smile.
After a few minutes, Curtis Johnson Sr. sends my little brother off for a jog. He shuffles off reluctantly, barely lifting his feet. Someone asks me if I'm going to go jog too. Everyone laughs. It is close to 100 degrees. Curtis Johnson Jr. and I just stand there sweating. Curtis Jr., who goes by C.J., is lean and muscular, has taken off his shirt. He is getting ready to jog. I am tall and lanky and have not taken off my shirt. I'm not going anywhere. We just stand there sweating. He is shining in the sun. I just sort of dampen. That's what happens in Mississippi, you either take off your shirt or you become damp.
"So, you're going to have a fight soon?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Your professional debut?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
C.J. isn't exactly what I had expected when I decided to go to my brother's boxing practice. I had heard all about him before I got there of course; such is my brother's admiration of the young fighter. My only previous exposure to serious boxing had been seven years earlier in Italy. I was in Rome studying art and had wandered into one of the city's famous piazzas only to find a crowd surrounding a boxing ring. I watched two boxers dance and jab at each other, both boys under the large headgear that amateur boxers wear. There was some shouting. The boxers made noises when they swung at one another that sounded like air escaping from bike tires.
There were fighters from France, Spain, and Germany all milling round in the crowd. They wore their national colors. They all looked mean and knew it, staring down everyone who would make eye contact. I was a little scared, to be honest.
Now, standing with C.J. on this afternoon in late June I am not worried for my safety, just uncomfortable in the quiet. I realize that C.J. is not uncomfortable, that he is just rather quiet. He seems pensive and thoughtful yet focused. An SUV approaches the gym's parking lot. Another fighter gets out, bigger than C.J. and equally fit. They slap hands and the new fighter waves to Curtis Sr. Then he and C.J. are gone, off on their jog through the neighborhood in the heat and the still air. I am thoroughly damp and approaching a state of wetness. I turn and enter the gym.
The gym - home of Hub City Boxing - is located in the East Jerusalem neighborhood near downtown Hattiesburg. A train yard and scores of tracks, the Bowie River, a scrap yard, and the city water department border East Jerusalem. More than 80 percent of the residents are black. At first glance you would marvel at the green space in the neighborhood - parks seem to be everywhere - but then you would notice the lack of swings and slides. There are no soccer fields, just tall grass where flood-prone homes have been removed over the years.
The Hub City Boxing gym is, as far as I know, the only athletic complex of any kind in the neighborhood. It is evident that it wasn't always intended for boxing - basketball backboards still hang on the walls - but once inside there is no question what the space is currently used for. There are big bags and small bags, light bags and heavy bags, fat bags and skinny bags all along the walls surrounding the bright-colored centerpiece: the ring. Nobody is in the ring. On the far side are two boys jumping rope. Neither of them looks like a boxer. One is overweight, one is underweight, and they are both struggling with their rope.
One edge of the building consists entirely of bleachers. The bleachers are oversized: there are only three levels. I am 6'2"; when I sit on the bottom level my feet barely touch the ground. Around the other side of the gym is a table full of trophies. They say things like "Hands of Stone" and "Neutral Corners" and some of them have "C.J." engraved on them.
As I sit on the bleachers more and more boxers begin to trickle into the gym. They are all soaked with sweat. After about ten minutes there are enough boxers to start their group workout. C.J. and the other boxer both get in the ring with Curtis Sr. C.J. begins to dance around the ring. He is on his toes and moves lightly, with speed. His guard is up; he goes forward and then backward and then forward again. Sometimes he takes a little break and then his dad says something or looks at him and he starts to work again. He does this for about forty minutes. While C.J. is practicing his footwork, his dad is instructing the bigger fighter. His name is Felix Johnson (no relation to the father and son) and he will be making his professional debut on the same day as C.J. in a couple of weeks. Curtis works with Felix on footwork. He goes over specific patterns and steps, moving inside and outside. He pretends to be an opposing fighter and approaches Felix with a couple of quick steps. Felix mimics him and Curtis Sr. adjusts. When C.J. and Felix are through they jump out of the ring. Curtis Sr. watches the rest of the fighters who have been doing cardio since they got to the gym. There are two fighters who lead the group. One looks to be about twenty-five and has the self-confidence and appearance of someone who is battle tested. The other leader, in my estimation, is the youngest person in the whole building. I think he must be no more than nine-years-old but he leads the group with assertion, counting out the push-ups and jumps that they all do in unison. His young frame looks like that of a shrunken Floyd Mayweather. He is the smallest person in the room and the most physically fit, too.
