Brutal_ The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob - Kevin Weeks [8]
My father had certainly made sure that all three of us boys were able to use our hands to take care of ourselves in the ring as well as in the street. He never trained us in boxing or put us through the paces like learning how to jump rope and hitting the heavy bag and the speed bag. But at home he made sure we had good wind and good footwork and knew the basics, like how to throw a jab, a straight right hand, and a left hook. The biggest thing he did for my boxing was to get me up at six in the morning to go for a run. His rule was simple: If you don’t run, you don’t box. So from age twelve on, I woke up at six every morning, 365 days a year, regardless of the weather, and began the day with a three-mile run, usually in the park near Old Colony. Then I would get ready for school. My brothers ran, too. It was the best way to build up your wind.
Billy, who was eight years older than me, was the purest boxer of all of us, a completely natural boxer who won more than 108 fights. For each of his amateur fights, which he fought all over the country, he made about $25, which was enough to pay for his gas, tape, wrap, and stuff like that. Billy was so good no one could even touch him. He outclassed everyone.
Billy was offered a $17,000 contract to go pro when he was eighteen, a huge amount of money in 1966, but he wanted to go to college. That same year, Sugar Ray Robinson saw him fight in the New England tournament. Fighters came from all over New England to fight in that tournament, which was held in the old Boston Garden. Then you fought all your fights in one night, and could end up fighting as many as seven fights in one night if you kept on winning. Today, fighters fight one fight a week. After Billy won that tournament, Robinson went into the dressing room and spent forty-five minutes talking to him about boxing. My father and Billy’s trainer, Johnny Woods, were there, too. Robinson told Woods that Billy was the best amateur fighter he had ever seen.
Billy also won that tournament the next two years, as well as the Golden Gloves Open Division in Lowell for three years. Two of those years he was awarded the outstanding fighter award in both those tournaments. Billy had the perfect temperament for boxing. In the ring, he was always in control of himself and his emotions. My father was proud of Billy and rarely missed one of his fights. I went, too, and also used to watch him spar at the local gyms like the Baby Tigers gym on Washington Street, near Boston City Hospital, or the McDonough Gym in South Boston on East Fourth Street, ironically right behind the South Boston District Court. A large number of good fighters came out of South Boston, but Billy was one of the best.
Johnny was a great boxer, too, and won twenty-nine amateur fights. But unlike Billy, he didn’t have the disposition for boxing. He’d get mad in the ring, which was never good. Then he would lose his composure and try to hurt the other fighter. He would turn violent, like he was fighting in the street. I had a violent streak, but when I was boxing I didn’t forget the fundamentals of boxing. You just never got mad in the ring.
I would never be the pure natural boxer that Billy was, but I won my fair share of matches. I have excellent hands, which is just part of my physical build. I also have big shoulders and big arms and was considered the heaviest hitter of the three of us. Being able to punch hard was a big advantage in the ring. I was a boxer-puncher. I could box, but I could also hit hard. I had good instincts and loved the sport. And I started early. When I was six, I won the Boys Club boxing championship, and at seven the South Boston Baby Gloves tournament. Baby Gloves was always held on St. Patrick’s Day, and everyone