A Department of Defense Intelligence Report in the Seventies described Noriega: “Intelligent, aggressive, ambitious, and ultra nationalistic, a shrewd and calculating person.” Sycophantic to his superiors, he was tyrannical to subordinates. Noriega knew power and how to use it. Like his predecessors, Noriega exploited Duran’s fame for his own ends. “Duran always was used by the president or military as a figure to promote themselves,” said boxing journalist Juan Carlos Tapia. “The one exception was Omar Torrijos. Torrijos really loved Duran and supported him but most of the others used Duran for publicity because he was an idol. Noriega was the one who used him the most for his own benefit.”
Noriega was also wracked by paranoia, hate and fear and was suspected of decapitating his political rival Hugo Spadafora, whose headless body was found stuffed in a post office bag in 1985. Duran’s former adviser Mike Acri said, “I think that they wanted Duran to get political and he wouldn’t. Duran didn’t want to be political [Duran would run for Senate in 1994, but his grasp of politics was shaky at best]. Even when Ruben Blades ran for president, they were trying to get Duran to do some things and he wouldn’t do that. I think he was smart enough to realize that if he pissed off one party, what happens if the other people get in power?”
Evading capture in the initial hours of the invasion, Noriega hid out and eventually sought sanctuary in the Vatican embassy. He spent Christmas and New Year’s there, surrounded by U.S. troops who baited him by blasting out rock music like “I Fought The Law” and “Working On A Chain Gang.” (Despite the attention on Noriega, it was still Duran’s country: the boxer was mobbed when he walked into a Holiday Inn across the street from the embassy to speak with reporters one day in late December.) After nineteen days, the Papal Nuncio convinced him that enough was enough and he marched out to his captors in military uniform, a bible in his hand. Endara was installed as the new president.
The incarcerated Eleta, meanwhile, had befriended his fellow inmates and become a sort of cult hero in the slammer. Despite being a millionaire, Eleta was no snob. His ability to mix with anyone served him well in prison, where for the first time in his life he was stripped of his status. “We would play cards all the time. The people inside the prison loved me,” said Eleta. “When I left the jail in Macon, the guards even gave me a watch as a present.”
“Noriega was a criminal and a sonofabitch, he ran like a rat,” added Eleta years after the event. “When they came after him, he didn’t defend himself. But I knew that if I ever got back there I would take care of him. I saw a killer in Noriega but I was not afraid of anything.” By then he could afford to talk tough. Noriega would be tried and sentenced to forty years (later reduced to thirty) in jail for drug trafficking and racketeering. Carlos Eleta was freed on $8 million bail. After the U.S. invasion of Panama, all charges against him were dropped.
FIFTEEN MONTHS after Leonard, Duran returned to the ring against “Irish” Pat Lawlor on 18 March 1991, at the Mirage in Las Vegas. Lawlor had only fourteen wins and one loss in his brief career, but after five rounds was ahead on points. Duran had hurt his shoulder during training, and after getting hit in the bicep in the sixth the pain returned. Referee Carlos Padilla took the injured veteran over to ringside doctor Flip Homansky and the fight was called off in Lawlor’s favour at 1:50 of the round. A second no más, some called it. “I’m going to ask Don King for a rematch,” said a weary Duran. “This was practice.”
He next hit the ring in October 1992, at the age of forty-one, to score a wide ten-round decision over American Tony Biglen. Duran, now trained by the Martinez brothers, Hector and Freddie, actually looked in shape and had Biglen down in the first and fourth rounds but couldn’t finish him off. Duran was by now a master at playing to the gallery. In the fourth, as Biglen’s father screamed instructions to his son, Duran moved Biglen into his own corner, stuck his head through the ropes and shook his head “no” at Biglen’s father.
He closed out 1992 with a string of wins against second-rate opponents. He fought three times at Casino Magic in Bay, Mississippi. Small casino towns had now become his home, out-of-the-way gyms his temporary havens. People wondered why the man was still fighting, but for Duran boxing was his way to keep afloat financially and mentally. In December 1993, Duran went into his hundredth bout, against an opponent half his age. “Not many make it to one hundred fights,” he said. “I want to be known as the greatest fighter of all time. I’ve been rated number two behind Sugar Ray Robinson. I think I deserve to be number one.”
