Hands of Stone - Christian Giudice [39]
In March 1972, Carlos Eleta’s boxer Alfonso “Peppermint” Frazer was due to challenge champion Nicolino Locche for the world title. Eleta had met Arcel twenty years earlier, when the American helped to train a talented Panamanian lightweight called Federico Plummer. “Then, after many, many years, I get Peppermint Frazer and Duran,” said Eleta. “I have a chance for Frazer to fight for the championship of the world with a fellow from Argentina. So then I tried to contact Ray. I called Teddy Brenner at Madison Square Garden to get in touch with him.
“Brenner said, ‘Forget about it, Ray is retired and having problems with the mafia.’ They tried to control him, but they couldn’t because Ray was a very honorable person. As soon as I talked to him he said, ‘It’s been a long time Carlos, what can I do for you?’ I told him, ‘Well, I have a fighter who is fighting for the championship of the world and I need you for that fight.’ Ray told me he would do anything for me, under one condition, that he wouldn’t charge me a penny. That was Ray Arcel. I had so much respect for that man. He was a very strong man. The mafia tried to get to him, but they couldn’t.”
Arcel took the job. It was a tall order. The champion, Locche, was a chain-smoker possessed of uncanny defensive skills, with over 100 wins to his name. Not for nothing was he known as “the Untouchable.” About twenty days before the bout, Arcel arrived to bring Frazer to a peak. Though he couldn’t speak Spanish, he was fluent in the language of boxing and his mind was sharp as a tack.
With him came Freddie Brown. While the sharp-featured Arcel could have been mistaken for a university don, Brown, a “mere” sixty-seven, was a cornerman straight from central casting, a stocky, flat-nosed, cigar-chomping pug with the “dese, dem and doze” accent of the Lower East Side. A peerless cutman, he combined the patience of long experience with the blunt speaking of a man who knows his trade.
Peppermint Frazer had already received some helpful advice from Ismael Laguna, who was now tragically in the grip of sickle-cell anemia and was fading away from the sport. “I talked to Laguna, who beat up Locche for ten rounds but didn’t get the decision,” said Frazer. “He told me not to shoot at his head because I’d miss and tire myself out. Instead, I had to shoot at his shoulders and chest and wear him down.”
Ray Arcel was also at work. He managed to watch a Locche training session by “dressing like a Panamanian,” donning dark glasses and a Panama hat, and drawing on his vast memory bank, immediately spotted that Locche’s style was reminiscent of Johnny Dundee, a featherweight from the Twenties. He went back and told Frazer not to follow if the champion retreated and tried to draw him to the ropes: “Just stand there and look at him. Don’t do anything.” This would negate Locche’s counter-punching style.
The plan worked to perfection for fifteen rounds. Not known as a knockout puncher, Frazer disrupted the champ with skill and intelligence. “In, out, in, and out, I just left his head alone and I would just shoot a straight right once in a while,” said Frazer, savoring the memories. “I did just what Laguna told me.” When the final bell sounded, Panama rejoiced. It was March 10, 1972, and Frazer was champion of the world. “That day was like a carnival,” said Frazer. “Oh, they treat you like a king: All the women, the money, everything. So many new friends you didn’t know you had. But it depends what type of person that you are. Some people can’t live without the fame.”
Unfortunately, those same fringe benefits that all champs savor only lasted seven months as Frazer lost his title to the wonderfully skilled Colombian Antonio Cervantes. “I tried to get inside against Cervantes, but he had a long reach and kept me off him,” Frazer said. “They said in