J.D. Brown flew out that evening and was at Leonard's camp, at the Intercontinental Hotel, Hilton Head, S.C., the next day. Soon he presented Leonard a photo that eventually would be published in Sports Illustrated. More important, he gave Leonard and his trainers a scouting report.
Brown had watched Hagler spar with the identical triplets, Floyd, Lloyd, and Troy Weaver. The Weavers, brothers of former heavyweight champion Mike Weaver, were young pros, athletic and fast. They were supposed to simulate Leonard, and show Hagler lateral movement and speed. They did their jobs well enough that Hagler became frustrated as he chased them.
"They were runners, guys who moved, and he got frustrated," Brown recalled. "He kept saying 'stop moving, come on and fight.' And I thought this is a strategy here."
"The Weavers were out-boxing Hagler," recalled Leonard. "That convinced me I could beat Hagler if I boxed him."
The spy caper was Leonard at his mischievous best, but there was more. While in camp Leonard went to five public schools near Hilton Head and lectured on the dangers of drug use. That he could do so without mentioning his own three-year cocaine binge suggested that his devilish alter ego, Sugar Ray, had awakened to do battle with Hagler.
Leonard undermined Hagler in another way that Hagler, who had quit the promotional tour in December, could scarcely have complained about. With his purse virtually fixed, and Hagler's pegged to audience turnout, Leonard cut back on his media availability.
He gave interviews, with a few exceptions, only after his Monday workout, in the hotel ballroom, in a news conference atmosphere. A few reporters from the Washington area and the largest national media outlets were allowed to interview him in his suite.
Reporters were handed prepared responses to the Four Most Asked Questions, and advised that actually asking them could result in sudden silence. The questions, and paraphrased answers, were: "Why do you want to fight? ("It's the challenge"); "Do you need the money?" ("No"); "Are you concerned about losing your sight?" ("No. I have had the best medical care."); "What does your wife think?" ("She supports me. I love her.")
The Hilton Head camp was set up to minimize distractions. At 3 p.m. about 100 residents and school children from local towns came to watch Leonard train. Autographs were a hit-or-miss courtesy, depending on his mood.
The ring was located in the hotel ballroom until mid-February when it was relocated under a tent on a tennis court. Janks Morton had Leonard fight nine minutes at a crack, against rotating sparring partners. Leonard, who had fought 125 rounds in the six months before camp, fought 125 more between January and the end of March. His punch counts were charted, in short increments, which enabled Leonard to know when he tended to slow down and needed to pick up the pace. Workouts were taped and reviewed, while tapes of Hagler were dissected and studied. "We'd be watching the film and Ray would say, 'Ange, he's gonna throw a right hook,' or 'Ange, he's gonna throw an uppercut,'" recalled Dundee.
Leonard's parents, and a longtime friend, Roland Kenner, cooked his meals. Joe Broddie, Juice Gatling, and his brothers, Roger and Kenny, kept him company. Trainer engaged the media. Juanita visited with their two sons on the weekends; otherwise, Leonard abstained from sex.
Dundee, who in past camps worked just the final two weeks, came for five. J.D. Brown was in charge of six sparring partners. Dunlap, who swore off smoking to set the tone, kept everybody on a military clock, with mandatory running at 6 a.m. They ran on hard-sand beaches, in winter squalls, gray overcast and rain, and gradually, spring sunshine.
"It was one of those camps that was all business," Dunlap recalled. "It was about being in camp - that's what we did."
Leonard chose Hilton Head, not only because Trainer was partial to its golf and the Intercontinental had made an attractive offer, but because South Carolina called to him. Cicero Leonard had grown up near Mullins, S.C. When Cicero went with his son to inspect the Intercontinental, he had remembered his youth and the farm he worked with his father Bidge.
The hotel virtually was unoccupied in early January when Leonard set up camp. Though there were few guests, the hotel staff numbered about 300, most of which, like Cicero Leonard, were working people from small South Carolina towns. The hotel ran an employee shuttle bus to towns as far as three hours away because Hilton Head housing was too expensive.
The staff became Leonard's unofficial booster club, in the absence of his fan base from the Washington-
Baltimore area. Leonard built a rapport with the staff that sustained him through a long and rigorous camp. "Everybody jumped through hoops for him - he became family," recalled Thomas Wicky, the hotel general manager.
