Henry Cooper

by Norman Giller

  He was a real English gentleman and very popular on both sides of the pond. Henry was one of the greatest heavyweight fighters never to win the world title, a boxer and a man of real class.

  ANGELO DUNDEE:

  Without doubt, Henry was one of the nicest guys I ever met in the boxing business. He had every reason to be bitter towards me because of the chicanery I got up to with the torn glove in that first fight with Cassius, but he accepted it as part and parcel of a tough profession. I’d just like to go on record and say I didn’t use scissors to worsen the tear, just a little thumb work. If I’d been in Henry’s corner he would have expected me to do the same thing, buying precious time.

  My brother Chris and I got to know Henry and his great character of a manager, Jim Wicks, really well and you could not wish to meet more likeable people. The left hook with which he hit Cassius – later Muhammad Ali, of course – was the hardest my guy had ever been hit. When he wobbled back to the corner, we used more ice to revive him than sank the Titanic.

  Henry and I were last together when he came over to the States to be inducted into our Boxing Hall of Fame. Only the greatest fighters get that honour. Henry Cooper was a great fighter, and a fine man who inspired several generations of British boxers.

  Both Henry and I recently lost our wives, and it’s hard to handle. Henry struggled but now, please God, he is reunited with his beloved Albina. We were in opposite corners in the boxing ring, but in the same corner in life. I have lost a true friend.

  CLIFF MORGAN, WELSH RUGBY LEGEND AND HENRY’S RIVAL TEAM CAPTAINON A QUESTION OF SPORT:

  Oh, what a magical times they were. Henry was an absolute joy to work with, always in such a good mood and with warm smiles and barrel-loads of bonhomie that he poured on everybody in the studio. He was never self-conscious about breaking grammatical rules, and I think that was a big part of his appeal. He was a complete natural, and never tried to be something that he wasn’t. His all-round knowledge of sport was about average when he first started the show, but before the first series was even halfway, though he had done his homework so thoroughly that he was like a walking record book, and that attention to detail captured the way he approached any task.

  I was privileged to be at his Thanksgiving Service, which I would not have missed for the world. These days I am something of a crumbling building, but I made it there on my sticks. Nothing would have stopped me. I wanted to say my final farewell to a good friend and a great humanitarian.

  DES LYNAM:

  It was Cliff Morgan, when head of the BBC radio sports department, who paired Henry and me as his radio boxing commentary team. That stroke of luck gave me many happy years in the company of the great man as we covered numerous world, European and British title fights.

  Henry’s job was to fill the minute between rounds with his comments. He often found remembering people’s names quite difficult. Our producer for many of the years together was called Phil. Henry never called him anything but John, a bit like Trigger and ‘Dave’ in Only Fools and Horses. I once rang him to check he was available for a forthcoming fight. ‘I’ve already had a call from your colleague Ben Burgess,’ he said. The man’s name was Bob Burrows.

  When Alan Minter lost his 1980 world middleweight title fight against Marvin Hagler and some of his fans started hurling bottles at the ring, Henry was the first to duck under the ring apron to avoid injury. I teased him about it afterwards. ‘You disappeared a bit quick,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mind getting cut when I was getting paid for it,’ he explained, ‘but I wasn’t risking it for nothing.’

  JOHN RAWLING:

  I followed Des Lynam and Ian Darke as BBC radio commentator and inherited Henry as my co-commentator. His iconic status meant that he was mobbed by autograph hunters wherever we were, to the extent that I would frequently feel more like a minder than a colleague. ‘Come on, Henry, we’ve got to get out of here to record that interview,’ was the stock excuse that I would give to let him eventually walk away and make his exit from the arena. He would go to any lengths necessary to help a charity, even if it meant giving up a well-paid engagement. Henry was a good boxer, an outstanding man.

