Hands of Stone

by Christian Giudice

  Young, half-dressed children spread around the house in chaotic disharmony. Dirty dishes are stacked in the small sink to the left. Random phone numbers are scribbled in frat-house comprehension. It has been decades since Clara Samaniego was young but the hard years have not dissolved her kindness. She waits outside her home on a chair for nothing in particular. People pass and exchange glances or small talk. We drive up in a cab, and the driver asks her for “La mama de Duran.”

  “Soy yo,” said Clara softly.

  Twenty-five years earlier, things were better. Roberto took care of her. He bought this home for her, one that time has ravaged. Now, with the exception of Roberto, all her sons struggle to make a good living. “I was sad because I fought really hard so as not to fail to my children,” she said. “I never failed them. When I say you fail your children, I mean you abandon them. I never did that. I started working to buy their food. Roberto was born with a weight of eleven-and-a-half pounds but he always had his milk ready because I worked. There is a form where you write month after month your baby’s weight, and he grew pretty well. His milk bottles were always ready for him when I went to work and my compadre took care of him. Upon my returning, I would bring some more money to buy extra food. They never knew what to be hungry was.

  “One day there was a party at home, and Roberto asked me to sing a ranchera for him, ‘Volver, Volver.’ When he was a child he liked a ranchera called ‘Ya No Llores Más.’ He used to be very happy whenever I would sing that song for him. I had a rocking chair where I used to sit and he liked to come to me when I was sitting there and to ask me for that song.”

  Duran’s sisters Anna and Isabelle live with Clara at the home in Los Andes. They are obviously fond of their brother and credit him, not VictorninoVargas, with being the father they needed. They talk about Duran’s jealous streak and how every boyfriend feared their brother. However, Anna does not like the attention that she gets for being related to a famous boxer. Everywhere she goes people say, “There’s Duran’s sister.” She has stayed with her mother for support but yearns to travel. There are no chairs in the house, just empty space. Family members and friends filter in and out throughout the day. Ripped photos of Duran’s career adorn the walls. All of this is a sign that life has changed and might never be the same.

  “It was a painful moment when Roberto was boxing,” said Clara. “It was a great pain to know he was receiving punches. I would always just wait until it was over and then I would ask him if he won. I don’t know what happened [to my son],” said Clara. “Sometimes this idea makes me very sad, and so I start singing a song, a popular song, and then I feel like crying…

  “I go to his house because he does not come to my house. He always behaves very well with me. He kisses me and asks me to take care of myself. I always tell him not to worry about me. So I leave and come back home. He asks me not to marry again and I tell him I won’t. I do not know how does he feel now … It just makes me sad to see my son like this, for he was a very good son. That is why I sometimes feel like singing the song that goes, ‘Mano de Piedra Duran …’ [she starts singing a song in which she prays to the Virgen del Carmen for her son, and another one which also tells about Duran’s life, ‘No Llores Más,’ a bolero]. This is a song Roberto likes very much. I heard this last song when they were singing it on the radio, and I learned it.”

  Tears form as she sings the final song for her son.

  JOURNALIST DANIEL Alonso, who has known Duran for many years, calls his life “a story with a sad ending.” But it is not over, and who can say how it will end? Sadness and poignancy there is, but also hope and a defiant kind of joy. “He has that house and many expenses and many problems,” said his brother Toti, “but he remains the same person. He has not lost his high spirits. He is never sad. You can see him here in the Chorrillo on Sundays, always laughing and having fun. He goes to the beach. If he sees someone who needs money, he will always give him some. He does not care about money.”

  Salsa superstar Ruben Blades once told a reporter, “You go to his house and there he’ll be in his shorts. It is not a plastic thing, Roberto’s life. It is amazing. The more attention he gets, the less complicated he gets. He is very, very close with all of his relatives. He doesn’t travel with people who want to make him feel great by saying, ‘Yes, Yes, Roberto,’ all the time building up his ego. He doesn’t need them or want them.”

