Chuvalo

by George Chuvalo

  STRONGEST: GEORGE FOREMAN

  I remember getting on the inside against him early in our 1970 fight, and he just shoved me back. Nobody ever did that, before or since. If you stayed close to George you could do okay, but if he made himself some room to pull the trigger, it was usually a short night.

  DEFENSE: JOE FRAZIER

  He was an expert at bobbing and weaving, and he slipped and countered very well, too, especially in the early part of his career. He moved his head extremely well left to right coming at you, fighting out of a crouch. It’s very tough to land a clean shot on a guy who can do that as well as Joe did.

  CHIN: ALI

  Angelo Dundee told me that I had Muhammad hurt and ready to go in the fifth round of our second fight (1972), in Vancouver. I nailed him right on the point of the chin and he wobbled … but I thought he was fooling around. Usually when I hit a guy on the button, something happened. But Ali was able to suck it up and recover.

  WHO HIT THE HARDEST?

  1) MIKE DEJOHN AND GEORGE FOREMAN (TIE)

  DeJohn set a record on the old Friday Night Fights with a one-punch KO of Charley Powell in just 47 seconds. Mike was a real sharp banger with a great uppercut and a real good hook. I don’t remember a thing about getting hit by his right uppercut early in our 1963 fight, but later, when I watched the film, I saw my knees buckle ever so slightly for a split second. I dropped him three times after that and went on to win a majority decision.

  Foreman? Like I always tell people, imagine getting hit by a Mack truck at 50 miles an hour. And that was just his jab!

  2) LYNNE CHUVALO

  No question, my first wife was the pound-for-pound champ when it came to dishing out big hits. Like all married couples, Lynne and I had our fair share of fights, but most of them never went beyond the yelling stage. I say “most,” because on three memorable occasions, she cracked me over the head with—in chronological order—a glass pitcher, a frying pan and … an oar!

  All of those things hurt, but getting thumped by a heavy glass pitcher was the worst.

  It was November 1959, shortly after my bout with Yvon Durelle, and my buddy Chuck Scriver and his girlfriend, Betty, were over at my apartment for a spaghetti and meatball supper. Lynne and I were back together after a short split up, which was mostly my fault—excuse me, entirely my fault. And she wasn’t too pleased about a couple of indiscretions that had occurred during our recent separation, either. Anyway, I was happy to have Chuck and his lady over for a nice, quiet dinner with my wife and my first-born son, Mitchell, who was still in diapers.

  Lynne put out a lovely spread of heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs, and when I asked where the utensils were, she told me to go get them myself. I went to the drawers, intent on pulling out knives, forks and tablespoons, but before I could assemble them properly, I got suckered from behind—thump—a crushing blow on my once-again unprotected skull. She gave me a throbbing, pulsating goose egg, two inches high and still rising. I felt like Deputy Dog in the movie cartoons when he got whomped with a club by an ill-tempered Mrs. Deputy Dog. He’d sport a high-rise reddish goose egg with seven or eight hairs widely spaced out over a stretched lump of scalp.

  I turned around, and Lynne just stood there with a look that said, “What? You’re still standing?”

  In the meantime, Chuck and Betty scurried out the door. (And I never saw Betty again until 2011, some 52 years later, when she and Chuck reunited.)

  Fellow tenants would have heard the pandemonium of screaming and yelling, and I knew the boys in blue would be coming soon. The police showed up after I left and questioned Lynne about what had happened. She told them that there had been just a noisy misunderstanding and that we had patched up our differences. And in a way she was right. Not long after, we made a commitment to stay together because we had a young son and he needed both of us in his life.

  3) MEL TURNBOW

  I remember thinking to myself, “Oooooh, that was a good one!” after Turnbow cracked me with a big right hand at Montreal’s Paul Sauve Arena in 1966.

  MY FAVORITE MEMORY OF TEDDY McWHORTER

  His pure, unadulterated joy after I knocked out Jerry Quarry in 1969. The fight was all but lost, but then I landed the big left hook that snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. When Quarry was counted out, Teddy started jumping up and down in the corner, yelping and howling with unbridled emotion. It was like we’d reached our pinnacle. I remember thinking about how in the early days we’d sit in Glen’s Pharmacy next door to the gym in Detroit and play “Our Day Will Come” by Ruby and the Romantics on the jukebox. It was like our theme song.