  IAN DARKE:

  I worked on BBC radio with Henry as the inter-rounds summariser for about eight years. A little anecdote that sums up his influence was when we were commentating on a Tony Sibson fight at Stafford. All hell broke loose in the hall and the crowd were rioting and throwing things like CS canisters. In desperation, the MC came to us at the ringside and asked, ‘Henry, can you do something about this, please?’ Without further ado, he clambered up into the ring and said into the MC’s microphone, ‘For goodness’ sake, everybody calm down, will you, and sit down so we can get on with the boxing.’ There were all kinds of ruffians and troublemakers just looking for a fight, but once they realised who was ordering them back to their seats they went and sat down like little lambs. It was then I fully appreciated the power that Henry had and the reverence and respect he commanded.

  He had a great sense of humour. Once we were doing a broadcast on April Fool’s Day, and between us we cooked up the idea of him announcing that he was training for a comeback and was going to fight Brian London. It was supposed to tease the public, but Fleet Street picked up on it and believed it, and we were suddenly inundated with calls about the details of Henry’s return to the ring. We had to bashfully admit it was an April Fool’s Day joke. Henry could not stop chuckling over it. He was about fifty-eight, for goodness’ sake.

  HUGH McILVANNEY OF THE SUNDAY TIMES, ARGUABLY THE GREATEST SPORTS WRITER OF MY GENERATION:

  For Henry, modesty wasn’t a chosen public demeanour. It was as natural to him as smiling, which he did often and with an unmistakable warm-heartedness that reached out like an embrace to everybody around him, and ultimately to an entire nation. His truest distinction was bestowed by the masses, who granted him a popularity unsurpassed for intensity and longevity in the history of sport in this country. Henry was worthy of it all.

  My many memories of him glow with the awareness that every moment spent in his company left me feeling better for it. He had the knack of being a good human being. People who had never attended a fight, who didn’t have an inkling that his reign of nearly twelve years as British heavyweight champion was a record never likely to be broken, felt they had a personal, almost proprietorial stake in Our Enery.

  COLIN HART, BOXING COLUMNIST AT THE SUN:

  If Henry had been made out of bricks and mortar he would have been a Grade I listed building, because unquestionably he was a national treasure. He was my mate for more years than I care to remember and his loss will be felt in every British home.

  Describing Henry as a fighter and a man isn’t difficult as he can be summed up in a few words. They are integrity, goodness and honesty. He was always a genuine role model for young and old. If the paparazzi had to rely on him for a living they would have starved. Not for him getting drunk in nightclubs surrounded by bimbos. His priorities were always his family and working hard raising money for various charities.

  I knew he was in trouble the moment Albina went so suddenly, and then followed soon after by George. Albina was not just his right hand but also his left, and his eyes and ears. I have rarely known such a close couple, and for the first time in his life he threw in the towel. Dear Henry has left a unique legacy and British boxing is a far sadder place for his passing.

  That’s the Henry Cooper life. Now for his fights.

  THE HENRY COOPER FIGHT FILE

  Henry and I used to have a chuckle because I remembered his fights blow-for-blow much better than he did. ‘Yeah,’ he would say, ‘but you had the easy part of watching while I was a little busy doing the fighting.’

  As a boxing-mad schoolboy and later as a reporter on the fight trade paper Boxing News, I used to fervently keep records of all the major fighters. So this section is something of a labour of love, and – excuse the bugle-blowing – gives the most exhaustive breakdown of our hero’s professi
onal boxing career you are likely to find anywhere. It was made easier by the fact that Henry and I spent hours discussing his career for a book we worked on together, Henry Cooper’s Most Memorable Fights. Our interview sessions included access to his personal scrapbook, dripping with punchlines from the finest British boxing writers of that golden era for heavyweights and for Fleet Street.

  Those were the days when every newspaper carried at least one specialist boxing reporter, the headline-hungry epoch of masters of the art such as Peter ‘The Man They Can’t Gag’ Wilson, Desmond ‘The Man in the Brown Bowler’ Hackett, Tom ‘Who Will He Put His Shirt On?’ Phillips, ‘Frank and Fearless’ Frank Butler, the redoubtable Donald Saunders on the Telegraph, the omniscient freelance Gilbert Odd, reliable Joe Bromley on The Sporting Life, Henry’s Wembley neighbour on the London Evening Star, Walter Bartleman, the ‘Terrible Twins’ Reg Gutteridge and Harry Carpenter before they ever picked up a microphone, and the most sublime of them all, George Whiting, who could single-handedly put thousands on the London Evening Standard circulation by his poetic presence at the ringside. On the Daily Express they had the luxury of two ringside experts, with Sydney Hulls, son of the premier pre-war promoter of the same name, playing a supporting role to the adjective-addicted Des Hackett.

