Also by WILLIAM F.

MCNEIL AND FROM MCFARLAND

Black Baseball Out of Season: Pay for Play Outside of the Negro Leagues
(2007; paperback 2012) Red Sox Roll Call: 200 Memorable Players, 1901–2011
(2012)

All-Stars for All Time: A Sabermetric Ranking of the Major League Best, 1876–
2007 (2009) The California Winter League: America’s First Integrated
Professional Baseball League (2002; paperback 2008) Miracle in Chavez
Ravine: The Los Angeles Dodgers in 1988 (2008)

Backstop: A History of the Catcher and a Sabermetric Ranking of 50 All-Time

Greats (2006) The Evolution of Pitching in Major League Baseball (2006)

Cool Papas and Double Duties: The All-Time Greats of the Negro Leagues
(2001; paperback 2005) Visitors to Ancient America: The Evidence for European
and Asian Presence in America Prior to Columbus (2005) Gabby Hartnett: The
Life and Times of the Cubs’ Greatest Catcher (2004) The Single-Season Home
Run Kings: Ruth, Maris, McGwire, Sosa, and Bonds, 2d ed. (2003) Baseball’s
Other All-Stars: The Greatest Players from the Negro Leagues, the Japanese
Leagues, the Mexican League, and the Pre–1960 Winter Leagues in Cuba,
Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic (2000) Ruth, Maris, McGwire and
Sosa: Baseball’s Single Season Home Run Champions (1999) The King of Swat:
An Analysis of Baseball’s Home Run Hitters from the Major, Minor, Negro and
Japanese Leagues (1997)
The Rise of Mike Tyson, Heavyweight
WILLIAM F. MCNEIL

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

Jefferson, North Carolina
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE

BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE

e-ISBN: 978-1-4766-1802-9

© 2014 William F. McNeil. All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by
any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.

On the cover: Mike Tyson before his match with Steve Zouski on March 10,
1986, at Nassau Coliseum in Uniondale, New York (Paul Post)

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640
www.mcfarlandpub.com
 To my wife Janet
who was always there to provide me with
support and encouragement and, along the way,
gave me 64 years of beautiful memories.
 Acknowledgments

I wish to thank all those people who generously contributed to the production of
this book.

In particular I wish to thank Michael Marton, producer of the timeless and

historic television documentary Watch Me Now, the story of Cus D’Amato and
the Catskill Boxing Club. With Mr. Marton’s permission, I have drawn freely
from his material to produce the flavor of Mike Tyson’s early days in Catskill.

Roger Sala, former business executive and boxing manager, captured Cus
D’Amato’s philosophy of life on an audiocassette, which he graciously allowed
me to utilize.

Gunther Hafner, former publisher of the Catskill Daily Mail, permitted me to

draw freely from information on the career of Mike Tyson that appeared in the
Daily Mail.

Many other individuals and organizations also permitted me to draw from their
knowledge of Mike Tyson and the boxing game, including the Albany Times
Union, United Press International, the Berkshire Eagle, the Times Herald-
Record of Middletown, New York, Dardis McNamee, editor of Capital Region
Magazine, People Weekly magazine, and Home Box Office, Inc.

Other sources consulted during the research for this book included the
Springfield Republican, the Boston Globe, the New York Post, the New York
Daily News, Sports Illustrated, Ring Magazine, KO Magazine, World Boxing,
Boxing Scene, WNYT Channel 13 (Albany, N.Y.), WTEN Channel 10 (Albany,
N.Y.), ABC-TV Sports, ESPN, WNYW Channel 5 (New York), the
Philadelphia Inquirer, The Atlantic City Press, Vanity Fair, Time, GQ, Boxing
Illustrated, and The Greene County News.

In addition, I interviewed numerous people who knew Mike Tyson—childhood

friends from Brooklyn, friends from Catskill, boxing associates, trainers,
teachers, and neighbors.
Paul Post, Paul Antonelli, and Teddy Atlas generously provided me with
photographs to enhance the manuscript.

And a special thanks to Sally Talay, formerly of the Catskill Daily Mail, for her
cooperation during my research.
 Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1. From Brownsville to Johnstown

2. The Man—Cus D’Amato

3. The Birth of a Boxer—1980–1981

4. The Quest Begins—1982

5. A Taste of Glory—1983

6. The Fall and Rise of Mike Tyson—1984

7. Assault on the Professional Ranks—1985

8. The Road to the Championship—1986

9. Everest Conquered—November 22, 1986

10. The Unification and Beyond—1987

11. The People’s Champion—June 27, 1988

Epilogue

Appendix: The Complete Amateur and Professional Boxing Record to June

27, 1988
Chapter Notes

Bibliography

List of Names and Terms

 Prologue

“Hey, little fairy boy, you should wear a dress like your sister.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the 1986 Boxer of the Year, the new WBC
heavyweight champion of the world, and the youngest man ever to wear the
crown.”

The little fairy boy and the heavyweight champion of the world have a lot in
common. They are the same person. His name is Mike Tyson.

This is his story.

 1

From Brownsville to Johnstown

The Mike Tyson story began in the Fort Green section of Brooklyn on a hot
muggy day in the summer of 1966. An eight-pound baby named Michael Gerard
Tyson was born on June 30 in Cumberland Hospital, the third child of Lorna
Tyson and Jimmy Kirkpatrick. Lorna Tyson, born Lorna Smith somewhere in
the South in 1930, relocated to Brooklyn after World War II. She married Percel
Tyson when she was very young, but they were subsequently divorced. Lorna
never remarried but she always needed a man, earning her a reputation for being
promiscuous as well as for being alcohol dependent. She met and moved in with
a big, boisterous laborer named Jimmy Kirkpatrick who, according to her son
Mike, may have been a drug dealer and a pimp. Kirkpatrick reportedly had
fathered 16 children with various women, three of them with Lorna: Rodney,
five years older than Mike, Denise, one year older than Mike, and Mike. She
took the Kirkpatrick name even though she never married Jimmy, and after
Jimmy was hospitalized with a heart condition and subsequently deserted her
and the children before Mike was born, she brought home a new boyfriend,
Edward Gillison. As Tyson would note in later years, it was a dysfunctional
family. One of her boyfriends beat her up one day but was soon forgiven when
he returned to the apartment with liquor and cigarettes. Another boyfriend was
thrown out of the apartment after he tried to molest Denise.

Lorna Tyson deserved better than life in the ghetto. The 36-year-old single
mother had her problems but she combed her Brooklyn neighborhoods in search
of opportunity, only to find, like thousands before her, nothing but poverty and
misery in the segregated sewers of the great northern city. With no man to bring
home a regular paycheck, she was forced to subsist as best she could on public
assistance. Still, in spite of the poverty and violence that dominated her world,
she was able to provide the strong mother image that seemed to be the nucleus of
so many black urban families in the 1960s and 1970s. One of Tyson’s friends
said Lorna was a tough lady, given to violent outbursts, and he kept his distance
from her. Be that as it may, Lorna Tyson made a superhuman effort to shield her
children from the evil outside influences that pervaded the crime-ridden New
York City suburb. But her efforts on behalf of her children were only partially
successful. Rodney and Denise survived the violence and degradation that was
part of their life in Brownsville, but young Mike was not as fortunate. Rodney, a
good student, enlisted in the United States Navy after graduation from high
school and continued his education following his discharge, eventually
becoming a physician’s assistant in a Los Angeles trauma center. Mike would
admit in later years to a love-hate relationship with his brother. “I was really
envious of Rodney. I hated my brother. Everybody loved my brother and sister.
They always had more dignity and pride. I was always jealous of them because
they had nothing but everybody in the neighborhood loved them. My brother
was always something and I was nothing.”1 Denise married Roger Anderson,
moved to Queens, and had two children before succumbing to a heart attack in
1991.

Lorna Tyson kept her children by her side as long as possible, and during their
formative years she tried to teach them right from wrong along with respect for
people and for people’s property. Shortly after Mike was born, his brother
Rodney began his association with the hostile outside world, leaving the family
cocoon daily to attend the nearby public school. Mike was left at home with his
mother and his sister Denise, Nisee to her friends, and that situation created
serious problems for Mike when it was his turn to leave the cocoon. He spent
hours playing with his sister in the apartment, and Mike’s gentle nature and quiet
personality were developed during these sessions. Combined with a soft, high-
pitched voice and a lisp, it left him with some effeminate characteristics that
went unmentioned at home but became a source of great embarrassment to Mike
once he came in contact with children outside the home.

When he passed his fifth birthday, the youngest member of the Tyson clan was
cut loose from his mother’s apron strings and cast adrift on the sea of life. The
first few years were a painful and humiliating journey for the youngster. Every
morning he kissed his mother goodbye and set out with his brother Rodney,
books in hand, for school. The classroom instruction was strange and frightening
to young Mike, but he eagerly tried to adapt to the new environment and social
structure. He struggled with reading, writing and the rudiments of mathematics,
leaving him frustrated and bewildered. School was a definite learning
experience, but it was outside school, in the schoolyards and the streets, where
Mike’s real education began.
Mike Tyson’s early school years in Bedford-Stuyvesant were unhappy. He was a
timid, chubby little kid with eyeglasses, who spoke softly and lisped. He was one
of the poorest kids in a poor neighborhood. His clothes were always ragged and
dirty, and his shoes bore holes worn through by previous owners. His small size
and sensitive nature made him the perfect target for the self-appointed school
toughs, particularly the fifth-and sixth-graders who were grooming themselves
for membership in the neighborhood street gangs. It was during this period that
Mike first heard the taunts of “little fairy boy” along the school corridors and on
the sidewalks of Brooklyn. He was also called “Bummy Mike” by the arrogant
Brooklyn bullies. Many days, after school, the beleaguered six-year-old would
run back to the safety of his apartment with tears streaming down his face, and
would cower in a corner until his mother came home to comfort him. One time,
a boy took his milk and his glasses, drank the milk and dropped the glasses into
the gas tank of a parked truck.2

In 1976, the Tyson family moved “cross-town,” four blocks to be exact, to the
Brownsville section of Brooklyn. Brownsville was the stereotypical slum, a
barren, battered, battle zone of abandoned cars, junk-filled fields, and garbage-
strewn streets. Desolate tenements stood like toy soldiers, cold and forlorn, their
plastic-covered windows and boarded-up doors casting a pall over the inner city.
Periodically, the silence was broken by the piercing wail of a siren. Here, a
police cruiser responded to an armed robbery in progress. There, an ambulance
arrived to remove the body of a dead prostitute from Lincoln Terrace Park.
Brownsville became Mike Tyson’s hometown. His first home, on Howard
Street, was a squalid, rat-infested hovel, without heat or running water.
Obscenities decorated the walls and stairwells of the building. Garbage littered
the floor. When summer came, the stench from decaying matter became almost
unbearable. Lorna Tyson tried her best to preserve a semblance of dignity within
the family, but the falling plaster, the broken windows, the roaches and rats,
fought her every step of the way. Within months, the building was condemned. It
was eventually demolished to make way for a new housing development, and the
uprooted Tyson clan moved again, this time to 178 Amboy Street, Apartment
2A, nearby.