  Teddy’s two big dreams were for me to win the world championship and for him to open a hot dog stand (he claimed to have a secret recipe that would make him a millionaire). He died in 2003 at the age of 89, and I still miss him.

  FANTASY FIGHTS I WOULD PAY TO SEE

  JOE LOUIS VS. MUHAMMED ALI

  Guys who stood in front of Joe and didn’t move too much were in a lot of trouble, but he always had problems with stick-and-move guys—just look at his fights with Billy Conn and Jersey Joe Walcott. Ali was a lot bigger and punched much quicker than either Conn or Walcott—and he moved like a gazelle. I don’t think Muhammed would have had any problem handling the Brown Bomber, either by late stoppage or unanimous decision.

  SONNY LISTON VS. GEORGE FOREMAN

  Explosive punching power puts both these guys on my list of the all-time top-10 heavyweights. They worked as sparring partners and were very familiar with each other’s style, but in a real fight I’d give a slight edge to Liston—at least against the young version of Foreman. But in the incredible comeback George put together to regain the title after a 10-year layoff, he became a far more patient puncher while still being deadly accurate. It’s conceivable that an older George could handle Sonny. Either way, a KO would end it.

  SUGAR RAY ROBINSON VS. SUGAR RAY LEONARD AT WELTERWEIGHT

  As great as Leonard was, I can’t see this fight being more than mildly competitive. At his peak, Robinson was the greatest pound-for-pound boxer who ever lived—and he could beat you any way you wanted to fight. Nobody was slicker or quicker, but he could also stand his ground and brawl with the best of them. Leonard was a brilliant tactician and no slouch in the speed department, but I think he’d come up on the short end of a lopsided decision.

  TONY ZALE VS. MARVIN HAGLER AT MIDDLEWEIGHT

  The original Man of Steel versus The Marvelous One would be the ultimate war of attrition. Zale was a murderous body puncher who wore down his opponents before delivering the coup de grace, while Hagler ranks as one of the greatest southpaw punchers in any division. In my opinion, that would be the deciding factor. Marvin was a master at switching from southpaw to orthodox and back to southpaw without interrupting his punching rhythm, and that would be enough to eke out a narrow verdict.

  Here are my all-time pick ’em bouts. On any given night either guy could win—and they’d all be entertaining as hell:

  JACK DEMPSEY VS. MIKE TYSON

  Dempsey wasn’t big, but he was a relentless puncher, just like Mike. With both guys firing their heavy artillery right from the opening bell, this one wouldn’t last long. If I had to pick a winner, I’d go with Tyson because he was so good at overwhelming his opponents with non-stop pressure—especially early on.

  IKE WILLIAMS VS. ROBERTO DURAN AT LIGHTWEIGHT

  Williams’s ferocious left hook vs. Duran’s guile and iron will. What a matchup! This one would likely produce multiple knockdowns because neither guy would take a step backwards.

  HENRY ARMSTRONG VS. MANNY PACQUIAO AT WELTERWEIGHT

  Arguably the two greatest multidivision champions in boxing history. At a time when there were only eight universally recognized titles, Homicide Hank owned three of them, and Pac-Man has cemented his legacy by winning lineal world championships in four weight classes. If they fought 100 times, it would probably be close to an even split.

  IF I HADN’T BEEN A FIG
HTER …

  I would’ve liked to become a criminal lawyer. I imagine that fighting to save people in court—even the guilty ones—must be pretty exhilarating. The only ex-fighter I know who became a criminal lawyer is Willie de Wit, who won a silver medal at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics and went on to become Canadian heavyweight champion as a pro. He practices law in Calgary, Alberta, and says there are a lot of similarities between fighting in the ring and fighting in the courtroom.

  Being a surgeon would be very rewarding, too. Only God is more powerful than a surgeon.