Originally the bout was set for early November and coincided with the Day of the Dead, a tradition common throughout Central America and developed from a mixture of local religious practices and Christianity. Families congregate in cemeteries and around altars in the home, accompanied by music and song. Those who gather in cemeteries take picnics, making sure to put some food aside for deceased relatives. The superstitious Duran refused to box on that day. “Because it was Duran, we postponed it six weeks,” said Mike Acri.
During the postponement, Duran ran for political office for the Arnulfista Party, which was traditionally strong in the rural interior. Elections were being held that summer. “My mother asked me to run for the Senate, to run for the people of Panama,” said Duran to a local reporter, a former boxing champion in four weight classes. “I know the people, know what it is to be poor. The people need me, they need somebody just like them.” Duran would miss being elected in a close race.
Despite the fact that corruption was still rife in Panamanian society and politics, the environment was noticeably less hostile. “Indisputably the country is better off,” wrote reporter Alma Guillermoprieto in The Heart That Bleeds: Latin America Now. “With occasional lapses, there is press freedom, in which any number of dreadful tabloids revel. The National Assembly has approved, in record time, a package of sensible changes in the Constitution. The oppressive atmosphere of the final days of the Noriega era is gone …”
Training in Diamondhead, Mississippi, Duran had his usual entourage of friends, hangers-on and backslappers, but was now a very different person to the wired teenager who bragged about putting people in hospital. On December 14, Duran (90-9) knocked down the twenty-one-year-old Tony Menefee in round five with a straight right over a weak jab and dominated his brave opponent until the bout was stopped in the eighth. When the end came, with Menefee struggling to rise after another knockdown, Duran actually gestured to referee Elmo Adolph to stop the fight. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said later. “I signaled to the referee because he’s a young fighter, an up-and-coming guy, and I didn’t want to hurt him.” How times had changed.
A month after the Menefee beating, Duran stopped Terry Thomas at Casino Magic. Duran broke Thomas’s nose midway through the third, the popping sound being heard by ringsiders. Thomas courageously continued but the fight was stopped in the fourth round.
Next was his most meaningful opponent since Leonard. On June 25, 1994, Duran dropped former champion Vinny Pazienza in the fifth round on his way to a close twelve-round decision loss for something called the IBC super middleweight title. The IBC, or International Boxing Council, was yet another unnecessary “governing body” in a sport already plagued by confusion and politics. But Duran and the colorful Pazienza, known as the “Pazmanian Devil,” were still a draw and over 10,000 spectators packed the MGM Grand Garden in Vegas to see the former champs battle it out at a contracted 165 pounds.
Before the fight Duran sneered at Pazienza’s usual outrageous macho act: “He thinks he’s the mother of Tarzan.” And the sight of Pazienza on the canvas in the fifth round from a perfectly executed right-hand counter sent the crowd into a frenzy. The three judges, astonishingly, were much less impressed and all scored the round a 10-10 draw. A clash of heads brought blood flowing and Duran continued to punish Pazienza, opening a cut on his face and denting his pride. He couldn’t keep up the pace, though, and let Pazienza back into the fight. The Pazman won the last five rounds on every scorecard
and the unanimous decision. “I outpunched him,” Duran claimed afterwards. “If this kid is so tough, look at his face and look at mine. What did he do? He slapped the whole night. Everybody thought I was old but it was the other guy who fought like an old man. I didn’t lose the fight.”
He set his sights on a rematch with Pazienza, first stopping Heath Todd in what amounted to a tune-up at Casino Magic. But when he met Pazienza again for the same title on January 14, 1995, in the Atlantic City Convention Hall, he was never in it and lost a lopsided decision. On some cards, Pazienza won every round. Duran took his best shots and remained standing but couldn’t shake off the rust of the years.
In February 1996, a flabby old man outpointed Ray Domenge over ten tepid rounds in front of 1,800 at the Mahi Shrine Temple in Miami. “Once upon a time, Duran generated fear and awe,” said Boxing News. “Now it’s pity … He looked like a ‘weekend’ athlete who should not have been doing anything more demanding than riding an exercise bike.” Vinny Pazienza, at ringside, remarked, “I like Duran, now that we ain’t fighting, but he ought to retire.” Hector “Macho” Camacho, who lined up to fight Duran that summer, was equally scathing.