Curtis Johnson Sr. has run Hub City Boxing from this location going on three years. Before that he trained fighters out of various other locations around town. A one-time pro, Curtis Sr. has been a trainer for over a decade. Judging by the trophies on display, he has had considerable success. In addition to his two soon-to-be-pros, he trains around 20 amateur fighters. Several of his fighters have had success as amateurs on the national stage; C.J. has fought in the Golden Gloves national tournament several times. According to Curtis Sr., as an amateur C.J. was at one point ranked third in the nation in his weight class and trained with fighters like Roy Jones Jr. To say Curtis Sr. is proud of his fighters is an understatement... that would be like saying Manny Pacquiao is only a pretty good boxer. When Curtis Sr. talks about his fighters his eyes sparkle and he smiles. They are his boys.
...
In late 1888, legendary heavyweight John L. Sullivan published an open challenge in the New York Illustrated News. It called out Jake Kilrain to fight "for the sum of $10,000 or as much as he would like me to make it." Kilrain accepted the challenge. Michael T. Isenberg wrote a biography of Sullivan: John L. Sullivan and His America. He writes that, prior to issuing his challenge, Sullivan had suffered from a serious illness. While he was laid up, some people had begun to refer to Kilrain as the World Champion, a title Sullivan considered his alone. The fighters agreed on a date - July 8, 1889, and a location: a secret venue near New Orleans. It was national news. The governor of Louisiana was displeased. During this period, prizefighting was controversial. It was considered barbaric and, on moral grounds, suffered from its association with gambling. In Mississippi, a $1,000 bounty was placed on the fighters. The governor of Louisiana put troops on alert and the governor of Mississippi, in an act of solidarity, offered military support. The governors' plans were undermined by conflicts of interest within the military itself. A Louisiana artillery officer was being mentioned as a potential referee for the fight. The commander of the Louisiana Militia was a railroad manager whose company had been chartered to ferry fans to the fight. The location of the bout was kept secret until July 7th. A wealthy Mississippi landowner had offered his land on a location near the numerous intersecting rail lines of Hattiesburg, the "hub city." The Mississippi troops could not keep the chartered trains out.
The fight itself lasted some seventy-five rounds, more than two hours. At one point Sullivan vomited, but he won. He had landed haymaker after haymaker. He was the undisputed World Champion. Both fighters were later prosecuted by the State of Mississippi. Sullivan's case was appealed all the way to the Mississippi Supreme Court. In the end he was fined $500. Today, the State has installed a historical marker on the corner of Richburg Road and Sullivan Kilrain Road, southwest of Hattiesburg. It consists of a plaque imbedded in a brick-and-mortar block on a small piece of mowed grass. Between a colossal, white water tower that reads "North Pervis" and the plaque, there is a small, dirt turnoff for curious tourists.
...
It's 5:40 pm on July 3rd, 2010. "The Battle of the Bouie River I, 'A Night of Professional Boxing,'" is scheduled to begin sometime soon. I am already at Club Palace, a nightclub in Hattiesburg, seated in the general admissions section; my ticket cost $20. I could have splurged for a "ringside" ticket for $50 but am happy I didn't; I am in row three. On arrival, one of the first people I see is Curtis Sr. He seems excited, maybe even a bit nervous. He asks my little brother if he wants to be part of C.J.'s entourage. This is the coolest thing that could have happened to my little brother.
With my little brother gone, it is just his dad and I. We eat hotdogs and go over the "souvenir booklet." It is eleven pages long with nine pages of advertisements. The first page contains an "Executive Summary," a body of text detailing, among other things, the promotion company, Bare-Knuckle Promotions. They have fights planned all over the state. The fight card is on page two. The fighters with the best records are the two headliners, Deonte Wilder and Kelvin Price, both heavyweights with undefeated records. Wilder was a Bronze Medalist at the 2008 Olympics. The worst fighter on the card is debatable. Moses Robinson from Tyler, Texas, has a record of 8-11. But then there is Donald Body who, at 1-5, has the worst record by strict win-loss ratio. Perhaps Body just needs more time to prove himself. A fighter from Atlanta named Anthony Doughty has entered the ring an incredible 50 times but at 24-26 doesn't have much to show for it.
We wait for over an hour before anything happens. I spend my time watching two cameramen set up their equipment. There is some commotion over on one side of the ring and I hear somebody say boxing legend Roy Jones Jr. is in the house. It turns out he is supporting Kelvin "The Price is Right" Price. Roy Jones Jr. is sitting in the VIP section near some executives from the local hospitals. I could have sat on that side of the ring too for $100. After a couple more minutes, it seems like almost everybody in the room (maybe 300 people) has had their picture taken with Roy Jones Jr. I have not. I am considering making the short walk to introduce myself when the ring girls arrive and the commotion surrounding Roy Jones Jr. (and any other commotion in the room, for that matter) is momentarily subdued. The two women are dressed for the job but are not nearly as racy as many of the ring girls seen on television. Nevertheless, the men in the room watch them walk around - back and forth, back and forth - like courtside fans watch the ball at Wimbledon.