As tough as Bed-Stuy was, Brownsville was ten times worse. In fact, it was said
that Brownsville made Bedford-Stuyvesant look like Beverly Hills.3 The taunts
of “little fairy boy” became louder and more frequent in Mike’s new school, and
the bullying and physical beatings became a daily routine. His journeys to
Hopkinson Playground were often interrupted by local bullies who stole his
possessions, then beat him up and chased him home, dirty, crying, and bleeding.
It was about this time that Mike developed an interest in pigeons, commonly
known as “street rats,” as an escape from the squalid world that awaited him in
the streets below. Many of the city kids took up the hobby of raising pigeons on
the rooftops of Brooklyn, to take them away from the dirt and clamor of the city
sidewalks, and free them from the dangers that lurked in every alleyway and
around every corner. Mike captured some pigeons in the city park, stole money
from someone’s house to buy other pigeons, and built a wooden coop atop the
old Vanderbilt Hotel to house them. In time, he assembled a family of almost
100 of the loving birds. When he was with his pigeons, Mike’s innate gentle
nature surfaced and he was at peace with the world. He would sit with his
pigeons for hours, talking to them and sending them skyward to fly in peace over
the squalor of the city. When they were sick he would nurse them, and when it
was cold he would move them inside. Unfortunately, the interludes with his
feathered friends were much too short, and the time spent on the sidewalks of
Brooklyn was much too long. The quagmire of the ghetto dragged him
inexorably downward to a life of violence and petty crime.

The Rattleys were neighbors of the Tysons in Brownsville, and Mike Tyson
stayed with them overnight when he visited Brooklyn years later. Michelle
Rattley remembered that the Tysons were poor, that nine-year-old Mike was big
for his age, and that his clothes were always dirty. Michelle said the quiet
youngster didn’t go to school much. He spent his time mostly “sloppin’
pigeons.” Michelle’s older sister, Dolores, said that Tyson was always a bad kid.
There was a rumor that Tyson and a friend got caught stealing a pigeon. The
friend was hanged off a fire escape and Tyson was almost hanged before help
arrived, but Dolores said nobody got hanged. That was a lie. She said Mike did a
lot of bad things but he was never involved in a murder. Grace Rattley added
that you might not like Mike’s mother Lorna because she was an alcoholic and
she was not a good housekeeper, but she was always good to the kids and stuck
up for Mike. The apartment, however, was cluttered and dirty, and the kids were
never clean. They had to look out for themselves.4

Young Mike Tyson was not yet 11 years old when his life changed abruptly,
thrusting him into the depraved world of the inner city. By this time he had filled
out physically and was bigger than most boys his age. He was short, but stocky,
with a thick neck and broad shoulders. But he still had a gentle and passive
nature, and an inferiority complex to match. That changed quickly when two of
the neighborhood bullies invaded his rooftop domain and stole one of his street
rats. Mike yelled for help. “I said, ‘Mommy, please. They’re taking my birds.’ I
called my mom to help me. One guy took the bird and he just ripped open the
neck, and he just put the bird in my face. Somebody said, ‘Mike, fight him.’ And
I just fought him.”5

For the first time in his life, he attacked someone with his fists. The violent force
of clenched fist against bare skin and bone felt good, and it started the adrenaline
flowing. His body exploded with a burst of energy and he hit the boy again—and
again—and again—releasing years of pent-up frustration. The older boy backed
off, not knowing what to make of this little monster he had set loose. Mike
struck again. His fist crashed against the bigger boy’s face. Blood spurted from
the boy’s mouth. Another punch smashed the boy’s nose, breaking it. The boy
tried to fight back. He flailed away at the half-crazed boy, but Mike walked right
through his punches and continued to batter him with both hands. Finally the
thief had enough and fled, leaving young Tyson bloody and breathing hard but
fully satisfied.6

Mike Tyson had discovered the love of fighting, and things would never be the
same for him. He enjoyed the physical contact and the one-on-one confrontation.
Daily fights became second nature to him—fights with fists, sticks, bricks, or
knives. It didn’t make any difference to him. Physical encounters became part of
Mike’s new world. He himself estimated that he had as many as seven fights a
day.7 As Nisee admitted, “Mike loved beating people up.” One morning Mike
woke up to find that his favorite pigeon, Julius, had died. He planned to bury
Julius but when he went inside to get something, a sanitation worker took the
crate containing the pigeon and put it in the crusher in the garbage truck. An
enraged Tyson raced to the scene too late to recover Julius, so he took his
frustration out on the sanitation worker, knocking him cold with one punch.8

Mike’s stature in the neighborhood grew with each fight. His talent for brawling
eventually brought him to the attention of one of the local street gangs, a group
of fuzzy-cheeked thieves his own age, who got their kicks out of vandalism and
petty crime. Mike and his new buddies entertained themselves in the evenings by
terrorizing late-night pedestrians along Rockaway Avenue and Sutter Avenue.
They also ran roughshod through the subway trains, snatching jewelry and
purses from frightened old ladies as they went. Most inhabitants of Brownsville
dreaded the night. With darkness came the street gangs, and with the street gangs
came the muggings, the rapes, and the murders. The streets of Brownsville were
not safe to walk once the sun went down, so most people stayed inside their
apartments, bolted their doors, lowered the shades, and waited for morning.
apartments, bolted their doors, lowered the shades, and waited for morning.
Better to battle the four-legged rodents inside the building than to challenge the
two-legged variety that roamed Rockaway Avenue. At least the rats wouldn’t slit
your throat for a buck. But even the apartment was no guarantee of safety. The
street gangs also specialized in nighttime burglaries, an activity that almost cost
the 11-year-old Tyson his life. He and his gang concentrated on empty
apartments. Whenever they located a vacant one, they would break in and
ransack the place. On one occasion, however, Mike Tyson entered an apartment
only to find the occupant still inside. The enraged man was waiting for him,
pistol in hand. Mike bolted like a young colt and, as he raced for freedom, a shot
rang out and a .22 slug whistled past his head, narrowly missing him. Mike felt a
sense of relief and elation as he flirted with death and came away unscathed. The
following night found him back on the streets again, in search of more
excitement.

The young hoodlum’s minor league activities soon came to the attention of the
“big boys.” He was invited to join the neighborhood street gang, the “Jolly
Stompers,” an organized group of young thugs, 15 and 16 years old, who
satisfied their lust for power and recognition by committing an assortment of
vicious crimes throughout Brooklyn. Mike was honored to be offered
membership in such a notorious group and jumped at the opportunity even
though he was four or five years younger than most other gang members.
Overnight he became a celebrity at school, but one to be feared rather than
admired, a member of a brutal street gang at the tender age of 12. As Mike
admitted later, he entered into this lifestyle with his eyes wide open. He knew
the sad consequences of his actions, but his sensitive nature and lack of self-
esteem left him yearning for recognition by his peers, and he was willing to pay
the price for that recognition, no matter how steep.

Mike’s education immediately took a new turn. Instead of math, he learned the
art of picking pockets from the experts. He learned to size up a prospective
victim to determine where his valuables were hidden. He became adept at
selecting an optimum location to commit the act, a location that was crowded
and noisy so the victim wouldn’t notice the delicate feel of his wallet leaving his
pocket. Nisee once boasted that her brother was the best thief in New York.
Rodney tried to qualify that statement. He said that Mike had been volatile since
his encounter with the pigeon thief, but that as long as he was doing something
with his hands besides putting them in other people’s pockets, his family was
happy. Unfortunately, Mike was headed down a different path. When he decided
on a criminal career, he dedicated himself completely to learning his trade. This
on a criminal career, he dedicated himself completely to learning his trade. This
ability to make a commitment to a goal and follow it through to completion
would be a key ingredient in Mike’s quest for boxing’s heavyweight
championship years later. But for now, he mastered the art of mugging from a
professional standpoint, learning to rob people at knifepoint and vanish from the
scene almost instantly.

He learned all the ins and outs of planning and carrying out an armed robbery,
from selecting a prosperous establishment like a check cashing store or a drug
house, to determining when the establishment would have the most money and
when police units normally patrolled the area. Each member of the gang had a
specific job to do, and since Mike was the baby of the group at 12, he was
generally given the job of bagman, holding the sack open while the gang
members filled it with loot, or cleaning out the cash register while the older
members held the victims at gunpoint. Some gangs became skilled at breaking
into parked automobiles and stripping them clean in a matter of minutes. The
precision and coordination with which these local gangs worked would make
Tony Kanaan’s Indianapolis pit crew blush with envy.

These were special years in the life of Mike Tyson. They were years filled with
pain and violence, but they were also years of happiness and satisfaction. As
Mike Tyson grew in size, he became a leader in the neighborhood. He was no
longer the victim. Now he was the aggressor. He wasn’t called “little fairy boy”
or “Bummy Mike” anymore. Now he was addressed as Mr. Mike Tyson. He no
longer wandered helplessly through his environment. Now he controlled it. At
12 years old, Mike Tyson “owned” Rockaway Avenue and nearby Bristol Park.
He ran with a tough crowd, and he was the meanest of the lot. In his few short
years as a juvenile delinquent, he developed an all-consuming attraction to
danger, a fascination with living on the edge. He enjoyed fighting, and he
thrilled to the excitement of armed robberies and police chases. Now that he was
king of Brownsville, he felt like a true warrior, wild and free at last.

Although he had become highly respected and feared in this jungle that was
Brownsville, the rest of his world was collapsing around his ears. His newfound
prosperity, the compensation for his clandestine activities, was immediately
evident to his mother. Loose money, new clothes, and gaudy jewelry were
obvious signs that all was not well in the Tyson household. Mike’s mother
couldn’t understand her son’s newfound way of life. She tried everything she
could to dissuade him from his criminal pursuits. She cried whenever he came
home with some ill-gotten gain from his evening’s enterprise. She begged him to
get away from the gang that was corrupting his life. “How can you steal? I never
stole anything in my life.” Lorna was afraid that some night Mike would either
kill someone or be killed. She also warned him of the inevitable consequences of
his actions, and threatened him with the juvenile authorities if he didn’t reform.
But all her attempts to reach her son fell on deaf ears. Mike was determined to
keep the respect and friendship of the gang members, even if he had to sacrifice
his family to do it. He became more distant from his mother as time passed,
withdrawing into a shell and displaying a sullen and hostile façade to the outside
world. Lorna Tyson had lost her son, at least temporarily. Years later, after his
mother died, Mike remembered with regret his failure as a son. “I never saw my
mother happy with me and proud of me for doing something. She only knew me
as being a wild kid running the streets, coming home with new clothes she knew
I didn’t pay for. I never had a chance to talk to her about it. It’s crushing,
emotionally and personally.”9

Mike’s schoolwork was going downhill rapidly. His reading skills hovered
around the third grade level and did not improve. He became defensive about his
limitations in that area, and the feeling of inferiority carried over into all his
subjects. He dreaded going to school now, and his absenteeism began to
increase. His truancy brought him to the attention of the local authorities, and
eventually a social worker visited the Tyson apartment to make his mother aware
of the problem. Mrs. Tyson, distraught, assured the officer that her son would
attend classes regularly. Her promise was a hollow one, of course. She no longer
had any control over her son or his actions. His truancy continued, his absences
eventually reaching epidemic proportions. His nighttime activities became more
time-consuming now, and there were nights when he didn’t come home at all.
After a particularly late-night caper, Mike would sleep wherever he could find a
comfortable corner, usually in one of the deserted, rat-infested tenements in the
neighborhood.

Young Tyson’s world had become a sordid excursion into the seamy side of life.
As a frequent late night habitué of the neighborhood’s parks and playgrounds,
the young thug witnessed stabbings, beatings, and rapes, things that most
American youngsters can’t even relate to. While the majority of teenagers
around the country were fascinated by the violent police shows on television,
Mike Tyson was witnessing the gore and bloodshed first-hand. Violence and
death became a way of life for him before he even reached puberty. As the
months passed, the Tyson name began to appear on the local police blotter. The
desk sergeant at the 73rd precinct knew him well, as did the cops at the
desk sergeant at the 73rd precinct knew him well, as did the cops at the
“Alamo,” or 77th precinct. He was arrested for the first time when he was 12
years old, for stealing purses on Pitkin Avenue. After a short period of
confinement, he was remanded into the custody of his mother. But Mike Tyson’s
police record continued to grow. Assault with a deadly weapon, mugging,
burglary, resisting arrest—Mike’s name was becoming familiar to all the law
enforcement agencies around Brooklyn. He was frequently detained in local
juvenile detention centers for short periods of time in an attempt to make him see
the error of his ways. Then he was returned to his mother.