  FAVORITE BOOKS

  I’ve always appreciated the written word, and I still try to spend at least part of every day reading, whether it’s a newspaper, a magazine or a good book (mostly nonfiction). Some of my favorites over the years have been The Prophet, by Khalil Gibran; The True Believer, by Eric Hoffer; and The Presidential Papers, by Norman Mailer.

  FAVORITE MOVIES

  A FACE IN THE CROWD (1959)

  In his first big-screen appearance, Andy Griffith is sensational as an Arkansas hobo who’s transformed into an overnight media sensation by Patricia Neal.

  Requiem FOR A HEAVYWEIGHT (1962)

  You knew there had to be a boxing movie on my list! This one kind of combines the sagas of Primo Carnera and Luis Firpo, and the all-star cast, led by Jackie Gleason, Mickey Rooney and Anthony Quinn, includes cameo appearances by a couple of guys I fought: a very young Cassius Clay (in the opening scene) and South American champ Alex Miteff.

  RETURN TO PARADISE (1998)

  Starring Vince Vaughn, Anne Heche and Joaquin Phoenix, this tale of friendship against the backdrop of the Malaysian drug trade really hits home.

  FAVORITE MUSIC

  I love the blues and country. I’m especially partial to Waylon Jennings, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker and Ray Charles. I loved Elvis when I was a kid, too. As for a memorable song, I think I’d go with “Seven Spanish Angels,” a 1984 release by Ray Charles and Willie Nelson that briefly went to No. 1 on the country charts. I really liked it when it came out, and years later, when I heard it again just before I went to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to work with Johnny Tapia in 1996, I remember thinking it was a premonition that my son Stevie was going to die.

  MY CULINARY EXPERTISE

  I love to cook. I can make stuffed peppers, cabbage rolls, all kinds of stews and sauces, all kinds of fish. I like experimenting with different cuisines: Jamaican, Thai, Greek. A little bit of everything. But I’m no good at cleaning up afterward. I’d like to be a little less messy, because it drives my wife nuts.

  the best places i’ve visited

  Thailand and Bosnia-Herzegovina. The scenery, food and overall friendliness of the people make Thailand one of my favorite destinations. Bosnia-Herzegovina is my ancestral homeland, so it’s always special to be so warmly welcomed by relatives and old family friends.

  FIGHTERS I FOLLOWED AS A KID

  Joe Louis, Sugar Ray Robinson and Willie Pep were three of the best in the business, so I watched them pretty closely. Two other guys I admired were Vince Foster and Eduardo Lausse. Foster was a hard-punching welterweight contender from Chicago who died in a car crash in 1949. Lausse, an Argentinean middleweight, had a murderous left hook and went 75–10–2 from 1947–60. Heavyweight Bob Satterfield was another big puncher I really liked to watch. He had a weird pigeon-toed stance, but he could knock anybody out with either hand.

  REGRETS IN THE RING

  It hurt seeing Ernie Terrell get the decision in our WBA title fight in 1965 because I know in my heart that I won. But balanced against the knowledge that my manager, referee Sammy Luftspring and the judges were muscled and threatened beforehand, I can understand it. If they truly believed they would be roughed up, what other result could I expect?

  The most lingering regret from my career is not getting a shot at the British Commonwealth championship. When I think about how long the Brits rebuffed me—more than 15 years—and how the spineless Canadian Boxing Federation didn’t lift a finger in protest or in any way support my efforts to secure a title shot, it still hurts. Hey, it might even have robbed me of a knighthood!

  MEETING A PRINCE AND A PRESIDENT

  As a Member of the Order of Canada (the country’s highest civilian honor), I was invited, along with my second wife, Joanne, to a reception for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip in Ottawa in 2002. I’d been briefly introduced to the royal couple back in 1968, but this time I got a chance to speak to the prince as he made his way down the receiving line. I thought he looked pretty good for being 80—like an old movie star. As we shook hands, I said, “Prince, I met an old friend of yours a couple of months ago.”

  “Who’s that, George?”

  “Sir Henry Cooper.”