When it came time to break camp in late March Leonard hosted a party for the employees. He gave watches to a few favorites, passed out typewritten letters of thanks, and posed for photos. The absence of cash tips, however, irked Irving Rudd, Arum's Borscht Belt-ish publicist, who took a dim view of the Leonard camp. Rudd was peeved because he had been accused of spying for the Hagler camp.
Meanwhile, Hagler was in his third camp at the edge of the desert, a long way, in miles and rigor, from Provincetown. The shift from Provincetown to Palm Springs had symbolized Hagler's upward mobility, and the erosion of his spartan ethic. In January, the night before he had flown to California, Hagler had been in a minor car accident in Boston. The time of the accident, 2 a.m., also symbolized Hagler's "upward" mobility. Hagler said his car had slid on ice, but Pat and Goody Petronelli were dubious.
Hagler's camp consisted of the Petronellis, his brother Robbie, and a few sparring partners. Despite the resort setting and the mellowing of his inner Spartan, Hagler retained some monastic habits. He often ate alone in his room, and even watched the Super Bowl alone in his room. He carried his own equipment bag from his suite to the ring under an outdoor tent. As was past practice, Hagler abstained from sex, and demanded abstinence from the others, including the sparring partners.
But there were aspects to his camp that, taken together, suggested Hagler was out of kilter. Most obvious was his exaggerated reaction to a question about Leonard's eye.
"I plan on hurting him - I want to hurt him," Hagler said. "I plan on hurting Sugar Ray Leonard. I want to hurt him bad. I want to smash his eyeball out. I want to knock his head. I want to rip his brains out. Seriously."
Promotional rhetoric had crossed the boundary of bad taste, particularly considering public apprehension over Leonard's eye. It was atypical of Hagler, and suggested deep misgivings about a sensitive issue. One of his earliest opponents, Sugar Ray Seales, a 1972 Olympic gold medalist, had been legally blind since 1983 as a result of boxing, and had spoken out against Leonard's return to the ring.
The eye issue had everybody on edge, including Leonard. Before now, detached retinas had been deemed career ending.
"It was a very emotional time for the boxing industry - to allow this to happen," recalled Duane Ford, then chairman of the Nevada Athletic Commission. "So many people were so prejudiced against a fighter who had a detached retina. It was like saying a guy had AIDS."
The five-member Nevada Athletic Commission, under the scrutiny of Gov. Richard Bryan, had put Leonard through extensive tests in October before it approved the bout by a 3-2 vote.
Lobbied by Nevada, the World Boxing Council convention had overturned its ban on fighters with detached retinas, and sanctioned the championship bout by a single vote.
Still, many opposed the bout, in outspoken terms.
"Whether Sugar Ray wins or loses he will be hurting himself as well as doing great damage to the sport he loves," wrote Jose Torres, chairman of the New York State Athletic Commission, and a former light heavyweight champion.
Dr. Ferdie Pacheco, NBC's "Fight Doctor" and Ali's former physician, wrote, "This match endangers the eyesight of Leonard, as well as his life, and makes a mockery of the credibility of any boxing commission that sanctions it."
Gil Clancy, the trainer-turned-TV commentator, said, "You can't tell me you operate on his eyes and later on he
can see fine."
The chairman of Nevada's medical advisory board, Dr. Charles Filippini, resigned in protest over the bout.
Boxing was a $300 million-a-year business in Nevada. Politicians, business owners and athletic commission members understood the potential economic consequences if Leonard were seriously hurt.
"The governor never led me to do it or not to do it," Ford recalled. "The only thing he said to me was, 'Duane, make sure you're right.'"
All of this was nerve-jangling background noise to both camps. Leonard refused to answer questions about his eye. Perhaps if he had talked openly about it, explained the repair in medical terms, and reassured media and fans, he could have defused the issue. In his silence he encouraged mystery and fear, and left Hagler to deal with it.
"The most important psychological warfare Leonard waged was about his eyes," said Goldings, Hagler's attorney. "He wanted Marvin to have a concern in the back of his mind about blinding him. He knew how decent Marvin was, and how he wouldn't want that legacy."
Hagler's harsh invective continued. Leonard was a "phony," a "copycat," and a "built machine."