Finally, after one particularly violent crime, he was sent uptown to Spofford
Juvenile Center in the Bronx. It was there that Mike branded himself with the
mark of the joint, a homemade tattoo. Armed with a do-it-yourself knife, the
young hoodlum carved the name “Mike” into the skin on his right biceps, then
rubbed pigment into the open wound, mixing it with his blood to give it
consistency. The kid from Brownsville also met Muhammad Ali at Spofford,
and he noticed the way people looked up to Ali and how happy they were to see
him. That was the first time Mike thought about becoming a boxer. He later said
he thought to himself, “That’s what I wanna be. I wanna be champ of the
world.”10

Mike’s eight-month stay at Spofford did nothing to rehabilitate him, and he

returned home as hostile as ever. Within weeks the terror of Brownsville was
arrested for armed robbery and was sent back to juvenile court for the last time.
The judge, eyeing the Brooklyn thug’s arrest record that had more than 40
entries, had seen enough of him by this time and decided to teach him a painful
lesson, one that hopefully would shock him into turning his life around. Mike
Tyson was permanently removed from the custody of his mother and was
handed over to the Tryon Division for Youth in Johnstown, New York, a school
for juvenile delinquents. Mike’s life had reached the bottom rung of the ladder.
There was nowhere else to go but up. It was either that or complete self-
destruction. The year was 1979, and Mike was now 13 years old.

Johnstown is located in upstate New York, near Albany, almost 200 miles from
the violence and turbulence of Tyson’s Brooklyn home. Mike entered the facility
with an enormous chip on his shoulder, his new tattoo prominently displayed on
his muscular right arm, and an intense hatred for any kind of authority. His
relationship with the other inmates was hostile and violent. He came to
Johnstown with the reputation as a brawler and a hoodlum, an uncontrollable
thug. Even so, he preferred solitude to confrontation, and he kept pretty much to
thug. Even so, he preferred solitude to confrontation, and he kept pretty much to
himself. Before long, however, that small flame of pent-up hostility burst into a
conflagration. Tyson and another inmate went at each other with fists blazing in
a knock-down, drag-out brawl in the quadrangle one day, a confrontation
brought on apparently by the other prisoner’s refusal to accept Tyson’s authority.
It took two large penal officers to separate the burly Tyson, now 5'8' tall and 208
pounds, from his battered opponent. Standing before the director of the facility,
still unrepentant, Tyson heard the ultimate punishment meted out, transfer to the
Elmwood Cottage.

The Elmwood Cottage was the pits, the building where the incorrigibles in the
institution were confined. It was popularly referred to as “The Bad Boys
Cottage.” Here fate entered the picture, took young Tyson by the hand, and
offered to remove him from the snake pit of despair and set him on the road to a
useful life. The hand of fate was assisted by a former professional boxer named
Bobby Stewart. Stewart was a counselor at the Elmwood Cottage, and his first
glimpse of Tyson sent shivers up his spine. Two of the biggest guards at Tryon
were escorting Tyson over to the Cottage. One of the guards told Stewart, “Be
careful of this kid. He beats the kids up. He’ll attack anybody.”11 Mike Tyson
arrived at the Elmwood Cottage sullen and silent. He wouldn’t associate with
any of the other inmates, still preferring to remain alone. In fact, he never spoke
to anyone. If he was instructed to do something by one of the counselors, he
would grunt a reply, but that was all. Some of the counselors were convinced
that Mike was mentally retarded. Others felt he had brain damage. Certainly, he
didn’t give any indication that he could relate to the real world. The sweet little
five-year-old boy who sang songs with his mother and who played “house” with
his sister had become almost autistic in a period of three short years.

Mike Tyson was an accomplished street fighter, however, and he was fascinated
and impressed by Bobby Stewart’s professional ring credentials. Back in
Brownsville, fighting was a way of life for the youthful Tyson. He loved to fight.
Everyone on his block loved to fight. They idolized the professional boxers who
could earn thousands of dollars beating people up legally. The professionals
were very visible in Brooklyn, flaunting their newfound wealth and driving their
big, fancy cars around the neighborhood, sporting expensive clothes and gold
jewelry, and escorting two or three beautiful women at a time. Mike’s favorite
boxer was Sugar Ray Leonard, a flashy knockout artist who made everything
look easy. Mike thought Ray was a bad dude. Bobby Stewart also looked like a
bad dude to the Brooklyn native.
After a long period of contemplation, Mike approached Stewart with a petition.
“Mr. Stewart, I wanna be a fighter.” Taken aback by this unusual request from
the Cottage’s problem child, the counselor regained his composure. “No. I’m
sorry. I don’t have the time right now.” But Tyson wouldn’t take no for an
answer. He kept after Stewart, slowly wearing the older man down. Stewart
finally realized that this might be a way to reach Tyson, to reclaim him from the
refuse pile of society, and to return him to the world as a useful citizen. He
formulated a plan that he subsequently proposed to the 13-year-old inmate.
“Okay, Mike. I’ll teach you to box on one condition. First, you’ve got to work
harder in school. I don’t care what marks you get. But if you work as hard as you
can, and if you pay attention in class, I’ll work with you in the gym.”12 Tyson
agreed, and the sudden change that came over him puzzled his fellow inmates
and astounded his teachers. The teachers remarked about his new positive
attitude and his newfound interest in education. Bobby Stewart just stood by as
an observer and shook his head in disbelief. He was somewhat amused by what
he had brought about.

After keeping his end of the bargain, Tyson challenged Stewart to a real boxing
match inside the ring. Stewart weighed about 180 pounds at the time, almost 30
pounds less than the rugged Tyson, and about eight or ten pounds above his
professional fighting weight. Bobby Stewart had been a light heavyweight
fighter, his primary claim to fame being a victory over the future WBA
heavyweight champion of the world, Michael Dokes, en route to winning the
National Golden Gloves championship in 1974. By now, however, Stewart was
overweight and out of condition, and he was being challenged by the meanest
inmate in the Cottage, a young thug looking for blood. Mike Tyson was barely a
teenager, and his prodigious talent was still raw and undeveloped. Stewart felt
confident that he could outthink and outbox Tyson in the ring, offsetting Mike’s
greater strength. Tyson did not want to be embarrassed in front of his peers, but
Bobby Stewart knew that he had to humble Mike if he expected to exert any
influence over him in the gym. Mike’s fellow prisoners surrounded the ring on
the day of the fight with mixed emotions. Half the inmates were rooting for
Tyson to whip the counselor, while the other half wanted to see the Brooklyn
punk get his head knocked off. Mike himself approached the fight with typical
street mentality. “I thought he was a small, white guy. I was gonna kill him.”13

As the fight progressed, Tyson’s persistent charges were deftly avoided by

Stewart’s dancing feet. Bobby jabbed and moved, jabbed and moved, and when
Mike cornered him, Bobby tied Mike up so he was unable to get his hands free
to unleash a punch. Mike became frustrated at his inability to hit Stewart with a
solid punch, but he remained determined. He moved in again on Stewart.
Stewart responded with a crushing left to the midsection, causing Tyson to gasp
and sending him to the canvas. As Tyson later recalled, “He hit me in the body
and I went down. My air stopped. I thought I was dead.”14 The fight was over.
Mike, humiliated in front of his friends, had received his first instruction in a
boxing ring, and a painful one at that.

Mike developed a new respect for his instructor as a result of the fight, and the
agreement between the two paid immediate dividends. In the classroom, Mike
kept his nose to the grindstone as he had promised, and his reading level soon
improved significantly. Stewart, for his part, received permission from the
Division for Youth to work with Tyson in the gym three nights a week. Tyson
was an avid student in the ring and absorbed his lessons quickly and proficiently.
Before long, he was breaking through Stewart’s guard and causing considerable
discomfort to his trainer and mentor. Bobby Stewart realized that he was in a lot
of trouble. “I had to go back into training myself. It was either that or get killed.”
Even that didn’t help for long. Tyson progressed at an amazing rate and soon
outgrew his teacher’s capabilities to advance his pugilistic talents. He achieved
his high level of skill through sheer determination and dedication to the sport.
Stewart fondly remembered Tyson’s almost fanatical approach to boxing. “I’d
show him something at eight o’clock right before I went home and someone on
the night shift would come back and tell me the next day that they’d have to put
him to bed at 3 a.m. He was practicing in the dark. Lights go off at 10 or 11 p.m.
That’s how dedicated he was.”15

Another change came over Tyson at Tryon School. He began to take stock of
himself and to evaluate his prospects in life. He knew that the first 13 years of
his life had been a complete waste. And he knew where that road would lead him
if he didn’t change. “Whenever I went home to visit all my friends—they were
15 or 16 years old—they were either dead or in jail for the rest of their lives.
Either one and nothing less. And I was younger than them. It could’ve happened
to me. It made me realize that life isn’t a game. It’s survival. It’s no fun at all,
especially when you’re on the losing end. And I wasn’t winning.”16 Mike was
determined, however, that he would win the battle and not follow the road
travelled by his Brooklyn cohorts. Deep down inside, he knew he was destined
for something good. He didn’t know what it was, but he always knew he would
be successful in life. In spite of all his adversity he still had confidence in
himself, and at Tryon he found that vehicle for survival. The prize ring would be
his ticket out of the ghetto, his means of personal salvation

Bobby Stewart looked around for help in developing Mike Tyson’s great boxing
potential. He immediately thought of Cus D’Amato, an old friend and one of the
world’s outstanding trainers. D’Amato had a gym in Catskill, New York, 80
miles southeast of Johnstown, where he operated the Catskill Boxing Club while
quietly searching for a new world champion. “Cus, this is Bobby Stewart. I’ve
got a thirteen-year-old here at Johnstown I’d like you to see. I think he has the
talent to be a great fighter.” “Okay, Bobby, bring him down. I’d be glad to take a
look at him.”

It was mid–1980 when Stewart and Tyson arrived at D’Amato’s dingy gym on
the third floor of the Village Building, just over the police station, on Main
Street. When 52-year-old Don Shanagher, an associate of D’Amato’s, first
caught sight of the 200-pound teenager, he winked at Cus and whispered, “If this
kid is thirteen years old then I’m only twelve. The kid’s gotta be at least
seventeen. I know how these guys are. They say they’re younger than they are so
they can be treated like juveniles. You can’t believe what they say. Look at him.
No way he’s thirteen.”17 Stewart and Tyson sparred for three impressive rounds
that day, with Tyson always on the offensive and Stewart fending off his furious
rushes. Mike kept the pressure on for three minutes every round, and Stewart
had to fight like hell to survive. In the second round, a Stewart right hand
smashed flush against Tyson’s nose, splattering blood all over the ring.
D’Amato’s assistant, Matt Baranski, suggested the fight be stopped at the end of
the round, but Tyson would have none of that. He insisted on finishing out the
scheduled three.18

When it was over, D’Amato eyed the young gladiator for a minute, then glanced
at Bobby Stewart and smiled. “That’s the heavyweight champion of the world. If
he wants it, it’s his.”19
 2

The Man—Cus D’Amato

Constantine “Cus” D’Amato was the reigning guru of the boxing profession for
more than five decades prior to his death from pneumonia on November 4, 1985.
D’Amato taught his fighters the principles of living, not just the rules of boxing.
He considered boxing to be a part of life, and the attributes it took to be
successful in the boxing ring were also required in order to be successful in life.
Cus tried to prepare his students for life after boxing as well as for a career in the
ring. His philosophy was developed and honed at the grass roots level, beginning
with his childhood in the tough Frog Hollow section of the Bronx, New York.