  Roberto Duran’s hands are soft, fleshy maps of a life of fighting in streets and rings. His knuckles are ghastly bumps, narratives of the men who confronted him. The man – father, friend and son – has lived in extremes. He has stood with presidents, dined with world figures, danced with goddesses, defeated poverty, partied with celebrities, sipped the world’s best champagne, driven expensive cars, draped himself in rare jewelry, and brawled and bested the world’s toughest men. He thrived among crowds. When his people turned away, he turned inward; when the world called out, he soaked in its luxuries. When he fought, he punched to kill. When the sport passed him by, he still heard its addictive call. All fighters do. As his reflexes and skills slowly left him, he tilted at ghosts that no longer existed.

  Yet when someone was in need, he emptied his pockets and expected nothing in return. His children adore him; his wife has never left his side. He treats his sons like royalty, his daughters like queens. They live for him. His people affectionately chide him, “Duran is loco, but we love him and always will.” He found happiness with friends and family, in small things like sitting down to black beans and fried plantains at Victor’s Cafe, playing dominoes or billiards, listening to Celia Cruz or Willie Colon, playing the bongos till dawn, drinking a whiskey with milk, eating an ice cream dessert, or heading to the beach on a Sunday afternoon. At his lowest, he settled for lonely makeshift gyms and club sandwiches in far-away forgotten casino towns. Those who love him won’t remember that Duran. They will remember the fighter that made war on life.

  The man himself remains optimistic: always a fighter but perhaps, above all, a survivor. He will never change. “The Panamanian public loves me now, now that I’m old,” he said. “They’ve recognized now that the greatest thing that Panama ever had was Roberto Duran. They have to accept that. I was born poor in Chorrillo, never smoked marijuana, don’t do drugs, have beautiful kids, good education … never stole from anyone, give money to others when I have it. I could be starving but if I see another man starving I would take my food and give it to him.”

  Then he flexed his muscles like the Duran of old.

  Notes

  Unless otherwise stated, all quotes come from interviews with the author.

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t you dare … he’s in shape,” Dave Anderson, Ringmasters (Robson Books, 1991). “He was dangerous … you know a lot,’” quoted at www.cyberboxingzone.com

  Chapter 6

  Popular opinion … Buchanan seemed to fit the bill, quoted in Harry Mullan, Heroes and Hard Men (Hutchinson, 1990). “If Duran wants … the book,” he promised, quoted in Boxing News, 14 July 1972.

  Chapter 7

  “The second oldest trade ... which they pronounce ‘Bookanar,’” Boxing News, 7 July 1972.

  Chapter 9

  “A woman came … throw a punch,” Boxing International, October 1975. “Edwin frustrated … stood there and fought me?’” Knockout, Spring 1990. “I was supposed to be … apologized to me,” Boxing News, 21 March 1980.

  Chapter 10

  “Holy Christ!” said … a Puerto Rican gym, Boxing News, 5 November 1976. “I told Duran not to worry … It worked,” The Ring, January 1977.

  Chapter 12

  “A programme of boxing … modern era of the game,” Hugh McIlvanney, The Observer, 15 June 1980. “He moves faster … in a boarding house,” Boxing Illustrated, May 1980. One magazine reported … to make a counter offer, Boxing Illustrated, March 80.

  Chapter 13

  “Ray Charles Leonard was a prodigy … all natural talent is suspect,” Sam Toperoff, Sugar Ray Le
onard and Other Noble Warriors (Simon & Schuster 1988). “And all throughout the workout … or express exuberance,” John Schulian, Inside Sports, 31 August 1980.

  Chapter 14

  “He was with … had no shame,” Miami New Times, 5 October 1995. “It would require a deal … never could be a quitter,” Red Smith, reprinted in The Red Smith Reader (Random House, 1982). One boxing magazine … and Leonard’s taunting, KO, April 1981.

  Chapter 15

  “I almost had a nervous breakdown … to be electrocuted,” World Boxing, July 1982. “At 157 pounds … a finished fighter,” Knockout, Summer 1993.

  Chapter 16

  “The satanic eyes … so human and weak,” Knockout, Summer 93.

  Chapter 18

  “Then I got rebellious … ‘just let him go,’” Peter Heller, In This Corner (Da Capo Press 1994).

  Chapter 19

  “When I was penniless … those times when I was penniless,” quoted in Peter Heller, In This Corner (Da Capo Press, 1994). “The best round ... in nearly three years,” KO, November 1986. “Roberto’s an old man,” declared one headline, Boxing News, 14 October 1988.