"When Ali left, they gave it all to Leonard," he said. "They gave him Ali's trainer. They gave him Ali's style, strategies...He doesn't even have his own name. They gave him Sugar Ray Robinson's name."
Those close to Hagler knew the invective masked a conundrum. Try as he might, he could not objectify Leonard, as he had most other opponents, with the exception of Duran. He had befriended Leonard, and now he could not summon the requisite spleen.
"He didn't have the anger or hate - it just wasn't there," recalled Betty Whitney.
At the outset of his final week at Palm Springs, 13 days before the bout, Hagler did not spar on consecutive days, and his roadwork was reduced. Goody Petronelli explained that Hagler was "too fine" in his conditioning and needed to taper off. Media speculated that Hagler had peaked too early, or had caught a cold and needed rest.
When Hagler resumed sparring it was in private. Hagler and the Petronellis had learned of J.D. Brown's spy mission and were miffed. Hagler's workouts would be closed until the bout, eleven days hence.
At Hilton Head Island, Trainer denied that he or Leonard had knowledge of a spy mission.
Cryptically, Trainer added, "We know exactly what Hagler is doing."
Chapter 14
1987: Every Guest a Caesar
Leonard arrived in ancient Rome, aka Vegas, on March 30, a day before Hagler. Both were chauffeured to the front steps of Caesars Palace, where trumpets blared a fanfare, a nubile Cleopatra took their hand, and a costumed emperor intoned, "I, Julius Caesar, extend a royal welcome to one of boxing's legendary champions."
The juxtaposition of casino and stadium, boxers and hustlers, was ever curious. The most Spartan of sports had chosen the most decadent of cities in which to be displayed. Specifically, it had chosen a hotel and casino that was called Caesars, and not Caesar's, because every guest was considered a Caesar. It was a casino where the ceilings were vacuumed at dawn, statuesque blondes and statues of Roman gods adorned the expansive pool, daredevils on motorcycles flew over and into huge fountains, and the Sports Book took nine kinds of bets on a fight.
Caesars was king of The Strip in the last days before the mega-resorts. This was to be Caesars' 44th world title bout since its first in January 1978, when Roberto Duran stopped Esteban DeJesus, and its most lucrative. The 15,336-seat stadium had sold out in 16 days, at an average ticket price of $513 (high $700 and low $100) for a live gate of $7.9 million. The live gate would be larger than the total gate of the Super Bowl, held two months earlier at the 104,000-seat Rose Bowl in Pasadena, Calif. Another 6,100 seats were sold for closed-circuit viewing in the Caesars showroom. Six other hotels sold 21,500 seats for the closed-circuit telecast.
(c) Las Vegas News Bureau
Caesars Palace, circa 1986.
The population of Clark County (616,000) was three times what it had been in 1967 and one-third what it would be in 2007. It would expand by more than 10 percent when 57,494 hotel rooms were filled before the fight. There were 1,100 credentialed media alone. Before this, the largest media assemblage had been 780 for the Hagler-Mugabi bout. Media came from 31 countries, necessitating three translators in the pressroom, located in a pavilion behind the casino and adjacent to the stadium in the parking lot.
The city that billed itself as the Entertainment Capital of the World was wired. Ol' Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra, was at the Golden Nugget with Jan Murray. Kool & The Gang played Caesars, Willie Nelson the Circus Maximus, and Della Reese the Four Queens. Roseanne Barr, Father Guido Sarducci, Janie Fricke, T. G. Sheppard, Alan King, Redd Foxx, Paul Anka, and Engelbert Humperdinck were at various venues. Nostalgia buffs could catch Sammy Davis Jr. and Jerry Lewis at Bally's. Caesars announced that Jay Leno, who had opened strongly for Patti LaBelle in January, would be brought back as a headliner in the summer. Slot players at the Hilton, on Tuesdays through Thursdays, could win a complimentary pass to see Wayne Newton. A local entertainment columnist, Pete Mikla, wrote, "Barry Manilow dropped by the Crystal Room at the Desert Inn to catch the Suzanne Somers show Wednesday night." Hungry revelers could dine on filet mignon and crab legs for $6.95 at the Maxim Hotel and Casino.