His father, Damiano D’Amato, was an immigrant who arrived in New York City
from Italy around the turn of the twentieth century. Once the young man had
established himself in business, he married his sweetheart Elizabeth, and settled
down in the Italian section of the Bronx to raise a family. Damiano was a
typical, hard-working Italian businessman who believed in frugal living and
strict family discipline. He made his living by delivering ice to the apartment
dwellers of Frog Hollow. His horse-drawn wagon could be heard clattering
through the streets of the Bronx every day of the year, except Christmas. On hot
summer days, a crowd of kids would follow his wagon up and down the searing
city thoroughfares. Occasionally a ragged street urchin would jump up on the
rear step of the wagon to steal a small sliver of ice to soothe his parched throat.
Damiano’s rasping curses and bodily threats brought only jeers from the
youngsters who would thumb their noses at him and run away, to return again
the next day for another refreshing sliver of ice.

Life was tough but also good in the New York of the early 1900s. It was a time
of pride, hard work, and close family and neighborhood ties. As the years
passed, the D’Amato family grew one by one, and by 1908, when little
Constantine was born, four older brothers were waiting to welcome him. Sadly,
three other siblings had died before Constantine was born. When Cus was four
years old, tragedy struck the D’Amato family again. His mother Elizabeth
years old, tragedy struck the D’Amato family again. His mother Elizabeth
passed away, and the boys were left under the sole authority of their tough
disciplinarian father. Damiano D’Amato was a stern taskmaster who insisted on
a full daily work schedule for his offspring. After school there were chores to be
done. In the evening, after dinner, there was homework. Idle hands meant
trouble, and Papa D’Amato was determined that his boys would grow up to be
honest, hard-working citizens, not juvenile delinquents and petty criminals like
Dutch Schultz, Frankie Carbo, and the other thugs who called Frog Hollow their
home. The elder D’Amato assigned the boys specific responsibilities, both at
home and at the family business. These tasks included cleaning out the rented
stable, grooming and feeding the horse, accompanying their father to the
Knickerbocker Brewery to pick up ice cakes, and delivering ice around the
neighborhood. And woe to the boy who didn’t complete his daily chores—
punishment was swift and severe.

Cus enjoyed grammar school, his favorite subject being reading. He developed a
voracious appetite for books, particularly those about great achievers. The
youngest of the D’Amato clan was a quiet, introspective boy, and very religious.
He spent hours contemplating the complexities of life and the meaning of
existence. He wondered what God was like, and pondered over his relationship
with God. During his early years, until he was 15 or 16 years old, Cus
considered becoming a priest.1 Somehow it never happened. Perhaps God had
ordained that Cus would spread His good news elsewhere, outside the walls of
the seminary and away from the sanctuary of the church, in the streets and in the
gymnasiums of the inner city, and in the violent arena of blood and gore called
the boxing ring where, strangely enough, useful citizens can be developed, and
tormented lives can be healed.

Cus’s happiest childhood memories revolved around the warm summer months
of July and August when the sun was high and the grass was cool. He liked
nothing better than to stretch out on a lush green knoll and study the bright blue
sky overhead. His thoughts invariably drifted to the people who populated his
world, why they did what they did, and what made one person different from
another. Young Cus also spent considerable time on the more practical aspects
of life, like how to survive in a world of violence, corruption, and moral
degradation. William Plummer noted that the young man read constantly. “Mark
Twain was an early favorite. Cus later dipped into Clarence Darrow, Bertrand
Russell—even Einstein—to see what all the fuss was about.” But survival was
the ultimate name of the game, and Cus had learned to be a survivor through his
many painful childhood experiences. As a youngster, he too was a victim, not
only in the streets, but at home was well.
only in the streets, but at home was well.

When Cus reached his teenage years, he developed the bad habit of coming
home late at night. Despite his father’s stern warnings, Cus continued his
nocturnal practices. Finally, in frustration, “Damiano used a bullwhip on his
seventh son, crashed it down on the boy’s bare shoulders even as he lay
shuddering unrepentant beside his bed,” according to Plummer. The beating
didn’t dissuade Cus from his activities however, nor did they alienate him from
his father. He understood the reason for his father’s actions and he admired his
father’s determination and strong character, but he felt the need to be out on the
streets after dark where he could study people and learn what made them tick.

As hard as life was at home for Cus, it was much more difficult on the streets of
the Bronx. Cus was taunted and threatened by local bullies who tried to
intimidate him almost daily. On one occasion, when he was only 12 years old, he
was forced into a street fight with an older man. He was badly beaten, and his
left eye was so severely damaged that it left him almost completely blind.2 But
Cus wouldn’t knuckle under to the intimidation of the street thugs. He
concentrated instead on developing intestinal fortitude and willpower as a means
of combating the threats of physical violence that surrounded him. It was the
beginning of his life-long philosophy, his credo. Thousands of promising young
fighters would hear the same philosophy over the next 50 years. “In the final
analysis, mind triumphs over matter. Fear is natural. Everyone is afraid. The
secret is to control your fear.”3 Cus set about strengthening his will and
disciplining his body to withstand any degree of physical pain and suffering. He
learned to absorb the pain of beatings without cowering and without letting it
influence his actions. As he got older, he drove himself harder, determined to
mold his mind into an impervious steel wall. William Plummer reported that “at
16, D’Amato went four days without eating—this he says, so no one could ever
intimidate him with threats of starvation. Later, drafted into the Army during
World War II, he would shave only with cold water, stand at attention for hours
on end, sleep on the barracks floor.”

In his sophomore year of high school, much to the chagrin of his father, Cus
terminated his formal education and pursued what he saw as the more valuable
education of the streets, hanging out with his best friend, Danny Tosto, selling
costume jewelry in the Bronx, and observing street life and human behavior. He
continued to read anything he could get his hands on. During this period, Cus
also became Frog Hollow’s “lawyer in residence,” helping neighbors find
solutions to their problems. Gradually young D’Amato gravitated more and
solutions to their problems. Gradually young D’Amato gravitated more and
more toward the world of boxing. He often followed his brothers to the local
gym to watch them train. It was his first indoctrination into the fight game, and it
stirred an interest in him that eventually developed into a life-long career. He
himself never boxed because of the injury to his left eye, but he realized the
therapeutic value of the sport. To him, boxing was an ideal way to mold street
kids into worthwhile citizens, and to experiment with and fine-tune his own
personal philosophy of life.

Late in 1939, the 31-year-old D’Amato bought the old Grammercy Gym on 14th
Street, a second floor walkup over a dance hall. He converted it into his own
little world—his business, his laboratory, and his home. During the day, he
taught boxing and philosophy in the gym. Only at night, when darkness
blanketed the city, did Cus retreat across the street to sleep alone in his small
apartment. By day, he perfected his boxing philosophies and his method of
teaching.

When I first opened my gymnasium, it was in a pretty tough neighborhood

down in the 14th Street section of New York. I opened it on the basis of
rentals and so forth. One day I had a committee of women come up and ask
if I could help them out. The neighborhood kids were getting into trouble
on the streets and they wanted a place for the kids to go. So I said “All
right, I would do so.” So they sent them up and they had no money. I didn’t
have any money either. It was during the depression. Anyway, if the kids
came in alone, I knew they would be easy to work with because they
wanted to be a fighter. Now, if someone brought them in, I knew I had my
work cut out for me because they didn’t have the discipline to come up by
themselves. If you have to be brought up, you have a problem that has to be
overcome.4

People, especially if they come up in a tough area, have to go through a

number of experiences in life that are intimidating and embarrassing. These
experiences form layer upon layer over their capabilities and talents. So my
job as a teacher was to peel off these layers. When the kids first come up, I
sit them down and talk to them, and the subject of my first talk is something
that everyone is familiar with—fear. Fear is the greatest obstacle to learning
and accomplishment. Fear is an embarrassing, emotional experience.
Everyone is embarrassed to say they’re afraid so they do every damn thing
in the world to prove that they’re not. I tell them that fear is a normal
feeling. I tell them how I felt when I was growing up. I was scared all the
 feeling. I tell them how I felt when I was growing up. I was scared all the
time, but nobody ever knew about it. If you let fear get the better of you,
you can’t succeed. Now in explaining this to the boys, it helps them to
understand that everyone has the same feelings. They’re not different than
everyone else because they’re afraid. Now I’ve been in many situations
during the course of my career where I thought my life was at stake. I didn’t
know if the next minute was gonna be my last. I knew that my ability to
face up to all the eventualities would help me do what I had to do.

In the gymnasium, I first make my kids eliminate two words from their
language; impossible and can’t. When a person says that a thing is
impossible, what he’s sayin’ is that it’s impossible for him. It’s not
impossible. Nothing is impossible. We all set our own limitations on what
we can do. When a boy comes to me they are really greenhorns. Half of
them don’t know they’re alive so to speak. But you have to educate them, to
prepare them for what they’re gonna hafta do. Many things I do and say to a
boy to motivate them. We don’t use that term in boxing. But you have to
speak the language they understand. You can’t talk down to them. Can’t
talk up to them. You have to talk to them. Next you have to eliminate the
word can’t. If there’s a situation you can’t cope with at the time, you say, “I
am unable to do it at this time.” Never say the word can’t because that
implies you’ll never be able to do it. You’re unable to do it because of the
fact that circumstances don’t allow it at that particular time or moment.5

Cus continued to refine his boxing theories over the next two decades, working
with dozens of fighters, always searching for but never finding that world-class
boxer that he could direct to the championship of the world. In the course of his
search however, Cus developed the distinctive boxing style that became the
trademark of his fighters, a style that was sarcastically referred to as the peek-a-
boo style by his later adversaries in the IBC (International Boxing Council). The
peek-a-boo style was designed to give the fighter maximum protection while
allowing him to be aggressive and entertaining at the same time. The gloves
were held high against the cheekbones with the fighter peeking between them at
his opponent, the elbows tucked in close to the body, protecting the rib cage. Cus
kept hammering away with his philosophy during this growing period and it
became a major part of every fighter’s indoctrination. The control of fear and the
belief that willpower could overcome skill were the dominating principles in the
D’Amato theology. He repeated the same speeches to his fighters every day until
they believed the philosophy as strongly as Cus did.

His physical training theories were sometimes discovered by accident. In the

His physical training theories were sometimes discovered by accident. In the
mid–1940s, a friend of Cus’s wanted to patent a technique for improving the
typing speed of office secretaries. The technique involved playing a recording
that dictated sentences to a typist. The record started out slowly at first, then
increased in speed until the secretary improved her basic typing speed. Cus
recognized this as a technique for increasing a boxer’s hand speed, rather than a
secretary’s typing speed. He didn’t want to see it patented for training typists, he
wanted to keep it a secret so he could perfect it on his fighters. He began letting
his friend hang around the gym after that, and the friend helped him to apply the
theory to boxing. His friend never did patent the method, but Cus D’Amato
developed a new and successful technique for increasing hand speed. Over the
years, Cus’s boxers were noted for having the fastest hands in the business.
Cus’s method involved marking numbers on the heavy body bag—odd numbers
to the left, even numbers to the right.

