Bobby Pacho

Bobby Pacho. Circa 1931

California State Lightweight Champion

By Hap Navarro

Those of us who were around California boxing back in the 1930s can never forget the ability, the boxing class, the scrapping nature of Bobby Pacho, a Yuma, Az. lightweight who broke into the pro ranks while working as a farm mechanic in El Centro, Ca.

The BoxRec archives show him being from Cleveland, Ohio. Not so. Nor did he start as a pro in 1929. His early bouts, most of them at El Centro, Ca., took place in 1928, some of which he fought as Kid Mexico. I have his early bouts somewhere among my debris; when I ferret them out I will credit them accordingly.

Bobby's record at first sight is nothing to excite one. But in reality the lad had two careers----one early on, when he showed a lot of promise ending in the mid-1930s, and the sunset years, when he became more of an opponent than a stellar attraction. His arc seemed to peak when he pressed Champion Barney Ross to the limit in L.A. in defense of his Jr. Welter Title in 1934.

Bobby was but one of a wealth of fine lightweights active at time in our state. Cecil Payne, Hector McDonald, Tod Morgan, Yg. Peter Jackson, Frankie Klick, Goldie Hess, Kenny LaSalle, Johnny Lamar, and Santiago Zorrilla kept things hummng in the division. And Pacho stood above the lot by winning the state title from Tod Morgan in 1931 before losing it to Yg. Peter Jackson the following year.

He was managed by Bert Morse, who was also Baby Arizmendi's first manager, ahead of Cal Working.

hap navarro

How I Met and Became Best Friends with John Martinez - By Frank Baltazar Sr.

My late Best friend, John Martinez

In the early summer of 1968 I was holding a meeting at the Teamsters Gym to plan our Jr Golden Glove tournament, a new group of guys, John was among them, came to our meeting, said they were with the AAU, their leader, Tony Cerda told us that we needed to have the AAU sanction our Jr GG tournament and that they, the AAU, would run the tournament, John was one of the guys pushing hard to get me out as tournament director, I told them that they were welcome to enter their boys in the Jr. GG tournament if they liked, (they did) but, I told them I was running the tournament, that I had been running it for the last four years, their ploy didn't worked, I run the tournament in 1968 and did so for another six years after that. After that I would see John around town, he lived close to me at the time, he had a youth boxing club and he was having a benefit dance for the club at the local handball club, Connie and I decided to go to the dance, when John seen me there he looked at me like,
"what are you doing here?"
After a beer or two we started talking, after that everytime we would run into each other we would talk, soon we were visiting each others home, going out to dinner with the wives, one time during dinner John started laughing and he tells me,
"You know I didn't like you before I met you" through the years John, Bea and Connie and I became best friends.

In mid-1994 John was diagnose with cancer (Leukemia), at that time Connie and I were living in San Diego, one day I received a phone call from John's wife Bea, she told me about John having cancer and that the doctors had told John that he had less then a year to live, we invited John and Bea to come down to San Diego and spent some weekends with us, (They were living in Lake Elsinore), which they did, one weekend in late 1993 we drove down to Puerto Nuevo in Baja, so that John, Bea and Connie could have lobster (Not me, don't like seafood), while we were eating I ask John if he would like a beer or a drink, he told me the doctors told him not to drink alcoholic beverages, I then asked John,
"What else did the doctors tell you?"
"Not to smoke and to kiss my ass goodby" said John
"John" I said "the doctors told you not to smoke and you're still smoking like a train, so have a drink"
He did, then had another one, after that we hire a mariachi for the rest of the day and nite, John had the mariachi sing "De Colores" more times that I can remember, we had a good time reminiscing about our boxing travels.

John died in May of 1994.

See you later, dude...

Jimmy Robertson, Duran and "Gordon Shaw's Gym"

By Rick Farris

In the 1960's-70's, there was a well known boat dealership in Hawthorne, California.
"Shaw's Boat & Marine" was located on Rosecrans Ave. just east of the (405) Fwy.