  Chapter 20

  “I didn’t want to kill him … didn’t want to hurt him,” quoted in Arlene Schulman, The Prizefighters (Lyons and Burford, 1994).

  Chapter 21

  “One time him and his friends … end up spending $4,000,” quoted in KO, July 88.

  Acknowledgments

  I conjure up strikingly vivid images every time I think of Panama City. I remember dodging the incoming punches of the prince of Panamanian boxing, Ismael Laguna, in the middle of the night, and will forever treasure the pride on his face as he relived, at a restaurant, every second of his 1965 victory over Carlos Ortiz.

  In Chorrillo, I saw the sorrow sad, slow descent into the ground of former world champ Pedro “El Rockero” Alcazar, as thousands of fans said goodbye. I remember the surreal scene of his casket being first driven through the streets while a fellow boxer followed in a slow jog. Alcazar was twenty-two years old.

  I remember walking into the Jesus Master Gomez Boxing Gym in Barrazza to see a trainer stitching back together the remnants of a boxing glove. The speed bag was wrapped in tape. The protective headgear was falling apart. In a Curundu Gym, the roof couldn’t contain rainwater from a storm and would flood often. The back bathroom was gutted and dirty. The locker rooms doubled as bathrooms. Yet, the fighters found solace in the disorder. Hope grew in small pockets of the gym, while the Government looked away.

  In the Papi Mendez Gym in San Miguelito, boxer “Chemito” Moreno’s glove flapped in the wind as he pounded away at his trainer’s hand pads. His stablemate Ricardo Cordoba was busy lifting rusty weights, while preparing to spar in a ring that had potholes under the canvas. There was no running water and the electricity was about to be turned off. The wires were duct-taped together. Another stablemate, Pambele Ceballos, walked around with holes in his sneakers. Fighters slept in a bedroom in the gym. They never complained. Each one treated me like family.

  The amateur boxing program barely stayed afloat. In fact, during an evening of bouts in the Rommel Fernandez Stadium, the fighters depended solely on handouts from parents and coaches for proper equipment and food. It didn’t change the mood of the evening, as the little kids belted away. The lack of security at fights was forever a concern, as anyone in the crowd could run up to the ring apron unopposed. In one instance, a mother ran into the ring to get avenge her knocked-out daughter, yet to many it only added to the collective chaos. That was Panama.

  Trainer and close friend Celso Chavez Sr. passed away, but provided a presence and a smile for any kid who wanted to dedicate himself to the sport. Pedro Alcazar left too soon, and journalist Alfonso Castillo also died during this research. And as I look back, I will think of the fighters who knew there was no future, but who had to keep fighting to pay bills or support their families. There were those who were ravaged in the ring, yet returned out of necessity. This book was written for those fighters.

  This journey would not have been possible without the unwavering help of friends, my entire family and the people of Panama. Without them, this would still be nothing more than an ambition. I can never forget the Panamanian people who took me in and supported me, a stranger. When I think of Panama, it was the legacy of Duran for which I searched, but I found the love of the Bravo family of Poppa Juan, Edilma “Mimma”, Romellin, Itzel and the rest of the family who introduced me to patacones in Sabana Grande.

  I would not have completed this biography without the support and lifelong friendship of Carlos Gonzalez. It is essential that he knows how much he means to me. It would take me years to properly thank Greg, my best friend, for his devotion to this book, and endless one-on-one games. Amy and Ali always supported me, and I love you for it. Tair was my heart and soul throughout. Nora Davila gave me advice, platanos and Barillito rum. Ildemaro and Munchi gave me life in Panama, and educated me on the baseball rivalry between Chitre and Chiriqui. Hector Villareal, Ludo Saenz, Fredy Moreno, Celso Chavez Jr. and his wife were always there for a meal or to steer me the right way. Guarare resident and friend Daniel Peres led me to places I never would have reached, and gave me somewhere to stay. Every Panamanian taxi driver kept me entertained with endless conversation.

  I want to thank Monica Krebs for her flawless translation and generosity. Lee Groves provided me with countless videos, while Rick Scharmberg never lost hope. Jose Torres met me in a deli in New York and changed the face of this book with his knowledge. I never met Chon Romero in person, but this book has felt his impact and I am deeply grateful for his kind and generous donation of photographs. The people at Fightnews and Gloucester County Times were indispensable resources throughout.