  Boxing News was the Bible of the sport, and from America we drank in the international facts from The Ring magazine and Boxing Illustrated. Learning the writing ropes as Henry started out on his boxing adventure were young Turks like Neil Allen at The Times, Alan Hubbard, Peter Moss, Frank McGhee, John Rodda, Ron Wills, Bill Bateson, Fred Burcombe, Frank Keating, Bob Mee, Jeff Powell, Kevin Mitchell, Steve Bunce, Peter Batt, Hugh McIlvanney and – now the doyen of boxing scribes – Colin Hart, for whom the Sun still rises.

  I bow to them all as exceptional reporters back in the day when newspapers treated boxing and boxers with the respect they deserved, rather than giving the sport second billing. Henry was a hero to each of them, and he knew all of them personally, but could rarely put a name to their faces.

  People meeting Henry in his later life and hearing him struggle to remember names put it down to the punches he had taken, not realising that for the fifty-plus years that I had known him he could seldom get anybody’s name off his tongue at the first time of asking. Johns became Joes, Bills Bobs and Timmys Tommys. Talking to me once about his broadcasting colleague and good pal Des Lynam, he referred to him as ‘Les Dynam’. Those of us who knew him well were amazed how he managed to come up with so many correct names when he was the resident captain on A Question of Sport. Mind you, he did once manage to call Don Bradman ‘Brad Donman’. Jim Wicks was full of malapropisms and Henry a master Spoonerist – the perfect double act.

  I recall Henry, George and me going into convulsions of laughter in my early days of being in their company when Jim Wicks was, as ever, struggling to get a name right. He was talking in less than favourable terms of the Chancellor of the Exchequer at the time, Selwyn Lloyd. ‘That robbing bastard of a Chancellor geezer, wossisname…’ he said. Together, literally identically, the twins chorused: ‘Selwyn Thingamybob…’

  A Jim Wicks press conference was always a ‘fill in the blanks’ affair. He would continually refer to upcoming or past opponents as ‘wossisname’ and somehow this became contagious because Henry and George could never come up with a surname between them. Henry always introduced me to people as ‘Norman, uh…’ and his co-commentators in his many boxing broadcasts used to tell him to leave the name-calling to them because he invariably got boxers’ names wrong. Once, on air, he hilariously called the then heavyweight title challenger Herbie Hide ‘Harry Herbert’.

  I can guarantee that all the names in the following fight file are correct, and I thank the various newspaper editors for their permission to use the scrapbook reports from a procession of Britain’s finest boxing reporters.

  For the record, Henry the amateur had eighty-four contests, won seventy-three and lost eleven. He collected two back-to-back ABA light-heavyweight titles, the first in 1952 while boxing for the Eltham and District Amateur Boxing Club, and the second in 1953, while serving in the Army. He represented Britain in the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki and in the 1953 European championships in Warsaw, each time going out in the early stages to older and much more experienced Russian opponents: Anatoli Perov (lost a split points decision) and then Juri Jegorow (referee stopped contest 1). His finest performance was his 1953 ABA final points win over Australian Tony Madigan, recognised as one of the supreme amateur boxers of his generation, who gave Cassius Clay his hardest contest in the 1960 Olympics.

  Henry made his professional debut on a Jack Solomons promotion at Harringay Arena in North London, a huge, soulless, grey concrete octagonal stadium that was the number one boxing venue until 1958. It was built in the 1930s as a home for the brief British craze for ice hockey and was virtually a copy of the famous Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. Henry and twin brother George (billed as Jim Cooper) were featured in the second and third fights before the top-of-the-bill British middleweight championship contest in which Johnny Sullivan knocked out Gordon Hazell in the first round.