Shaw was one of the South Bay's most successful businessmen. He was also a boxing manager.
One of Shaw's boat mechanics had been his best fighter, lightweight Jimmy Robertson.
Robertson was one of those tough, raw boned warriors who had an unorthodox style, a big punch and strong chin.
He would be the first lightweight contender to challenge the great Roberto Duran for the World title.

I didn't meet Jimmy Robertson until after he and I had both quit boxing, although he fought my stablemate, Ruben Navarro, twice.
In 1976, I was living in Manahatten Beach and a friend of mine wanted to try boxing as an amateur.
Manhatten Beach was right next to Hawthorne, and I remembered that Shaw had a boxing gym behind his boat store.
I located the gym for my friend and we drove down to check it out.

Shaw's Marine was easy to find and after parking we went around back and found the entrance to the gym.
When I stepped thru the door of the small gym, I see a good sized ring, a couple of heavy bags hanging, two speed bags, a double-end bag, room to jump rope or shadow box in front of mirrors on the walls.

The gym had a good feel to it. It was the real deal. Posters on the walls, many featuring the bouts of Shaw's greatest boxer, Robertson.
It was swept clean and maintained, but still had that "sweat on the walls" atmosphere.
I liked it, and I liked Shaw's chief amateur trainer, a guy named Jim Walsh.
This would be a good place for my friend to learn, and if he wanted to have a couple amateur bouts, he could do so thru this club.

I knew that his career would be a short one, so no use taking him to the Main Street Gym. No use breaking his heart on day one.
After setting my friend up with Jim Walsh, I looked around the gym and saw a sign painted on the wall in big letters:

"MR. SHAW WILL PROVIDE EVERYTHING BUT THE GUTS & THE GAS"
Yeah, this was a boxing gym.

I see a guy step in thru the back door wearing a mechanics uniform, I recognized him immediatly.
It was "Irish" Jimmy Robertson.

i walk over to the former lightweight contender and introduce myself. "I remember you", he tells me.
We fought on a couple Olympic cards together a few years back.
Jimmy and I talk awhile, and I introduce him to my friend, who was working as a bouncer in a Manhatten Beach Bar.

A couple weeks later, my friend and Jimmy have struck up a friendship.
My friend gets Robertson a job working as a bouncer at "Brennan's Pub", which happened to be my watering hole of the day.
This gives me a chance to visit with Jimmy Robertson, who shares a great story about his title fight with the great Duran in Panama.

Robertson said he felt anything but welcome when he was in Panama.
His memores of the title fight are simple . . .
"In the second round, Duran and I exchange rights. His lands, mine doesn't."
"The last thing I remember is laying in a hospital bed with my front teeth knocked out."

Jimmy then said, "look at this . . ."
He pulled his two flase front teeth out of his mouth and suddenly looked like a vampire with fangs.
"That's what Duran did. 'Hands of Stone' is no joke. Nobody hits like Roberto Duran."

I shared my experience with Duran at the Main Street Gym.
After all that, it was time for a drink. We toasted Roberto Duran.


-Rick Farris

Paul Williams Beats Winky Wright

“I’m hot,” Paul Williams said. “Somebody is going to have to step up to the plate if they want to eat. All of those guys, they’ve got to call me out now. I’m tired of calling people out.”

It's pretty hard to argue with Williams after his one sided beat down of Ronald "Winky" Wright. He was too sharp, too big, and too busy for Wright, who had no answer for Williams in last night's fight.

Factoring in the Antonio Margarito cheating factor: Most of the controversy goes to the Antonio Margarito vs Miguel Cotto fight. Were Margarito's gloves loaded. We'll never really know and the fight will almost assuredly have an asterisk next to it in the record books. But maybe a bigger and more telling question might be Were Margarito's gloves loaded when he fought Williams? If they were, it says a lot more about the Williams fight that the Cotto fight. You have to ask Just how good is Williams really?

Remembering the Teamsters Gym . . .

By Rick Farris

The 1965 Western Region Golden Gloves Championships were televised on KTLA Channel-5 in Los Angeles.

The Championship round of the tournament was held at the Valley Gardens Arena,
an old venue that would hold it's very last boxing match that night.
The following year, the old brick arena located on Vineland Ave. in North Hollywood, at the end of a Burbank Airport runway, would become a warehouse.
Today it's long gone.

