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By Root 614 0

his greyhound waist to the proximity of a destructive fist. He is reputed to take a good punch to the head, but he seldom has to. When he clinches, it is in the position of a man making a polite bow, with his body in the shape of a question mark. He has weathered many fights with many tough boys since that night in Havana. Nobody hurts him, and he hurts nobody, although he can be humiliating. He gets a lot of points, because he keeps sticking. I can imagine him making a fine fight with a rushing, aggressive fighter—picador and bull. He is no matador, because he never kills. It is a style that makes demands on the bull, too. In the Garden that night, Zulueta had no opportunity to please, because his bull wouldn’t fight. Gonsalves is a tall, skinny boy, though not as tall as Zulueta, and he stands with his body straight up, one foot far forward and the other far back. He holds his elbows almost together, and his forearms, too, are straight up. How he would get out of this interesting position if he had to—perhaps in case of an air raid—I will never know, because I will not see him again if I can help it. That night he didn’t try. Whenever Zulueta delivered more than the union scale of jabs in any one round, Gonsalves would hit his gloves together in well-controlled fury. If Zulueta had ever knocked anybody out, Gonsalves’ caution would be understandable, although no hero should take a match he can’t think of a way to try to win. The fact is, though, that Gonsalves will never find a safer opponent to take a chance with.

A fellow who had sneaked into the row behind me began to sing “Zulueta, gentil Zulueta,” to the tune of “Alouette.” My expert yelled, “Whyn’t ya go back to the Pacific Coast altogether, Gonsalves!” The bout reached its incomprehensible conclusion, like a play with three first acts, and Zulueta received a unanimous decision. I didn’t have to worry about any rush going home. There was no crowding in the aisles, and I hadn’t had to endure any commercials. It was like belonging to a small private club for listening to chamber music, and I decided to ask Mr. Goodman to put me on the free list when his series of sponsored recitals began again.

The Neutral Corner Art Group

In the year 1814 the Castle Tavern, a pub in Holborn, came under the management of Tom Belcher, a scientific pugilist whose “mildness of deportment and gentlemanly behavior entitled him to the peculiar consideration and attention of the fancy in general.” (I quote from Boxiana, the Mille et Une Nuits of the London prize ring.) The institution from then on became a resort of the cognoscenti, or knowing coves. Of the Castle while Belcher held the license, Egan wrote; “Propriety is the order of the day, and no man appears more scrupulously exact in exerting his rights as a landlord … than Tom Belcher … . The inquiring stranger, whom curiosity might have tempted to take a peep at the scientific pugilists, feels not the least restraint in visiting the Castle Tavern.”

I am reminded of Egan’s puff whenever I visit a bar at Eighth Avenue and 55th Street known as the Neutral Corner Cocktail Lounge and Restaurant, Steaks and Chops Our Specialty, Meet Your Favorite Fighters and Managers Here. The Neutral, as its familiars call it, is a few doors north of Stillman’s gymnasium and is patronized chiefly by fight managers, trainers, and boxers, who are locked out of Stillman’s between three and five o‘clock every afternoon, and by ex-boxers, who favor a place where somebody is likely to recognize them. There are two training sessions a day at Stillman’s—from noon to three and from five-thirty to seven. The second one is a concession to the economic difficulties now afflicting the Sweet Science; an increasing number of boxers have to hold daytime jobs to keep going, and can work out only after hours. The boxers in the Neutral, being in training, do not drink; they eat on credit and occasionally, when their managers endow them with spending money, play Shuffle Alley, a table game in which one slides metal discs in the direction of electrically controlled