  Panama consul and friend Georgia Athanasopulos always made time for a visit, and it was greatly appreciated. Dale Carson put up with me through this project, while Steve Farhood, my first real interview, provided countless connections and feedback. Miguelito Callist took me under his wing and protected me in the worst gyms, while translators and friends Alexandra Newbold, Margorie and George saved me in times of need. I can’t repay Clara for all her class and dignity, while Toti, Ana, Isabel Moises, Jairo, Mireya, and Victorino welcomed me into their lives. Lesbia Diaz invited me in and I felt her passion for Duran. Boxers and trainers Peppermint Frazer, Pambele, Yanez, Soto, Victor Cordoba, Antonio Campbell, Franklin Bedoya, Chavo and Carlos Eleta gave me a history lesson on boxing in Panama. The enthusiasm of the students in the Haddonfield school district, and more specifically Bob Bickel, Chuck Klaus, Mike Busarello and Stafford, was an inspiration. Behind the scenes, Mike Willmann and John Yurkow did extensive PR work. Ed Koenig has been and always was there for me. Dan, Cory, Brian, Kevin and Matt had faith in the book. Peter Walsh deserves my utmost respect for believing in my ability and tracking me down. Lou Papa, a great man, shared a love for travel and boxing with me. Buddy Nask told me never to back down from this challenge when it seemed hopeless. To Angel Romero, my thanks for teaching me how to box.

  I will never understand the generosity and love of the Panamanian people who took me in, treated me like family, and never expected anything in return. This journey is my gift to them.

  Roberto Duran’s Professional Record

  Birthplace: El Chorrillo, Panama

  Hometown: Panama City

  Birthdate: 16 June 1951

  Record: 104-16 (70 KOs)

  W = won on points. KO = knockout. TKO = stoppage. L = lost on points.

  Date Opponent Site Result

  1968

  Feb 23 Carlos Mendoza Colon W 4

  Apr 4 Manuel Jimenez Colon KO 1

  May 14 Juan Gondola Colon KO 1

  Jun 30 Eduardo Morales Panama City KO 1

  Aug 10 Enrique Jacobo Panama City KO 1

  Aug 25 Leroy Cargill Panama City KO 1

  Sep 22 Cesar De Leon Panama City KO 1

  Nov 16 Juan Gondola Colon KO 2

  Dec 7 Carlos
Howard Panama City TKO 1

  1969

  Jan 19 Alberto Brand Panama City TKO 4

  Feb 1 Eduardo Frutos Panama City W 6

  May 18 Jacinto Garcia Panama City TKO 4

  Jun 22 Adolfo Osses Panama City TKO 7

  Sep 21 Serafin Garcia Panama City TKO 5

  Nov 23 Luis Patino Panama City TKO 8

  1970

  Mar 28 Felipe Torres Mexico City W 10

  May 16 Ernesto Marcel Panama City TKO 10

  Jul 10 Clemente Mucino Colon KO 6

  Sep 5 Marvin Castanedas Chiriqui KO 1

  Oct 18 Ignacio Castaneda Panama City TKO 3

  1971

  Jan 10 Jose Angel Herrera Mexico City KO 6

  Mar 21 Jose Acosta Panama City KO 1

  May 29 Lloyd Marshall Panama City TKO 5

  Jul 18 Fermin Soto Monterrey TKO 3

  Sep 13 Benny Huertas New York TKO 1

  Oct 16 Hiroshi Kobayashi Panama City KO 7

  1972

  Jan 15 Angel Robinson Garcia Panama City W 10

  Mar 10 Francisco Munoz Panama City KO 1

  Jun 26 Ken Buchanan New York TKO 13

  (Won WBA Lightweight Title)

  Sep 2 Greg Potter Panama City KO 1

  Oct 28 Lupe Ramirez Panama City KO 1

  Nov 17 Esteban DeJesus New York L 10

  1973

  Jan 20 Jimmy Robertson Panama City KO 5

  (Retained WBA Lightweight Title)

  Feb 22 Juan Medina Los Angeles TKO 7

  Mar 17 Javier Ayala Los Angeles W 10

  Apr 14 Gerardo Ferrat Panama City TKO 2