Little of the above mattered to Hagler and Leonard in their final week of preparation, though Hagler seemed more in the spirit of the city, playful and energized. On his first day in Vegas Hagler banged on the door of Johnny Tocco's Ringside Gym, a small and rundown but venerable landmark. "Warden, warden, let me in," shouted Hagler. "I can't take this cruel world anymore."
Johnny Tocco, the crusty 60-something owner, greeted Hagler and helped him set up to train. Hagler had been at Tocco's since his 1979 bout with Antuofermo, and preferred its intimacy to the larger gyms. Tocco, a Hagler favorite, was given a special T-shirt not available to the public. On the T-shirt was a drawing of Hagler, arms raised, with one foot on Leonard's chest. It read: "The Champion. No Mercy."
Hagler wore a hat with the lettering "War II," but in fact his mood was not warlike. He stayed at Caesars, in a suite flanked by rooms occupied by the Petronellis, secluded from the casino but close enough to the Strip for evening walks. One day he and the Petronellis toured the Bonnie Springs Ranch, a local petting zoo and Wild West attraction on the outskirts of Vegas. He petted goats and buffalo and was drawn to the pigeons, his fascination since youth. They viewed a mock hanging at the Old West town, wherein a hooded "victim" was placed in a noose upon a platform, and a trap door was released, but a special harness prevented him from actually hanging. "Don't get me near that thing," Hagler cracked.
(c) 1987 Globe Newspaper Company
Hagler called the Leonard bout "War II." His epic 1985 knockout of Thomas Hearns had been "War I."
One evening Hagler and Pat Petronelli walked past Circus Circus - a Strip hotel and casino that featured circus acts - when an elephant was led outside for air. "I want to pet it," Hagler said, and proceeded to do just that, sticking his hand close to the elephant's mouth. When Hagler walked away the elephant followed him for a few steps, until retrieved by its handler.
On April 1 Hagler let himself into Pat Petronelli's suite at 7 a.m. and rousted Petronelli from bed. "Wake up - you got a telephone call," Hagler shouted. "All your horses got out of the corral."
As Petronelli, who raised horses at his Hanover, Mass., home, groped for the phone, panic-stricken, Hagler cackled, "April Fool."
That afternoon, Hagler's relaxed demeanor was on display before the assembled media at Caesars' indoor pavilion. A reporter asked a follow-up question to a reference Hagler had made to Leonard's ego.
Reporter: "When you say Leonard has an ego, does that mean you think you've got what he wants?"
Hagler: "What do you think?"
Reporter: "I know what I think. I want to know what you think."
Hagler: "No, what do you think?"
Reporter: "I think you think so."
Hagler: "Yeah, I thin
k so. That's why I know you know what I think - that I think so."
After the laughter died down, Hagler's mood began to turn. He vowed that he would not be inhibited by Leonard's eye, and declined to reveal his tactical plans, though he hinted, "You don't know - I might out-box him."
An inevitable question about Leonard's greater fame, and whether the fight was an opportunity to turn the tables, awakened his deep, and lately dormant, sense of victimization. Jealousy and sarcasm welled up.
"I remember when Ray was making all the money and Ray was this and Ray was that," he said. "People said I missed out because of the fact that I wasn't colorful enough. I didn't have the charisma; I wasn't marketable. I didn't have the showboating type of personality.
"But look at me now.
"I think he's on an ego trip. He sees me doing very good. Here's all the press, here's all the attention, here's my name in every household. People recognize me as that bald-headed fighter."
Apprised that Leonard's co-trainer, Janks Morton, had predicted he would look like "an amateur" in being knocked out, Hagler bristled.
"How can I look like an amateur when I got more knockouts than he's got fights?" said Hagler. "Just because he won the gold medal and was America's sweetheart doesn't necessarily mean I'm a bum.
"But that's good. I like that - it means they got all the confidence. It means they're going to show up. Don't get 'em all discouraged. I'm trying to keep this man under control so he shows up. Jeez, I got all this money I've got to make."
Meanwhile, Leonard's demeanor was anything but playful and relaxed. He was quartered in a home at a private country club with Dunlap and a couple of security aides. His parents, who had a room at Caesars, complained that they were not allowed to cook for him. When Leonard asked Tocco if he could train at his gym, he was refused, because he had stood up Tocco a few months earlier, and left him waiting at the gym.
Sorcery at Caesars: Sugar Ray's Marvelous Fight Page 12