He started fighters out on the heavy bag with number drills on a 78 rpm record—
1–1–1, 2–2–2, 3–3–3, etc.—slowly at first , then gradually faster as the boxer’s
hand speed increased.6

Cus added to his gym equipment over the years, expanding on his basic drills.
Another bag that became standard in the D’Amato training arsenal was a small,
weighted sand bag called a slip bag. The slip bag was put in a swinging motion
like a pendulum, front to back. The boxer had to move his head to the side to
avoid the bag as it approached him, then had to move his head again to avoid the
bag as it moved from back to front. This helped perfect bobbing and weaving
technique. Another of Cus’s drills utilized a clothesline hung up between two
walls. The fighter had to bob and weave, up and down, back and forth, crouching
low to get underneath the clothesline without touching it.7

Frankie Carbo, one of D’Amato’s boyhood acquaintances from Frog Hollow,

infiltrated the boxing scene in 1949. Cus knew Carbo:
infiltrated the boxing scene in 1949. Cus knew Carbo:

He was a professional killer. I knew the man when he was a young fella. I
remember the first man he killed. Came from my neighborhood. Know how
he did it. Know how cold blooded it was. It was up in the poolroom. He
was about 18. He had a piece in his belt, and he was playin’ with a hat, the
type the real tough guys wore in those days. So a fella says, “What the hell
are ya carryin’ that for? You haven’t got the guts to use it.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

Bam! Shot him just like that. That was the beginning of his career. God
knows how many guys he killed.8

After that he became a professional killer. He became a killer for Murder

Incorporated, an organization that did the killings for all the mob guys
around the country. That was their business, killings. And so this fella was a
killer for that organization. He was one of the fellas involved with these
wealthy businessmen. Now how James D. Norris, Jr. [millionaire Chicago
businessman] got involved with this kind of people is very simple. His
father [James D. Norris, Sr.], was known as the grain king. He controlled
the grain market in Chicago. And God knows all the businesses he was in.
He was a very powerful man, political and every other way, as well as
financial. And when those big people come and visit him, he would sit at
his desk. His son, Jim Norris, Jr., was there you know, probably 15, 16
years of age. He’d see these important people come up, his father would sit
there. They’d come over to him. But when a tough guy came in, his father
would get up and walk over to him like that, you know. That made a big
impression on him, see. So later, when Jim Norris, Jr. became active in
boxing—they owned arenas all over the country, these mobsters—when he
became active in boxing, he catered to these people. He got this fella,
Frankie Carbo, involved, and with himself and the reputation he had, he had
no trouble organizing the fight business.9

Frankie Carbo subsequently became known in boxing circles as the

underworld’s “overlord of boxing.”

This unholy alliance was formalized in 1949, when Carbo and Norris joined
forces under the auspices of the IBC, with the express purpose of establishing a
boxing monopoly in the United States. Their plan was simple: put the top rated
boxers in all the weight divisions under contract to managers who were paid by
or owed allegiance to the IBC. The heavyweight title was the most lucrative title
in the boxing world and the first one they attacked. Since they did not control the
champion, Joe Louis, they did the next best thing. They paid him $150,000 to
retire from the ring. Having thus eliminated Louis from the division, the IBC
could then match its own fighters in a tournament to select Louis’ successor. The
same format was followed down the line in all divisions, light heavyweight,
middleweight, welterweight, lightweight, featherweight, etc. Within a short time,
it became virtually impossible to establish a ranking in the boxing world without
doing business with the Carbo-Norris group. The IBC hovered over the fight
game like a giant octopus, its tentacles reaching the very bottom of the sport, to
every club fight and every “smoker” in the country. Almost every promoter,
every manager, every fighter, came under the influence of the IBC. Boxers were
like thousands of puppets dancing to the tune of the giant syndicate.

Cus D’Amato however was one who was not dancing. He was known as a
maverick in the boxing world, and he was thirsting for a fight with the IBC. He
remembered his quixotic quest:

You gotta overcome fear. That’s how I fought the IBC. The Norris family
was worth maybe 50 to 500 million dollars in those days. They had power
—tremendous power. Now I was considered crazy to even dream I could
oppose ’em. But I had one advantage. I knew I had the experience and the
knowledge and the desire. That’s the most important thing. Without desire,
you’re nothing. People are under the impression you have to be intelligent,
but the most important thing is the motivation, the drive, that’s what’s
important. Now, getting back to my fight with the IBC, by the early ’50s,
Norris had it so completely organized that if you didn’t get work from him
you didn’t get any work. Today there are three or four promoters and
anyone with any capability at all can play one against the other some way
or other. So just trying to buck people like Norris was considered
impossible. That is why I have no respect for the word impossible. That’s
why nobody should ever think of a thing as being impossible. You must
know your mind well enough to know that given a set of circumstances that
are threatening, your mind will find excuses to avoid and evade, not to
accept a confrontation of any kind. See, but I always say it’s like crossing a
bridge, a suspension bridge going from one side to the other. Now when
 you cross to the other side knowing what you have to cope with, and
knowing all that could be dangerous to you, you chop the bridge down so
you can’t retreat. Now you can only think in terms of accomplishment. So
when you take one step forward, two steps forward, make sure you chop
that back so you constantly have a chasm there where you can’t retreat.
Then whatever you have to do, you can only think of one thing,
accomplishment. Don’t be afraid to put yourself in that position. You’ll be
amazed at the things you can do when you’re forced to. Nobody really
knows his capabilities until he tries. That’s how I beat that organization,
believe it or not. I never let myself think in terms of defeat. Whatever it was
I had to do, I figured there must be a way to do it, and there always was.10

For Cus to achieve his objective it was necessary to find a fighter who had the
talent and the desire to be the champion of the world and, in addition, who was
100 percent loyal to him and his cause. Cus found his man in young Floyd
Patterson. Patterson, Brooklyn born, had a very troubled childhood, including
numerous incidences of truancy from school, and running away from home.
When he was 12 years old, he was sent to the Wiltwyck School for Boys in
Esopus, New York, by the Family Court. Wiltwyck was a school for emotionally
disturbed children, and it was hoped that the environment and the instruction at
the school would settle Floyd down. The Brooklyn truant did respond to the
professional treatment at Wiltwyck, and eventually he was released back to the
custody of his family. The 14-year-old Patterson immediately began to trail after
his older brothers, Frank and Bill, when they made their daily trips to the
Grammercy Gym to work out. Both boys had brief boxing careers, and Floyd
used to carry their equipment bags around for them. Soon Floyd took an interest
in boxing himself, and within a few months his determination had impressed Cus
D’Amato so much that the veteran trainer agreed to take young Patterson under
his wing.

Floyd was painfully shy at the time, so much so that D’Amato often refrained
from speaking to him directly. “When I was teaching people, I always expected
to teach direct, you see. He was the type of guy I couldn’t teach direct.” Many
times when Cus wanted to get a point across to young Patterson, he would enter
into a conversation with a third party, but always within earshot of Floyd. Cus
had to teach Patterson by example.

I was always careful about the way I dressed, not like now. I always wore a
homburg and a coat, so I used to look like a dignified kind of guy. I wasn’t,
 but I used to look it. Patterson would study everything I did. When I spoke
in his presence, I was always very careful what I said and how I said it. My
appearance was always, you know, what a person in my position should
have been. One day he was being interviewed, and I was over on the side,
and this fella said to him, “You know, you dress very well for a boy your
age.” Patterson said, “Oh, I watch my manager. I always watch my
manager.” See, which confirms what I thought at the time I did it. You have
to set examples for fighters.11

Patterson observed and he learned.

By 1952, Floyd Patterson had developed into an outstanding amateur boxer, and
he was selected by the United States Olympic Committee to represent his
country at the Summer Olympic Games in Helsinki, Finland. Floyd breezed
through the middleweight competition in Helsinki, winning four straight fights
to the delight of the Scandinavian crowds who were thrilled by his two-fisted
attacks. In the finals, he met Romanian champion, Vasile Tita. Floyd took charge
from the outset, stalking his man with deadly purpose. A tremendous uppercut
dropped Vasile to the canvas for the full ten count, giving Patterson the
championship and the coveted gold medal. It took him only 74 seconds to
dispatch the Romanian.

Cus was now ready to move against the IBC. He had the plan, and he had the
weapon.

Now in preparing to fight the IBC, I had this young fighter, Patterson, who
had come back from Europe having won the Olympic Games. When his
ship docked, there was a big crowd of newspapermen waiting to greet him.
I spoke to them and I told them, “This young man is going to be the
champion of the world, and go down in history as the youngest
heavyweight champion that ever lived. And, in addition, he will be the most
promising fighter of this era.” Now why did I do this? Well, first of all, I
had to let them know that I had a very loyal person here, because the
practice in those days was for the IBC to get the boxers, financially,
physically, or some other way, see. But if he was loyal, they couldn’t steal
him. Now I learned about the loyalty of Floyd Patterson through one of his
teachers at Wiltwyck, Miss Vivien Costen. She said to me, “You know, I
always liked Floyd, and I always knew he had something in him.” And then
she told me a story that revealed him to me. It was her practice to give a bag
of candy to the most deserving student every week. And Floyd, you see,
 of candy to the most deserving student every week. And Floyd, you see,
was absolutely crazy about candy. Well, this one week Miss Costen wanted
to give Floyd the candy, but he wouldn’t take it. He had an agreement with
another boy whereby he had to share it, see. Whatever they got, they would
share, candy, whatever it was. And when she tried to give him the candy, he
refused to accept it, and the reason he refused to accept it was because she
said it could be only his. He couldn’t share it with anybody. Under those
conditions, he refused to accept it. Well, she kept pressing, pressing, to find
out why. When she found out that he had this agreement, of course she let
him have it, but it told me something about the boy. It told me that, at the
age of 16, or at a very young age, at that time when the incident happened,
he had the character to stand up and do what he thought was right. Now this
is a very important thing because character is what makes a man
predictable. Character is what tells you that he can do this, and he will do
this because he has character. It’s very easy to fold up like an accordion.
Anybody can do that. But a man who has character will stick with it and go
along to what he has to accomplish. And this is what this boy had. And I
said, “With this boy I’m going to make a fight.” And I did, successfully.

Now at the time I made my plans, I knew the people I was going to cope
with. I knew they were tough guys and all that. I made my plans knowing at
some point the pressure was gonna build up, and when it built up, and the
threats were there, my reaction would be, Let me get the hell outa here, you
know, because nobody likes to get hurt or get dumped somewhere. That’s
the way it is. Nobody likes that. It’s a weakness. A man’s gonna give
himself an excuse to run, like I told you. I didn’t give myself that chance,
see. I said to myself, “When I get to that point when the threats have built
up, I must remember, I made my plan when I was cool, calm, and collected,
when there were no threats. So therefore I must never change my plan
unless some factor comes to my attention that I didn’t consider in making
the plan.” See, in that case, and only then, would I change it. Otherwise I’d
stick to it, and to make a long story short, I succeeded.12

As soon as Patterson returned home from the Olympics, D’Amato signed him to
a professional contract. In a prepared statement to the press, D’Amato
announced that Floyd Patterson was immediately entering the professional
boxing ranks in the middleweight division, and that within four years he would
be the heavyweight champion of the world. Right from the outset, D’Amato
avoided all connections with the IBC. Floyd fought only independent boxers and
fought only for independent promoters. D’Amato’s strategy was calculated to
fought only for independent promoters. D’Amato’s strategy was calculated to
bring Patterson to the threshold of the title before confronting the IBC directly.
Patterson won his first 13 fights impressively—eight by KO—before losing a
close decision to former light heavyweight champion, Joey Maxim. Eleven of 12
sports columnists at ringside had Floyd in the lead at the end of the Maxim fight
but the official verdict went the other way. That was just a temporary setback,
however, and Floyd’s career continued to blossom with another string of
consecutive victories. By 1956, Floyd had compiled a record of 27 victories
against the lone defeat to Maxim, and he had disposed of 19 of his victims by
knockout. D’Amato was now ready to make his move against the IBC, a move
that would bring the heavyweight championship of the world to the Patterson-
D’Amato camp.