The decision win over Domenge, and a couple of stoppages of similarly weak opponents, helped prepare Duran for a showdown with Hector “Macho” Camacho, the flashy, loudmouth Puerto Rican southpaw, for the vacant and lightly regarded IBC middleweight title – well above both their natural weights. They fought on 22 June 1996, at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City, and it was an indication of their continuing appeal that the bout was screened on US pay-per-view television. Both men traded insults and threw punches at the press conference after Camacho repeatedly made jibes about the no más fight. The promoter, who stood between them, came off worst, though Camacho cut his hand on a ring on Duran’s finger.
Both fighters would have put on a fine display of speed and power in their lightweight primes; now it was a case of who had more left. As 5,200 witnessed in the sold-out Mark Etess Arena in the fight billed “Legend to Legend,” the question would be answered in a surprisingly entertaining twelve-rounder. The bout featured many vintage Duran exchanges. He had gotten down to 157, his lowest weight in seven years, his stamina held up and his punches were crisp and definite. The posturing Camacho brought out the competiitve fire in him, and each right hand that bounced off the Macho Man’s temple brought a glow of satisfaction to the old warhorse.
Camacho created an early lead with his jab but Duran came back at him and in the middle rounds his more accurate and harder shots cut the light-hitting Puerto Rican. Duran talked to Camacho during infighting, let him know who was the boss. He targeted a cut under the Macho Man’s right eye in the fourth and had him desperately clinching in the fifth. For all of Camacho’s flash and braggadocio, his swagger had waned and ability to avoid punches had eluded him over the first half of the fight. That classic right hand was often deposited from various angles, and Duran looked to build an early lead. Would the judges reward speed or strength? Even though Duran had matched Camacho and even bested him during several trade-offs, he had lost steam in the late rounds and couldn’t win over the judges. Camacho ended up winning an unpopular yet unanimous decision. “Why should I quit?” Duran told reporters at the post-fight press conference.
Back in Panama, Duran was pitted in a horribly overmatched bout with Ariel Cruz, who hadn’t won a fight in thirteen contests, that August. Duran disposed of the journeyman in one round, and would head back stateside. Less than a month later at the Mountaineer Race Track in Chester, West Virginia, Duran faced Mike Culbert, a southpaw from Brockton, in front of a crowd of 2,800. He knocked Culbert down three times, opened a sizable gash on the side of his left eye and eventually stopped him in the sixth round. Duran earned $50,000. “‘Old Man’ Scores a TKO” was the headline in the Charleston Daily Mail.
In June 1997, Duran scored his hundredth win and gained revenge over Argentina’s Jorge Castro, the former WBA middleweight champion who had controversially outpointed him in February. On the evening before his forty-sixth birthday, he survived a fierce pummeling from Castro early in round three to take a narrow ten-round decision – 97-95 on all cards – before close to 10,000 spectators in Panama City. Castro’s strong start had petered out in the intense heat and Duran earned a top-ten ranking in the super-middleweight division with the win. Years later, this author sat with Duran watching a tape of one of the Castro fights and he declared what he would have done to the man if he were in shape. By now he was boxing with little, if any, training.
Two days later, he was interviewed by Joe Cross of International Boxing Digest in Ralph’s, an “upscale poolroom-bar” on Via Espana in Panama City. “He was celebrating with both hands,” recorded Oliver, “a drink in one, a pool cue in the other. Two days after scaling 168 for the fight, he weighed 180. Duran gets fat by breathing smoke and looking at food.” He was surrounded by young women, and friends, and seemed happy, talking about another big payday against Leonard or Camacho.
Duran kept plugging away but the deterioration that he had hidden so well in the Camacho bout was now undisguisable. It showed on November 15 when he traveled to South Africa to fight. Replacement David Radford was flown in from England at two days’ notice to fight him and managed to rock Duran on two occasions before losing the eight-round decision. Duran went down in a storm with the South African crowds and was presented with a photograph of himself and Nelson Mandela, who reportedly described him as the most charismatic fighter he had ever met.
Duran met the canvas in his next fight. Fighting at a gross 170 pounds, he went down in the first round to Felix Jose Hernandez, a 10-5-1 “tomato can,” but came back to fell Hernandez in the fifth and twice in the eighth round. He won an eight-round decision and kept alive his streak of never having lost a pro bout in Panama. It was something to cling to.