  FIGHT NO. 1

  Venue: Harringay Arena, 14 September 1954. Weight: 13st 7lb.

  Opponent: HARRY PAINTER (Andover, Hants). Weight: 14st 13lb.

  Result: WON by knockout, round 1.

  RINGSIDE REPORT (JT Hulls, London Evening News): Bellingham heavyweight Henry Cooper made an impressive professional debut against workhorse veteran Harry Painter, who has shown little improvement since winning the Jack Solomons’s Novices competition. Plasterer Cooper decorated Painter’s face with a series of left jabs before dropping him with a hook off the jab. Painter unwisely and unsteadily rose at ‘eight’ and was an easy target for Cooper’s favourite left hook that knocked him down and out, with the ten-second count a mere formality. It won’t get easier than this for the two-time ABA light-heavyweight champion. Twin brother George had a much harder night’s work, winning a six rounds’ slog on points against Newport bulldozer Dick Richardson. I am proud to have introduced the Cooper twins to manager Jim Wicks. They are perfectly suited and I expect them to be very successful in the demanding world of professional boxing.

  HENRY: I’m glad to have got that over. I was concerned about giving away so much weight, but Mr Wicks told me to take my time and pick my punches. I found Harry easy to hit with my jab, and I concentrated on making an opening for my left hook. Mr Wicks is happy, so I’m happy.

  FIGHT NO. 2

  Venue: Harringay Arena, 19 October 1954. Weight: 13st 8lb.

  Opponent: DINNY POWELL (Walworth). Weight: 13st 12lb.

  Result: WON, referee stopped fight round 4.

  RINGSIDE REPORT (L.N. Bailey, London Evening Star): A handful of miles separate where Henry Cooper and Dinny Powell grew up in South-East London, but there was a huge distance between them in class. Cooper, in his second professional fight, jabbed the stocky Powell almost to a standstill, and you felt Dinny needed his brother Nosher Powell in the ring with him to block the procession of left jabs that made a mess of his face and forced the referee’s intervention in round four of a scheduled six-rounder. Even at this early stage in his career, Cooper looks a class act.

  HENRY: To be honest, the only trouble Dinny gave me was with his head as he came rushing forward. This sort of thing didn’t happen in the amateurs and it was good experience to see how I could handle being roughed up inside by an experienced pro. I know the Powell brothers well, and they’re making names for themselves in the film stuntman business. They’re good blokes, but you forget friendship once the bell rings.

  FIGHT NO. 3

  Venue: Manor Place Baths, Walworth, 23 November 1954. Weight: 13st 6lb.

  Opponent: Eddie Keith (Manchester). Weight: 13st 4lb.

  Result: WON, referee stopped fight round 1.

  RINGSIDE REPORT (George Whiting, London Evening Standard): Henry Cooper, the more lethal of the Cooper twins, wasted no time parting Eddie Keith fr
om his senses, and the referee came to his rescue after a barrage of left hooks midway through the first round had him distressed and disoriented. Keep your eye on young Henry. The professional game seems to suit him very nicely.

  HENRY: The ref was right to step in when he did because Ted was struggling in there once I had softened him up with a couple of good hooks. It would be nice if all fights were this easy, but Mr Wicks is slowly going to step me up in class.

  FIGHT NO. 4

  Venue: Harringay Arena, 7 December 1954. Weight: 13st 4lb.

  Opponent: Denny Ball (Bedford). Weight: 14st 7lb.

  Result: WON, referee stopped fight round 3.

  RINGSIDE REPORT (Dave Caldwell, South London Press): Henry Cooper gave away more than a stone to his opponent Denny Ball, but was a much more potent puncher and the burly man from Bedford folded under a series of lefts to the head. The referee quite rightly stepped in to save Ball more punishment in the third round.

  HENRY: As Denny had gone the distance against my old rival Joe Erskine earlier this year, I expected him to put up more resistance. But once I found my range I was confident I’d stop him, and I think he was relieved when the ref said that was enough.