  When he asked if we ever fought each other, I related the story of Cooper’s manager, Jim Wicks, telling me, “Henry doesn’t even want to meet you socially.” The prince responded with a clipped “Ha … ha … ha,” then moved on down the line.

  Back in 1971, the Yugoslavian consulate invited Lynne and me to meet President Josip Broz Tito and his wife, Jovanka, in Ottawa. Prominent Canadian athletes, politicians and business people of Yugoslavian descent were invited, including hockey stars Frank and Peter Mahovlich. The reception was originally planned for Toronto, but after The Globe and Mail ran some stories about possible assassination threats, it was moved to Ottawa. When Lynne and I were introduced, Tito asked where we lived.

  “Toronto,” I replied.

  The president’s people obviously kept him up to speed on what had been happening, because be responded by idly twisting a cigarette holder between his thumb and forefinger as he stared up at the chandelier and muttered, “Toronto … Toronto … Guzva! Guzva! [Turmoil! Turmoil!]”

  Tito’s reaction was so unexpected—and so comical—that I actually started to snicker. If his bodyguards from the Yugoslavian secret police noticed my little indiscretion, they didn’t let on.

  TRAINING AND PROMOTING

  The first fighter I trained and managed after my retirement was Donnie “El Toro” Poole, a pretty good welterweight from Scarborough, Ontario. He was originally managed by my pal Ron DesRoches, who asked me to take a look at the kid. After turning pro in 1980, Poole reeled off a string of quick KOs and looked to be on the verge of going places when he all of a sudden got a big head and wanted out of his contract. To complicate the situation, I never had complete reins on him as far as training, so before long he was gone. Poole eventually signed with Dave Wolf (the guy who later turned Winnipeg’s Don Lalonde into a world champ), but his career went south pretty fast.

  Jimmy Gradson and Razor Ruddock were two other guys I was involved with. Gradson was tough as nails and could really punch, but he was also lazy and couldn’t manage his weight properly. The first fight I ever promoted was between him and crosstown rival Eddie Melo, at 175 pounds. They really didn’t like each other, and the CNE Coliseum was packed when they squared off on May 4, 1982. When Jimmy won on a last-round KO, it was like he was world champion; but he became so enamored with being king of his home turf—Queen and Bathurst—he forgot to train.

  Shortly afterward, Gradson blew a $75,000 payday for a fight on CBS television because he couldn’t make 160 pounds. Then I got a call for him to fight light heavyweight Donny Lalonde in Winnipeg after Lalonde’s scheduled opponent pulled out at the last minute. I didn’t want to take it because Jimmy was 208 pounds and the fight was in eight days, but he assured me he would KO Lalonde. Gradson trained himself down to 183 two days before the fight, but at the weigh-in, after being in a steam bath all night, he looked like a boiled chicken. Lalonde stopped him in 90 seconds.

  I started working with Ruddock in 1985 when Ronnie DesRoches was his manager, and right away I could tell Razor had all the tools to be a world-class heavyweight. Before he beat former champ Mike Weaver in a 10-round decision in 1986, I took Ruddock down to Miami to spar with Larry Holmes, who was training for his title rematch with Mi
chael Spinks. After three days, Larry’s brother gave us our walking papers (“You gotta go’’) because Razor kept beating Holmes to the jab—outjabbing reputedly heavyweight boxing’s greatest jabber.

  Before the Weaver fight, Ruddock had nine months to go on his contract (I had 10 per cent of it), but even then I was telling his manager he should extend the deal. We had a good thing going, and I really believed Ruddock could become a world champion. But people get funny sometimes when it comes to success and loyalty. After Razor beat Weaver, he thought he could knock everybody out, so he just walked away and waited for the contract to expire. He ended up losing back-to-back fights against Mike Tyson five years later, but in my opinion he never came close to realizing his full potential.

  What I went through with Ruddock pretty much soured me on training, and other than joining Murray Greig to work the corner for Canadian light heavyweight champ Danny Stonewalker in his 1990 WBO title bout with Michael Moorer and a later stint with WBO super flyweight champ Johnny Tapia, I never went back to it.