I watched the Golden Gloves on TV from the Valley Gardens Arena.
I was anxious to see a hot young heavyweight I was reading about, a guy from Bellflower named Jerry Quarry.

This was the first time I watched amateur boxing.
I didn't know anything about the boxers, managers, trainers, gyms, promoters who operated out of my hometown.
All I knew about boxing or boxers was the product of the old Friday Night Fights, which generally focused on guys from back east.

I had grown up hearing stories of Art Aragon, Lauro Salas and Keeny Teran from my Uncle Jess.
My uncle was a regular at both the Hollywood Legion and Olympic back in the day, however, the guys he'd tell me about were long gone.

What I would watch on TV this night, would prove to be the start of a new era.
The old one took it's last breath long before Kennedy was shot. The Legion was gone, The Olympic was gasping for air.

However, something new was on the way. Weekly televised boxing from the Olympic, would suddenly pump life into L.A. boxing.
At the same time, a brash young heavyweight champ would pump life into the sport internationally.

On this night, a TV screen would give me a peek into my future.
I would see a man named Johnnie Flores for the first time, working the corner of his heavyweight, Quarry, and few others.

Channel-5 televised the entire show, including the novice division title fights.
From this I would get my first look at guys like Louie Jaureque, Jake Horn, Norm Lockwood, Phil Silvers, Jake Shagrue, Howie Steindler, Gordon Shaw, Jerry Moore & Henry Blouin, and other L.A. handlers.

The tournament featured names like Armando Muniz, Jimmy Robertson, Henry Walker, Quarry, Dub Huntley, Thurman Durden.
They were introduced fighting out of clubs such as the Main Street Gym, Teamsters Gym, the Jake Shagrue Gym, the Johnnie Flores Gym, Stanton A.C., the Seaside Gym in Long Beach, etc.
Ringside announcer Dick Enberg reported that amateur boxing was going strong in Los Angeles.
Gyms were packed and the competition strong. How right he was.

Jimmy Lennon was the ring announcer that night.

In a bantamweight fight, I watch a guy win the title.
His name was Victor "Butch" Contreras and he fought out of the Teamsters Gym.
I had no idea that in a few years, I'd be scheduled to fight this man in a professional bout.
The fight never materialized, he did not show for a morning weigh-in at the Olympic.
However, this was my first introduction to the Teamsters Gym. A Teamsters fighter took the bantam title.
In the next bout, his brother, Davey Contreras would take the featherweight championship.

When I finally started my boxing journey, a few weeks later, I'd soon step thru the doors of the Teamsters Gym for the first time.
This is where I would have my first boxing match.
3-1 minute rounds in a junior amateur bout. My opponent, Armando Cordova. I weighed 75 pounds.

I'd only been training at the Johnnie Flores Gym about three weeks when I stepped into the ring for my first junior amateur fight.
I hadn't been boxing long, but I was ready to fight when Flores asked me if I'd like to box on a junior card at the Teamsters Gym.
I'd meet my trainer, Manny Diaz, and another boxer from our gym at Johnnie's house.
We'd leave from there and meet Johnnie at Teamsters.

I remember the ride downtown that evening.
I was about to have my first fight, but all I could do was try to imagine what the Teamsters Gym would be like.
I remember we traveled down 6th Street in downtown L.A., heading east.
We then jump over to 7th St. and continue on until we come to Stanford Street and turn right.
Looking down the block I could see a crowd filling the sidewalk outside a brightly lit building that looked like some kind of castle.
"That's it", Diaz said. "Now I gotta find a place to park".

We parked on the street around the corner from the gym and walked to the front of the building.
There were a lot of fighters around, old pros with faces laced with scartissue and flattened noses.
They were out front, laughing, talking about the previous nights TV main-event from the Olympic.
There were lots of kids, some wearing gold & blue satin jackets with "Junior Golden gloves Champion" embroidered on the back.

This was the first time I'd laid eyes on the jackets presented to Jr. Golden Gloves Champions.
I wanted one. I was going to have one, some day.

We walked up the steps leading to the corner door of the Teamsters Gym. When I stepped inside, I saw something very familiar.
Have I been here before, is this deja vu?