Floyd had achieved a number three rating in the heavyweight division, and the
time was ripe for a title shot. Like all D’Amato manipulations, this one had to be
carried out with the utmost discretion so as not to put Frankie Carbo in a bad
light. As Cus recalled,

Carbo called me the crazy man, because nobody would ever do what I did.
But you see everything I did was calculated. I knew the type of people. I
grew up in the street. I knew the type of thinking they lived by. So I knew
exactly how far to go. But you had to be very careful. It was like walking a
tightrope. Just a little bit off and you’d be shot. I could never let what I was
doing challenge them, because if I challenged them, they were the kind of
people who never dropped a challenge. Because anything that was a threat
to their reputation or whatever they were going to do, they couldn’t afford
to have anybody challenge them. They had to just get ’em out of the way. It
had to be such that anybody who dealt with them would know the
consequences of threatening them. So I did everything to accomplish what I
was gonna accomplish just short of a challenge. And while I irritated and
aggravated them, I never let it get to the point where they were gonna do
something about it.13

Cus put his plan into action.

Rocky Marciano was about to retire but nobody knew about it. And Al
Weill, his manager, was swindled out of $90,000 by Jim Norris, so when he
discovered it, he tried to get the money back and he couldn’t get it. So he
turned against Norris. Now Weill and Carbo were partners so Carbo gave
him privileges that nobody else had. He could make his own decisions,
 believe it or not. But when I learned there was trouble, I went into the place
where the mobsters were hanging out. They all said to me, “Look, why
don’t you make up with the IBC? You can get a million bucks under the
table. You’re better off. You can’t trust fighters.” So I said, “What the hell
is Norris gonna do? Let me tell you. In order to defeat me, he needs a better
fighter. He can’t beat me with hundred dollar bills. He needs a better
fighter. Since, he hasn’t got one, he can’t beat me. Furthermore, unless he
makes the match that I want, which is a match he don’t wanna give, and
pay the money I want, unless he pays me the money I’m afta, I’m gonna
fight Rocky Marciano for another promoter.” See I gambled on the fact that
this guy Weill, being angry with Mr. Norris and his people, wouldn’t open
his mouth to them if I said I wanted to fight Marciano. So, when I said this,
they laughed. They said it’s under Carbo’s control, but I also knew that
Weill had the privilege of doin’ his own business. So the moment I left, one
guy ran across the street to the Garden and said to Norris, “You know
what’s happenin’ to Cus D’Amato and Weill?” He, knowin’ it was the
result of his quarrel, immediately made arrangements to meet with me to
prevent me from fightin’ Marciano, which is all I wanted. If I fought his
fighter, the number two contender, I knew who was gonna win, see, and
that’s how I got the championship.14

Norris and D’Amato agreed to stage a heavyweight elimination fight in Madison

Square Garden between Patterson and the number two contender, Tommy
“Hurricane” Jackson. The winner would then be matched against the number one
contender, the current light heavyweight champion, Archie Moore. The
elimination bout took place on June 8, 1956. Patterson was expected to knock
Jackson out, but broke his hand early in the fight and had to be content with a
unanimous 12-round decision. Still, it was enough to bring him a title shot.
D’Amato recalled:

So when Floyd boxed Archie Moore, Moore had developed a style of

defense that wouldn’t allow you to get to his body. Someone said, “How
you gonna overcome that defense?” So I said to him, “Sometimes a man’s
greatest strength becomes his weakness though he may not be aware of it.”
Now Moore’s defense appeared to be impregnable, but it was very, very
vulnerable. So when the time come to fight, the night before the fight we
had a big press conference, maybe 150 newspapermen and radio and
television, and when I spoke, I said to them “Tonight you fellas have picked
Archie Moore to win, and most of you have picked him to win by a
 knockout. However, tomorrow night, after Floyd Patterson knocks out
Archie Moore, all of you people are gonna say he beat an old man.”
Because what I had on my mind was gonna make him look like an old man.
Now at the fight, I only spoke to Patterson once. I just told him one thing,
“Get close to this guy, and in order to punch he has to pull his hand back
first. As he pulls his hand back, you hit him on the side of the head.
Automatically, his head’ll go here. When he moves his hand up, you hit
him in the ribs. His head’ll go here. You’ll have him like this all night
long.” That’s what happened. After the first round, I never spoke anymore.
Anyhow, Patterson knocked him out in the fifth round. Now these people
all thought the defense was impregnable, and if we get ourselves to say a
thing often enough, everybody believes it. And that becomes an advantage
to the person who is determined and aggressive and doesn’t believe in the
word impossible, and doesn’t believe in the word can’t, see.15

After Patterson won the title, the pressure on the IBC mounted. They were cut
out of all heavyweight title fights by the crafty D’Amato. Even Madison Square
Garden was on Cus’s hit list. The IBC, in retaliation, tried to coerce D’Amato
into a cooperative effort. The coercion included threatening telephone calls in
the middle of the night, but nothing worked. Cus couldn’t be intimidated. He
continued to avoid the IBC like the plague, and in fact held numerous secret
fights—22 by one count—just to keep his fighter active and in condition
between title defenses. The gamble paid off for D’Amato and Patterson, as the
IBC empire finally collapsed under the weight of its own shady dealings in 1959.
New York County District Attorney Frank Hogan obtained an indictment against
Frankie Carbo for being an undercover boxing manager. Carbo was found guilty
and was sentenced to two years on Riker’s Island. Less than a year later, Carbo
was indicted again, this time by a federal grand jury in Los Angeles. He was
charged with conspiracy in an attempt to extort money from the manager of
lightweight champion Don Jordan. Frankie Carbo got 18 years on that charge
and disappeared from the boxing game for good. Jim Norris did not fare much
better. In 1959, the United States Supreme Court ruled the International Boxing
Club to be a monopoly in the restraint of trade. Norris was ordered to divest
himself of all his stock in Madison Square Garden and to dissolve the IBC. He
immediately sold his interest in the Garden for four million dollars and dissolved
the IBC as ordered. But he didn’t leave boxing altogether. He continued to
promote fights in Chicago for several years thereafter, televising the
“Wednesday Night Fights” from his Chicago Stadium, in direct competition with
Madison Square Garden’s more popular “Friday Night Fights.”
Floyd Patterson’s skills reached their peak in the years following his ascendancy
to the throne. He successfully defended his title four times between 1957 and
1959, knocking out in order, Tommy “Hurricane” Jackson, Olympic champion
Pete Rademacher, Roy “Cut and Shoot” Harris, and European champion Brian
London. After a shocking third round knockout loss to Sweden’s Ingemar
Johansson in 1959, Patterson bounced back with a fury in 1960 to destroy
Johansson in the fifth round of the return bout. He thus became the first man in
history to recapture the heavyweight title, succeeding where boxing legends like
Joe Louis and Jack Dempsey had failed. But all was not well in Patterson’s
camp. Friction had developed between Floyd and his mentor, Cus D’Amato.
Unscrupulous individuals had gotten Patterson’s ear, and they worked hard to
alienate him from his manager. Patterson claimed that a lawyer brainwashed him
and poisoned his mind against Cus. He was told that Cus really didn’t have any
interest in him and that he had been used by Cus to get revenge on the IBC. “In
fact,” the source said, “Cus associates with known mafia henchmen.” That was
the last straw. Floyd, a moral and righteous individual, couldn’t accept the
possibility that D’Amato associated with criminals.

Floyd broke his agreement with D’Amato, dissociated himself from his manager
and went his way. The separation proved disastrous for Patterson, both
professionally and personally. Not only did he miss Cus’s careful selection of
opponents, but Cus was no longer around to provide the psychological support
he required in order to concentrate on his professional objectives. Patterson’s
new advisor immediately maneuvered him into a title fight with a mean-looking
ex-con named Sonny Liston. It was good guy versus bad guy and the press
played it to the hilt. Everybody from his sparring partner to President John F.
Kennedy reminded Floyd that he had to win this fight in order to protect the
children of America from Liston’s evil influence. He had to uphold the honor of
the heavyweight division. He was King George and Liston was the dragon.
Floyd desperately needed Cus’s guidance at this critical juncture, but Cus was
not around, and Floyd did not have the emotional strength to isolate himself
from all the media hype surrounding the big event. As fight time approached, the
psychological warfare heated up, leaving Patterson only a shell of his former
self, weighed down by oppressive responsibilities. Floyd found himself unable to
cope with the tremendous pressure he felt was placed on him by the American
public.

He answered the bell in the first round like a man in a daze, a sleepwalker, and
Liston gladly obliged him by putting him to sleep in a little over two minutes.
Floyd was so humiliated by his inept performance that he donned a false
Floyd was so humiliated by his inept performance that he donned a false
mustache and sneaked out of Las Vegas in disguise. Several years later,
Patterson and D’Amato were reconciled, but Floyd always regretted the fact that
he ever doubted Cus’s intentions. As Floyd freely admitted, Cus was like a
father to him. And had he not severed relations with D’Amato at a critical point
in his career, he probably would have enjoyed a much longer reign as
heavyweight champion of the world, and his 64–8–1 ring record would have
been even more impressive.

As Patterson’s career was blossoming, D’Amato discovered yet another fighter

of championship caliber. Jose Torres from Ponce, Puerto Rico, was a highly
intelligent kid who learned to fight in the Army. He turned pro in 1958, joining
Patterson in the D’Amato stable. The early days were particularly rough for
Torres who struggled to make ends meet while living in a dingy Brooklyn
tenement with his wife and children. Being a D’Amato fighter meant being
managed very carefully. It also meant bucking the IBC octopus. This, in turn,
meant meager fights in small, smoke-filled arenas before sparse crowds for
minuscule purses. Torres never earned as much as $15,000 for a single fight
until after he had won the title. It was expensive for fighters to be associated
with Cus D’Amato during the days of the big IBC feud. In addition to earning a
scant income, Torres’s abilities were constantly questioned. In spite of an
impressive record of 35 wins against a single loss, Torres was not even rated by
the World Boxing Association. He was accused of fighting has-beens and
pushovers, and his record was considered a mockery.

Torres split with D’Amato in 1963 and immediately moved up to the light
heavyweight division with an impressive first round knockout of former
middleweight king, Carl “Bobo” Olson, a fight for which Torres received the
princely sum of $2,000. The stunning victory catapulted him into the light
heavyweight picture, and put him in line for a title fight with the champion,
Willie Pastrano. Torres quickly sought out D’Amato and convinced his old
friend to join his camp as the number one trainer. D’Amato immediately took his
young fighter into seclusion. He wanted to be sure that Torres would be in the
best shape of his career for his golden moment. The big night was March 30,
1965, and the site was New York’s Madison Square Garden, no longer a mob-
controlled operation. Eighteen thousand fans poured through the turnstiles to
witness the extravaganza, and Torres did not disappoint. This was the
opportunity of a lifetime for Torres, a chance to give his family some of the
better things in life, and he was determined not to be stopped. On this night, he
was a tiger, an invincible, destructive force. He tore into Pastrano from the
was a tiger, an invincible, destructive force. He tore into Pastrano from the
opening bell and completely dominated the fight. It was impossible to tell which
fighter was the champion and which one was the challenger. In the sixth round, a
left hook to the midsection sent Pastrano hurtling to the canvas gasping for air,
the first time in his 14-year career he had been knocked off his feet. Willie
gamely picked himself up off the floor and survived the round. He survived two
more rounds before referee Johnny Lobianco mercifully stepped between the
two fighters, stopping the carnage, and saving the valiant Pastrano from further
punishment.