The first fight of the night features the aforementioned Donald Body and a fighter from Birmingham named Cleoney Fuqua (1-2), both weighing in at 165 pounds. The fight is scheduled to last four rounds and, in the fourth, Fuqua knocks Body out against the ropes, right in front of Roy Jones Jr. and the hospital executives. That is what $100 gets you. Although he lasted into the fourth, Body was not a real match for Fuqua and should have been knocked out earlier. As he lies there I start doing the math: I estimate how many people are here and who has paid what for their seats, how much advertising revenue there must be, what the cost of the building is and what the promoter's take is. The sum of all this is very little for Body and the other journeyman fighters. This is the economics of boxing. At 1-6 he will leave tonight with some gas money and a head injury.
After the next fight, a dour four-round unanimous decision, it is time for Felix Johnson's debut. The hometown boy has the crowd excited. His corner is right in front of my seat. I see my little brother and the rest of the young fighters from Hub City Boxing walk out with Felix and Curtis. They are strutting a little bit. Felix's opponent, Antonio Lebeaux, is 0-2 and fighting out of Alabama. At 155 pounds he is taller than Felix but doesn't look as powerful. After a couple of seconds of dancing around, the fighters start to mix it up. There are jabs and hooks. Uppercuts. Soon Felix knocks Lebeaux down but instead of going to his corner he stands over him and sticks out a glove, as if to point, taunting his downed opponent. The ref pushes him away and yells for him to "get over there!" There being his corner, which is evidently the proper and respectful place to go when you've knocked someone down.
I think he is warned but I can't be sure.
Moments after the ref restarts the bout Lebeaux slips and puts a glove and a knee to the mat. There is a second when everyone in the room, Lebeaux included, can see the wheels turning inside of Felix: he sees his opponent in an awkward position, unable to protect himself, and knows a knockout blow could be delivered now. A straight right could be, literally, deadly. His right arm is already cocked back and he begins to twist at the hips, to drive with his back leg, but then he stops short. The rules and the training kick in. The ref jumps in between the two boxers. If only this was a street fight. I wonder if Sullivan would have hit Kilrain, or if it would have been legal back in 1888. Seconds later, Felix knocks his opponent down again and again gloats. Curtis Sr. is now up on the edge of the ring yelling at Felix. The fighter doesn’t hear his trainer right away and continues to celebrate. Curtis Sr. is screaming. The fight isn't over yet. It seems so out of character, he doesn't seem the screaming type, but his voice is loud and full of authority and experience and finally Felix hears him and goes to the corner. Felix ends up wining by TKO in the second round. Like the first fight, it wasn't very even. There is no question that he is a born athlete, powerful and fast, but in the ring he is raw.
Two more fights tick by and it is time for 46-year-old Ray Jones to fight 35-year-old Kelvin Price. They are heavyweights. According to the boxing record site Boxrec.com, Price is 6'7"; Jones's height is not listed. From my position in row three it is clear that Jones is nowhere near 6'7'. In addition to the height and age advantage, Price, at 246 pounds, weighs 26 pounds more than Jones. I know who is going to win before they ring the bell.
Price and Jones dance around for a little while, feeling each other out. Price steps up and throws a quick jab. Jones sees the jab coming and ducks. He doesn't see the uppercut. When the glove makes contact with Jones's face there is a popping sounds and he lets out a low wail. The fight is only 1:19 old and Price's facial expressions go quickly from bloodlust to embarrassment. There is no sense of achievement. Even he is surprised at the quick knockout; he throws his hands up in disbelief before walking over to his corner. Many fans laugh. The medics eventually help Jones up and escort him out of the ring.