I looked toward the ring sitting in the middle of an open floor area, surrounded by fold up chairs and benches.
People were claiming their seats, quickly filling those ringside.
There was a balcony walk-way that circled the floor from above.

Where had I seen this? It suddenly hit me!
This was the gym I saw in an old black & white movie, one filmed about the time I was born.
The movie was one of my favorite boxing movies, "The Ring", starring Gerald Mohr and a teenage Rita Moreno.

I wasn't at all nervous, no butterflies, none of what I would later experience before every fight I would have in the future.
I was too green to know that confidence is often ignorance in disguise. I would soon learn the difference between the two.

I hear Johnnie Flores' voice, and turn to see him at the bottom of a stairway leading down to the basement.
Flores was waving to Manny, telling him to bring his two boxers down to weigh-in.
This would be the moment I would see Frank Baltazar for the first time.
Frank was sitting with a few other coaches at a table, they were making matches for the evening.
I step up on the scale and the three matchmakers all looked at my weight. "75 pounds," Louie announces to the others.

Coaches were trying to negotiate their boxer's matches.
"No, he's too heavy for my kid." or "No, he's got too much experience, but he can fight my open class guy, they're about the same size."
Sound familia, Frank?

Frank Baltazar was a young man, not yet thirty. He had jet black hair combed back. His boys were already matched.
I think his oldest son, Frankie Jr. was matched with a kid from Pomona, Armando Davila (?), Albert's younger brother.
Flores is at the table, looking over names, talking with Louie, Frank and Jake.

A moment later he returns to where I am sitting in the seat of an old wooden rowing machine.
"I got you a fight."
"Yeah . . . who am I fighting?"
"That kid in the corner, his name is Armando Cordova.

I look over and see a kid with his trainer. He's pulling on his trunks
Cordova was a Teamsters fighter, about my age, size. He had been boxing for awhile, had some experience.
I didn't care. I was ready to fight, or so I thought.

After the matches were made, and the crowd had settled into their seats, the show began.
As always, the amateurs begin with the lightest boxers and then move up to the heavier boys.
At 75 pounds, I was a good thirty pounds heavier than the Pee-Wees. So my bout would go on somewhere in the middle of the show.
In L.A. by the time you see a 17-year-old in his first official amateur bout, he's likely been fighting in the ring for a decade.

When I finally stepped into the ring for my first fight, my attitude was right. However, three weeks of training wasn't enough to make my conditioning right.
On this night, I would fight the guy hard for two rounds. Holding my own in round one, fighting him in round two but starting to get winded.
Fighting in front of a crowd is different than in the gym. You get more tired in front of people.
In round three, I got my ass kicked. I was out of gas, but hung in and kept punching until the bell.
I took a lot of punches in the last round, didn't land many of my own.
I lost a unanimous decision. I was disappointed, but not discouraged.
I knew exactly what I needed for next time, lots of roadwork.

A month later, I would fight another Teamsters boxer, a black kid who had only one fight, like me.
The bout was held at the Main Street Gym. This time I was very nervous, but I was also in good shape.

I went right to the guy at the bell, caught him with a hard right early, and he went down.
He got up, I went right to him and started landing punches. The fight was stopped and I was awarded a 1st round TKO.

I was now 1-1 against Teamsters boxers.

Over the next five years of my amateur career, I'd fight a lot of boxers representing the Teamsters Gym.
The guys who coached the boxers at Teamsters were all good, guys who created world class boxers in both amateur and pro rings.
They turned out a lot of great boxers over the years, long before and long after my boxing career.

However, the one thing I think of today when I picture the Teamsters Gym, is a scene from the movie, "The Ring".

Filmed in 1952, a young flyweight sensation made a cameo appearance, hitting the heavy bag.
His name was Keeny Teran.

Thanks to my Uncle Jess, I knew who Keeny Teran was.
Today, thanks to Frank Baltazar and Hap Navarro, I really know who Keeny Teran is . . .

A "Classic American West Coast Boxing" legend.


-Rick Farris

The Night I Called Quarry . . .