Those who called for Duran’s retirement were placated by the fact that he still had his mind, his experience and a residue of his skills. Against inferior opponents, these were enough, and no one on his seemingly never-ending comeback tour had hurt him – until he signed to fight the WBA middleweight champ. Roberto Duran had nothing left to teach WBA middleweight champ William Joppy. They were set to fight August 28 at the Las Vegas Hilton on a Don King production. Well aware that he was sending Duran to slaughter, King was more concerned about his still-evident ticket-selling potential. Joppy was strong and close to his prime, with twenty-five victories to one loss, and the little tricks and tactics Duran had perfected in the clinches and off the ropes were not enough. Press conference talk of him springing a surprise on the young fighter was drowned out by laughter.
Joppy punished the Panamanian for two rounds before referee Joe Cortez stopped the bout at 2:54 of the third. The sight of Joppy pummeling a helpless Duran – after a blistering right hand midway through the round had forced him to cover up – should have been enough. Even Duran promised, “I’m finished.” The Nevada Boxing Commission suspended him while his back-up team, which consisted of Acri, DeCubas, and attorney Tony Gonzalez bickered. “Gonzalez made the Joppy fight,” said Luis DeCubas. “That was the worst thing I ever saw in boxing. It was criminal.” The IRS reportedly took $225,000 of his $250,000 purse money to pay back taxes.
Duran followed up the Joppy catastrophe with a ten-round loss to Omar Eduardo Gonzalez in Argentina. On his forty-ninth birthday Duran waited in Panama to take on journeyman Pat Lawlor in a rematch. He trained in a San Miguelito Gym with Plomo and female trainer Maria Toto. The fight was titled “The Battle of Five Decades” as Duran, almost incredibly, had fought in every decade since the Sixties. In 1960, he was running the streets with Chaflan, learning to survive. In 1970, he was assaulting the lightweight division. In 1980, he conquered the indomitable Leonard by forcing him into an alley brawl. In 1990, he was coming off a victory over Iran Barkley. In 2000, the fame and nearly $45 million has vanished through investments and the belief that it would never end.
Before the figh
t Duran told the press, “Lawlor is fatter and crazier. Sadly, he came to Panama to get a beating.” He then went out and celebrated his birthday with a points win, avenging that earlier stoppage loss to Lawlor when an injured shoulder had forced him to quit.
The show puttered on. Two months later Duran faced P.J. Goosen at the Legends Casino in somewhere called Toppenish, Washington. The unheralded Goosen came in with a 19-2 record. Duran, in his 119th bout, railed against his naysayers. “I ignore all the people who say I shouldn’t do this. I don’t care what they say,” he told reporters. “The commissioners in Las Vegas should worry about their own boxers. I’ve seen ten-times worse boxers down there and they’re still able to box when they shouldn’t have a license. I’ve taken every test, and besides, I know what my body’s able to do. I listen to my body, and I will know when my body tells me it’s time to quit. The decision will be made by me. When I step into the ring I’m just doing my business.” After promising reporters, “you will see if my hands are still made of stone,” Duran banged out a ten-round decision.
“The problem is that the only thing he can do is to fight, and all he’s done is fight; he doesn’t know anything else,” said Juan Carlos Tapia. “He’ll risk his life to fight just to get money for his family.” Eleta urged him to quit, “I told him, ‘Before you hit them and they went down. Now you push them and then embrace them. What happened to you?’ He didn’t like that.”
Duran was only fighting to pay back debts that he claimed his wife accrued and money Carlos Eleta stole from him. It was never his fault. After a loss, he never took any blame, and in life, it was always someone else who made him broke. All of the money had disappeared with his skills. The man had fought since 1968, and he felt he had earned the right to spend his money accordingly. “We went to Panama once to see his house and where he was born,” said promoter Butch Lewis. “This guy would go down the streets of Panama and dig into his pockets and give money to people, kids in the streets. It didn’t matter how much he made in the fight because he would split it amongst the kids in the neighborhood. There’s no coincidence he’s a hero and it’s not about the money. After every fight he always came back and never forgot. And that’s the way things are.”
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