There is a brief pause before it is finally time for C.J. to turn professional. The crowd buzzes. People stand. C.J. walks out already on his toes, proud father and trainer behind him, young boxers following in their wake. C.J.'s opponent is another young debutant named Josh Gordon. As Gordon stands in his corner he is difficult to read. He sizes up evenly with C.J. - they both weigh 135 pounds - and he is clearly physically fit, but he doesn't have any meanness about him. At times he looks a little scared but he also looks like a boxer, a description not every participant fits tonight. Gordon has long, curly, brown hair and a thin mustache. Both fighters are 21 years old. When the bell rings Gordon creeps out of his corner with one glove extended, looking for a friendly glove-touch. C.J. doesn’t care to touch gloves. He is on Gordon before he can even retract his extended glove. He is hitting Gordon at will. I imagine him thinking about the Golden Gloves and the near National Championships. He was so close as an amateur. I imagine him as a boy watching his dad fight and dreaming of one day stepping in the ring. He was the little kid leading the group in jumping jacks and pushups. Now he is too much for Gordon. Gordon ducks and bobs and occasionally swings back but can do almost nothing to prevent C.J. from pummeling him. The punches come so quickly that his hair never settles. The ref jumps in after 48 seconds. C.J. is elated. Everybody at Hub City Boxing is walking a little taller, their shoulders held back a little farther. The crowd is cheering and clapping.
While we wait for the main event, C.J. and Curtis Sr. work the crowd. I hadn't realized just how many people had come to support the hometown team. They seem to know everybody. Or maybe that is just how happy they are, hugging and slapping hands with anybody who's interested. It's their night, after all. Fans around the building are murmuring to each other: "48 seconds." Rumors abound, too. Somebody tells me that Roy Jones Jr. is talking with an unknown man. I am told this mysterious man and Roy Jones Jr. were looking at C.J. and the unknown man was rubbing together his finger and thumb: the universal sign for money. There is speculation that Roy Jones Jr. maybe interested in representing C.J.
I don't know much about Gordon, maybe he is a pushover or maybe the weight of turning pro was too much to bear. It almost doesn't matter. The consensus is that C.J. has a bright future - 48 seconds! - and that is really all that matters.
There is a pause before the next fight. It takes a while for Wilder to come out but the crowd is still excited from C.J.'s performance and intrigued by Wilder's history as an Olympian. Wilder's fight, the main event, is much like Price's: everybody knows who will win before it even begins. The 6'7", 215 pound Wilder is fighting the 6'3", 398 pound Dustin "The Worm" Nichols. Wilder is strong and lean and quick. The Worm is strong. He is bloodied badly by Wilder's quick jabs. When The Worm comes at Wilder he is evasive and hard to hit. Wilder lands many punches while backing away. The Worm, though outmatched from the beginning to end, never stops coming at Wilder. After three minutes, the ref does that for him.
I sit down. The excitement is over and people are already beginning to leave. Is this what boxing is at this level? I wonder. A stepping-stone for the talented? Or a place where they pad their records while waiting for a big break? C.J.'s manager, J.A. Bilal - a former employee of Muhammad Ali - says that for some fighters it is. Some fighters, he says, have promoters that just set up easy fights. He tells me that he doesn’t necessarily want to do that for C.J. It doesn't really help anyone improve. Bilal says he just wants to look out for him and make sure he doesn't get overmatched too early in his career. He is confident that C.J. is "headed for the top."
What about fighters who don't have a J.A. Bilal to look out for them? What about those who aren't headed to the top? Are they told? Do they know? After the fight I think about the recent criticism the NFL has received due to players with head injuries. I imagine what it is like to talk to a 50-year-old fighter. When does dementia kick in? Again, I wonder about payment and earnings. What is the cost? Then I see C.J. and his big smile. I see community members patting him on the back and shaking his hand. I remember East Jerusalem and the empty lots. The deceptive parks. The neighborhood that was once bustling before the water and the Corps of Engineers took away so many homes. I see the hospital executives - nicely dressed white guys - who are probably happy to see a local succeed here in the Deep South, where so many don't ever get the chance. I see Curtis Sr. walking the floor, head high, shoulders back. I see my little brother. He runs over to me and we slap hands. "48 seconds!" he says. I tell him how impressed I am with C.J.'s performance and he begins shadow boxing with me. I put out my hands and he hits me in the back. I try to back away but lose my balance over some chairs and have to spin to avoid falling down. My little brother is after me. I dance around, thinking of Curtis Sr. instructing Felix. I slide backwards and forwards, bumping into a spectator who is headed for the door. I imagine myself a boxer and put up my guard. It's the 75th round. I throw a quick open hand toward my little brother, trying to tap his head or shoulder. He dodges. He is all over me again. I turn and walk out the door but he is still there, punching me, his dad laughing in the background.
I realize I have left something out of my equation. When a fighter weighs the costs there is also the community to consider. For 48 seconds this small city in Mississippi fought alongside C.J. Rich, poor, black, white, we all won and we're all going home walking with a little swagger. We're all dreaming, now. We're headed for the top. We're going to be the champions of the world.
[Originally from Southern California, Brian has lived in Mississippi for the past four years. Check out his blog Touch And Tactics and follow him on Twitter. To read more by Brian, check out his profile.]
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