By Rick Farris


"City please . . ."
"Uh, Bellflower."
"Business or residence?
"Residence."
"What listing?
"Jerry Quarry. Q-U-A-R-R-Y. I don't know the address."
"I have one listing, Jerry and Kathleen Quarry. That number is . . ."

I did it! I actually had the telephone number of Jerry Quarry, the recently crowned 1965 National Golden Gloves Heavyweight Champ.
I watched him on TV, as he defeated Clay Hodges in the Western Region Golden Gloves title match, which sent him to the Nationals.

A couple weeks later, in an article written by Los Angeles Herald-Examiner sports editor, Bud Furillo, I learn that the 19-year-old heavyweight from Bellflower had traveled to Kansas City, with the L.A. Golden Gloves team, and had become the only heavyweight ever to score five consecutive KO's enroute to a National G.G. title.

I could visualize the Irish-American heavyweight, his dark blonde hair brushed back on the sides with a semi flat-top.
Now I was going to call him, and see if I could find out where that gym was in the San Fernando Valley, the one they mentioned on TV.
They said it belonged to Jerry's trainer, the "Johnnie Flores Gym."

The TV announcer mentioned that Jerry Quarry began his career at Flores' gym, when he was seven-years-old.
At the time I was twelve. In my mind, I was five years behind schedule. I wanted what Jerry had.

I dial the number. A moment later I hear it ring. A man answers . . ."Hello."
His voice was unmistakably the same one I'd heard when Jerry was interviewed on TV, a couple weeks earlier.

"Hi, are you Jerry Quarry?
"Yeah."

I was now speaking with a man who would turn professional a couple months later.
His pro debut would be a prelim to the World Featherweight title fight fight between champ Vicente Saldivar and Raul Rojas.
He would quickly become a major box-office attraction in L.A. and would twice fight for the World Heavyweight title.
He'd twice fight the great Ali. He'd twice fight Smokin' Joe Frazier. He'd send Earnie Shavers to the showers in less than a round.
He was the best white heavyweight to step into a ring since Marciano.

I had a dream, and it was Jerry Quarry who helped make it possible.
He told me where I could find it and make it come true.

I was just a kid. I called him in the evening, he didn't know me.
I told him I thought he was good fighter, and congratulated him on winning the National Golden Gloves title.
I asked him about the five KO's. He was kind to me, he appreciated my recognition of his accomplishment.
I told him I lived in Burbank. He told me that he had also lived in Burbank, years ago, near Lockheed Aircraft.
There was no place in Burbank where a kid could box. Jerry suggested the Johnnie Flores Gym before I had a chance to inquire.

"The Johnnie Flores Gym is in Pacoima. I'll give you his phone number."
I wrote down the information and thanked Jerry. I told him I would find a way to see him in his pro debut at the Coliseum (and did).

"Good luck, kid." Jerry said.

The next evening, I would call Johnnie Flores' phone number.
The following day I would begin my boxing career.
Thanks, Jerry.

EYESIGHT TO THE BLIND

By Roger Esty

I think one of a fighter's first signs of realizing that he's slipping is when he comes in second with his jab. I was sitting with Ronnie Wilson and Denny Moyer and the rest of the guys after a training sesiion at the Coliseum when I over heard the two friends discuss the matter.

They lamented the fact that their opponents were timing the punch. When the Irish boys would start their jab their opposition would jump their lefts in their faces before they could connect with theirs. The snap was gone. The jab was heavy.

The futility of it was that they knew there was nothing they could do to recapture the past. Besides, they'd been fighting a long time. They didn't look forward to training anymore. They hoped they just would fight a guy who had no jab. I think that was the punch they worried about the most when they climbed through the rops. The jab,if it was a good one,was somethin' they couldn't see coming until it peppered their pan. The scartissue around their eyes attested to the fact.

It was fun to watch them fight though. It was fun because I knew them. Now,looking back,I wouldn't have seen it that way. From what's been kicked around, both fellas' are hurt as they advance towards old age. There's nothin' they can do about that either. No one can do anything about preventing the aging process,but to bring a hurt fighter into that arena is something I don't like to think about.

Ronnie and Denny probably couldn't see that comin' either.