Jose Torres was a gracious and dignified champion. He held the title for 20
months, making three successful defenses of his crown before Dick Tiger
dethroned him on December 16, 1966, and then thwarted his attempt to regain
the crown with a decisive 15-round decision four months later. After two more
winning efforts in the ring, the Puerto Rico native hung up his gloves for good,
leaving an enviable record of 41–3–1 behind him. Torres went on to hold a
number of professional positions after his retirement, including a two-year stint
as chairman of the New York State Boxing Commission. In that capacity, he
worked to protect the rights of boxers, the men who put their health and even
their lives on the line every time they climb between the ropes. Torres always
held Cus D’Amato in high esteem.

Cus D’Amato was the greatest man boxing ever produced. He understood
fighters, and he taught them how to think, not just what to think in boxing.
Cus believed that a good manager was there to protect his fighter, to get the
most money for the least possible risk. If his fighter lost, after giving his
best, Cus always blamed himself. It was his bad judgement to match him
with a guy that was better than him at the time.16
The reigning guru of boxing for five decades, Cus D’Amato trained three
world champions: Floyd Patterson, José Torres and Mike Tyson (courtesy
Paul V. Post).

After Torres’s retirement from the ring, D’Amato’s fortunes took a turn for the
worse. Never one to concern himself with money, Cus went bankrupt in the late
’60s. At the time, he was living in Catskill, New York, with Camille Ewald, the
sister of his brother Rocco’s wife, Anna. Mrs. Ewald owned a large 14-room
Victorian mansion on nine and a half acres overlooking the majestic Hudson
River. She intended to sell the house in 1969 but, at D’Amato’s request, she took
it off the market. Thanks to financial support from former protégé Jim Jacobs,
Cus was able to rent the house from Camille and turn it into a year-round boxing
Cus was able to rent the house from Camille and turn it into a year-round boxing
camp. Camille stayed on as “house mother” and resident cook.

Catskill, New York—which would replace Easton, Pennsylvania, as the boxing

mecca of the United States—was an unlikely site. The area is Washington Irving
country, a peaceful land of gently rolling hills and fertile valleys, a land of
farmers and ranchers, of haunting legends and ghostly tales. Today little changed
from 300 years ago, Catskill was still a small town of 5,000 in 1980, nestled on
the eastern extremity of the Catskill Mountains. It could have been the setting of
a modern-day Irving tale itself, a village that—like Rip Van Winkle—time
forgot. It was a sleepy community, whose buildings hadn’t felt the touch of a
paintbrush for decades. Irving described the houses in Van Winkle’s village as
“sadly time worn and weather-beaten.” He might well have been talking about
Catskill. It was apparent from the rundown condition of the buildings, and from
the poverty that pervaded the area, that the 20th century had not been kind to this
peaceful community. Conveniently located near the New York State Thruway
about 135 miles north of New York City, Catskill was once a favorite summer
resort for New Yorkers attempting to escape the heat and humidity of the
metropolitan area. But with the dawning of improved air travel and modern
highway systems, the town was soon forgotten.

It didn’t stay forgotten, however. Cus D’Amato brought boxing to Catskill, and
with it a world champion—all the ingredients that were necessary to bring about
a resurgence to the village’s economy. When Cus moved into town, he rented a
large auditorium on the third floor of the Village Building in the center of town,
and converted it into a bustling gymnasium. The Police Department was located
on the first floor, as was Hose Company #5 of the Citizen’s Fire Department.
Large double doors located between the two municipal departments opened onto
a stairway leading to the second floor. The Town Clerk and the Water
Department had offices on the second floor overlooking Main Street, but the rest
of the offices were empty and desolate. A dingy hallway, devoid of decoration or
furniture, ended at another stairway that led to another austere town office. On
the left were two large oak doors, one near the stairs and one at the far end of the
hall. Both doors opened into Redman’s Hall, the gymnasium that would house
Cus D’Amato’s newly formed Catskill Boxing Club.

The 35 by 100 foot room looked like a boxing gym should look, stark and well
lived-in. The hardwood floors bore the scars of decades of scuffling feet. The
white tin ceiling was decorated with the ornate beam design typical of 19th-
century American architecture. Pale yellow walls, grimy with age, completed the
effect. One look verified that this was the training ground for the modern-day
effect. One look verified that this was the training ground for the modern-day
gladiators whose field of battle was the boxing ring. Directly in front of each
door was a heavy cylindrical body bag suspended from the ceiling by a long
chain. On the left wall was a large mirror where the fighters could study their
form while shadow boxing. Next to the mirror, in the center of the wall, was a
stage originally built when the room was probably used as a municipal
auditorium, now it was equipped with the accouterments of the fight game—a
large body bag, a small speed bag, and an even smaller teardrop-shaped slip bag.
Beyond the stage, the wall was covered with dozens of faded newspaper
clippings, announcing the glorious victories of various members of the boxing
club. The wall at the far end of the auditorium contained yet another stage. At
one time it may well have been the scene of a local minstrel show, or perhaps a
rollicking Gilbert and Sullivan musical. But now it served as an exercise area,
equipped with an inclined exercise table, used by local athletes for their daily
stomach-tightening sit-ups. The rear wall of the stage was a giant billboard
where numerous posters advertised the upcoming fights of such illustrious ring
legends as Muhammad Ali and Floyd Patterson. The wall on the right side of the
gymnasium was, like its counterpart across the room, covered with splashy
newspaper clippings proclaiming the superiority of Catskill fighters over less
worthy opponents. Next to the clippings, a large, ancient, cast iron radiator,
covered with cheap silver paint, hissed its mournful tune in cadence with the rat-
a-tat-tat of the speed bag.

A regulation size boxing ring, 20 feet square, stood at the far end of the gym
near the stage. The 15-year-old relic, a veteran of countless ring wars, had been
purchased by D’Amato for $2,000. The white canvas mat had long since turned
a dirty gray. Dark crimson spots stained the canvas, somber reminders of the
violence inherent in this strange occupation where men beat one another
senseless with their fists. Faded red, white and blue ropes enclosed the ring, in
turn supported by equally dingy red, white and blue ring posts. The entire scene
was suitably illuminated by an X-shaped assembly of fluorescent lights hanging
from the ceiling, emitting an eerie yellow glow that flickered from time to time.
On any given day, a dozen or more fighters could be seen busily engaged in the
normal activities of the facility. The heavy bag near the door received a constant
thump, thump, from heavy-set boxers in gray cotton sweat suits. Featherweights
practiced their footwork in front of the mirror, spitting out jabs and ducking
imaginary punches from imaginary opponents. “Hot dogs” impressed naïve
visitors with fancy rope skipping routines in the center of the room, while other
fighters were busily engaged doing sit-ups on the inclined bench, or beating out
a rapid rat-a-tat-tat on the speed bag. All the while the ring echoed with the pop-
a rapid rat-a-tat-tat on the speed bag. All the while the ring echoed with the pop-
pop-pop of leather gloves striking bare skin as modern gladiators went through
their regular sparring sessions under the watchful eye of a professional trainer.

It was a gym bustling with activity and purpose. The fighters—mostly black,
Hispanic, and Irish—ranged in age from about 10 to 30. Some worked out just to
keep in good physical condition. Others were trying to prevent the final curtain
from falling on a mediocre pugilistic career. Still others, in the infancy of their
fighting lives, dreamed of that day to come, when they would stand in a brightly
lit ring in some exotic locale, receiving the adulation of thousands of screaming
fight fans as the referee raised their hand in victory and proclaimed them
champion of the world. Gymnasiums such as this are microcosms of life.
Dreams are born here, dreams are realized here, dreams also die here. And
Constantine “Cus” D’Amato, graduate of the school of the streets, conqueror of
the IBC, and manager of two world champions, was the dreammaker.
 3

The Birth of a Boxer—1980–1981

“I think you have the talent to be the heavyweight champion of the world some
day. But you’ve got to really want it.” It was Cus talking. “If you wanna, you
can stay with me for a couple weeks and make up your own mind. Then, afta
you get outta Johnstown, you can come here to live, and I’ll teach you how to be
a champion. It’s up to you.” Tyson pawed the floor nervously, never raising his
eyes off the ground. “Um, ah, I guess so.”1 So it was that Mike Tyson came to
live at the Ewald house. He spent two weeks there during the summer of 1980,
getting the feel of the house and the surroundings, getting to know Cus and
Camille, and meeting the other fighters who lived in the big house on the river.
He also spent a couple of hours a day at the gym working out with trainer Teddy
Atlas, another D’Amato reclamation project.

It was a lonely two weeks for the 13-year-old Tyson. He didn’t mix easily and he
didn’t trust anybody. He spent most of the time by himself, walking around the
large yard or staring out at the scenic Hudson River as it wound its way past the
old house, then flowed under the Rip Van Winkle Bridge on its way to New
York harbor and the Atlantic Ocean. Mike didn’t know what to make of Cus,
Camille, and Teddy. They were, after all, white folks, and Mike came from an
all-black environment. He studied them very carefully, but from a distance, and
decided he would never trust them too much. But he did like the countryside
around Catskill. It was quiet and peaceful, and the hours spent in the gym were
exhilarating and rewarding. Mike knew he couldn’t go back to Brooklyn when
he got out of Johnstown. That would be a ticket to certain oblivion. Mike Tyson
wanted most of all to be a boxer, and the opportunity appeared to be in Catskill,
New York, with Cus D’Amato. That one fact made Mike’s final decision easy.
Even though he thought Cus was a “crazy old white dude,” he decided to give
the old man and Catskill a chance. Maybe things would turn out for the best and,
after all, anything was better than Brownsville. Mike Tyson walked through the
gates of the Tryon School for Boys one last time in September of 1980. He was
released into the custody of Cus D’Amato, who would, a year later, become
released into the custody of Cus D’Amato, who would, a year later, become
Tyson’s legal guardian. Cus was confident that his protégé would one day wear
the crown of the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.

The old station wagon wheezed and coughed as it made its way down the New
York Thruway, covering the eighty miles from Johnstown to Catskill in a little
less than two hours. Teddy Atlas departed from the Thruway at exit 21, followed
routes 23 and 385 to Thorpe Road near the village of Athens, and came to a stop
in front of a large white Victorian mansion. After being welcomed to his new
home by Camille Ewald, Mike took his duffel bag and made his way up the
narrow stairway to the third-floor attic bedroom where he would share living
quarters with other boxing hopefuls, Kevin Rooney, Frankie Minicelli, Teddy
Atlas, and a former boxer named Jay Bright. Jay had come to the Ewald house
almost 13 years before, his ten-year-old heart set on becoming a fighter, but Cus
quickly discovered that Jay couldn’t move fast enough in the ring, couldn’t
avoid enough punches, and couldn’t hit hard enough to offset those weaknesses.
Jay subsequently retired from the ring to pursue other interests, including acting
and teaching. Through Cus, however, he was able to fulfill one of his boyhood
dreams. One dreary September afternoon, as the world outside busied itself with
the day’s activities, Jay Bright climbed through the ropes of a boxing ring for the
last time. There, in a small, nondescript gymnasium, before a sparse gathering of
boxers and stragglers, Jay Bright traded punches with his idol, Muhammad Ali.

The third-floor bedroom at Ewald House was a large, austere room with several
compact beds strategically located around the perimeter. A regulation size pool
table dominated the center of the room, and a Tiffany-style lamp hanging from
the ceiling provided adequate lighting for the local hustlers. Large windows, set
into three of the walls, let in golden streams of sunlight during most of the
daylight hours, making the room bright and cheery. A large movie screen
blocked one of the windows, and directly across the room from it a 16mm
projector stood at the ready. Dozens of large, 16mm film cans were stored
haphazardly in a nearby bookcase, fight films from the private collection of Jim
Jacobs showing most of the famous professional fighters of the past 80 years in
action. From “Gentleman Jim” Corbett to Muhammad Ali, Jacobs had them all.
Fight movies were not specifically a mode of entertainment in the Ewald
household. They were primarily an educational tool. Almost every night, boxing
movies were reviewed in the upstairs bedroom. Many young boxers, not only the
residents but also visiting locals, sat huddled around the room, studying the great
legends of the sport while Cus D’Amato pointed out the little nuances that go
unnoticed by the general viewing public. They scrutinized each fighter in minute
detail, to learn how the great champions fought, what style they used, what
strategies they utilized, and how they avoided and escaped from physical
difficulties.2

Mike spent his first day of freedom in Catskill strolling around the grounds and
generally familiarizing himself with the territory. He did not spend much time
with the other fighters, choosing instead the privacy of his thoughts. In the
evening he puttered around the pool table, playing several games of rotation,
trying to adjust to his new surroundings. It was the first day of his new life, and
he needed time to think and to organize himself. Acceptance, however, would be
a long time coming. Tyson’s mind was contaminated with the mentality of the
streets, built up over a harrowing 13-year period. During that time, he had
developed a prisoner’s attitude toward life—sullen, suspicious, and hostile. It
was a poison that blanketed his mind like a dark cloud, and it would take a long
time to remove, if it could ever be removed. As Cus said many times, a person’s
bitter and unhappy experiences have to be eliminated layer by layer before the
inner person can be revealed. To do that requires the utmost patience.
Fortunately for Tyson, Cus was up to the task.

Tyson spent weeks observing his “white family,” always wondering what they
were after. He was convinced they would take advantage of him sooner or later
if he let his guard down. And he waited for them to make their move. He knew
from experience that no one was ever kind to another person without a selfish
reason. Everyone had an angle. Throughout the long, lonely days at home and in
the gym, the Brooklyn teenager wondered what Cus’s angle was. Practically
every white person that Mike had ever come in contact with in Brooklyn and in
Johnstown was an adversary. That included truant officers, social workers,
police officers, lawyers, judges, prison officials, counselors, and guards. They
were all out to get him. It seemed obvious that Cus and Camille were adversaries
too. But they wouldn’t outwit him, he told himself. He would always be on his
guard. His negative attitude resulted in numerous confrontations during his first
months in Catskill. He was stubborn and rebellious, and he had to be forced to
carry his share of the workload around the house. Camille had to tell him
repeatedly to stop eating food with his fingers, and to clean his place at the
dinner table when he was finished eating. His sloppy living habits, such as
leaving his bed unmade in the morning and dropping his dirty clothes on the
bedroom floor, brought frequent rebukes from both Cus and Camille. And it was
impossible to get Mike to cooperate with the other fighters in sharing the
dishwashing responsibilities.
It was a critical time in Tyson’s life. He could be rescued from his self-imposed
emotional prison, or he could plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss of anti-
social behavior. It all depended on how he was handled. D’Amato understood
the situation perfectly, having grown up on the streets himself. He had also been
through the same situation with Floyd Patterson, as well as with many other
fighters whose names have long since been forgotten. Early morning was Mike’s
favorite time of the day. He was up and out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and, by six
o’clock, he and Teddy Atlas were doing their roadwork. The morning air was
crisp in the fall of the year, and it was invigorating to get out of the house and to
inhale the fresh scents of the river and the countryside. It presented a stark
contrast to Mike’s boyhood days in Brooklyn where municipal and industrial
pollution hung heavy over the city. A light fog covered the Hudson as the sun
came up, and the dew hugged the grass like thousands of tiny crystal beads. At
times like these, Mike felt all alone in the world and completely at peace with
himself.

He liked to run, and the quiet surroundings had a calming influence on him. He
thought how nice it would be if he could run forever, and no one could ever
bother him again. The dirt road leading away from the Ewald house was desolate
at dawn, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the rhythmic breathing
of the two runners and the melodious refrains of the cardinals and robins. Mike
normally jogged two or three miles each morning, just enough to get the
adrenaline flowing. The morning run was not a major part of his conditioning
program. Its real value was in the discipline required to get out of bed at 5:30
a.m. sometimes in the dark, and long before most people rose to greet the day.
After jogging, it was back to the house for a refreshing shower, then a nutritious
breakfast of ham and eggs, or pancakes, or hot cereal, often prepared by Cus
himself.

Tyson’s emotional education started early in the day. Cus’s lectures began while
breakfast was cooking, continued through the meal, and lasted right up to the
time that Mike left to catch the bus for school. Mike attended the Catskill public
school system and was enrolled in the eighth grade at the Catskill Middle
School. He did not particularly enjoy school but Cus insisted that he get an
education. “Someday,” Cus told him, “you’re gonna be famous and on
television, and it’s important for you to know how to speak properly. School is
important.”3 Despite a major effort on Mike’s part to concentrate in school, he
still could not wait for the end of the day. As soon as the 2:30 bell rang, Mike
was out the door like a shot, racing the two miles to Main Street in nothing flat.
He spent most of his afternoons at the Catskill Boys Club sharpening his skills at
basketball, ping pong, and pool. Then at 5:30, it was off to Redman’s Hall and
his two-hour conditioning program in the gym. Mike was placed under the
tutelage of Teddy Atlas, who was to be his trainer and confidant during his
formative years at the Catskill Boxing Club. D’Amato had the utmost confidence
in Teddy’s ability to train young fighters in the physical and scientific aspects of
the sport, and also to nursemaid them, so to speak, on an emotional level.

Teddy was able to relate to boys like Tyson because he too had been an orphan
of the streets. Although born into a wealthy physician’s family in Staten Island,
Teddy nonetheless gravitated toward the smoldering social structures of the
gutters and alleyways. A jagged four-inch scar running the length of Teddy’s
face, just behind his left eye, was a stark reminder of a juvenile knife fight.
Teddy originally came to Catskill in 1976 at the age of 19 to study boxing under
the watchful eye of the old master. He was recommended to D’Amato by his
boyhood chum, Kevin Rooney. Before Cus could begin his rehabilitation
program, however, he first had to rescue young Atlas from a Staten Island
courtroom where the judge was ready to lock him up and throw the key away.
Teddy boxed for Cus for two years, went home to Staten Island in 1978, then
returned to Catskill two years later, more determined than ever to become a
professional fighter. Teddy lived at the Ewald house for several years, and
Camille noticed a drastic change in his personality during that time.
His career in the ring cut short by a back injury, Teddy Atlas learned his
trade as a trainer under D’Amato (courtesy Teddy Atlas).

Teddy was a rough guy, a guy that you can’t fool around with. You just
 look at him cross-eyed, he was gonna hit you. That’s the kind of boy Teddy
was. And I would say now he’s changed. He has more love, more
understanding, and he also sees differently. That’s why he’s so good to the
boys now, because he sees what he was. He’d pick up the kids from the
street and he’s so good to them, buys them this, buys them that. I feel that’s
the way he is.4

Mike Tyson loved the gym work and the physical effort involved in developing
his body. He was naturally endowed with a magnificent physique, squat but
rippling with muscles, and he took pride in the way he looked. He was built like
a weightlifter, with a normal-size lower body and an immense upper torso,
carrying 208 pounds on a 5'10' frame. His thick 19¾-inch neck was perched atop
mammoth shoulders and chest, the whole being supported by relatively spindly
legs. The Brooklyn native had ruggedly handsome features, his innocent smile
set off by two gold-capped front teeth that glistened in the yellow glare of
fluorescent lights. A wide gap between the front teeth created a noticeable lisp
when he talked. For several months, Teddy’s program concentrated on only two
things: building up Mike’s stamina and his strength. Cus did not get involved in
the regimen, and he wouldn’t get involved until Mike Tyson became receptive to
his instructions, which wouldn’t happen until Cus was able to strip off all the
inhibitions that had accumulated on Mike’s psyche during his years in Brooklyn.

Teddy worked with Mike on the basics: the speed bag to develop his hand speed
and tone up his shoulder muscles, the body bag to strengthen his arms and
increase his punching power, the small slip bag to improve his upper body
dexterity, and the jump rope to strengthen his leg muscles and increase his
stamina. A full regimen of gym exercises and calisthenics was also utilized to
build up the strategic areas of Mike’s body. These exercises included sit-ups to
tighten his stomach muscles, and the wrestler’s bridge to toughen his already
powerful neck muscles. Mike was allowed to spar in the ring, but only on the
rudiments of the sport; no fancy strategy and no boxing psychology, only
straightforward boxing fundamentals. Mike’s bag work included several drills on
the “Willie,” the name given to the numbered body bag that Cus had designed
many years before, in the old Grammercy days. The bag was dubbed the Willie
after it was used extensively by Jose Torres during training for the light
heavyweight title fight with the champion, Willie Pastrano. Cus provided a tape
recording to be used in conjunction with the Willie, and every day Mike toiled
under the invisible direction of the wily old trainer as the recorder blared its
repetitive instructions—1–1–1, 2–2–2, 3–3–3. Faster. Faster. Combinations—7–
2, 7–2, then 8–2, 8–2, 8–2. The tape was timed to three-minute rounds, and Mike
2, 7–2, then 8–2, 8–2, 8–2. The tape was timed to three-minute rounds, and Mike
got in a full five rounds before he moved on to the next drill.

When the gym work ended, Mike headed back to the Ewald house and Cus
D’Amato’s other classroom. The rest of the day and the evening were spent in
sessions with Cus, with Cus doing most of the talking and Mike doing most of
the listening. At first Mike was a poor student. He resisted Cus’s teachings
completely, still very suspicious of the “crazy old white dude.” While Cus
talked, Mike entertained himself with fanciful dreams. His mind frequently
drifted off into space, absorbed in a fairy tale world of his own creation. But Cus
kept plugging away. He had to make Mike realize that he too came from a ghetto
neighborhood, from the streets of the Bronx, and that he too went through years
of frustrating, degrading, and humiliating experiences. He tried to impress upon
Mike that these early experiences could be overcome and that all people were
not as bad as Tyson suspected they were. On those occasions when Mike was
particularly rude or inattentive, Cus chastised him vocally, but in private. If
Mike repeated the action, Cus rebuked him in public with the reminder, “You’re
not back in Brooklyn now. You’re in Camille’s house, so behave yourself.” On
the surface Mike appeared tough, but underneath he was strangely gentle and
sensitive, and whenever he had a run-in with Cus, he would flee to the arms of
Camille for comfort and sympathy.

The lessons continued. Mike still felt inadequate because of his limited reading
ability, so in addition to his formal education, Cus engaged a tutor to come in
several hours a week to work with Mike on his word skills. Cus also gave his
student a number of books to read. Naturally they dwelt on great achievers of the
past, historical figures like Alexander the Great, Napoleon, and Julius Caesar.
However, Cus also included a book about a man that Mike could relate to more
easily, baseball’s black trailblazer, Jackie Robinson. Mike devoured every word
—and came back for more. Cus inundated young Tyson with his theories of life,
day after day, pounding and pounding until the teenager began to be receptive.
And then the old trainer pounded some more. As with all his students, Tyson
was first introduced to D’Amato’s favorite subject—fear.

Fear is the greatest obstacle to learning and achievement. But fear is

normal. Everyone is afraid. I know. I grew up on the streets just like you
did and I was afraid all the time, but nobody knew it. The important thing is
to control fear. You have to control it or it will kill you. Do you know the
difference between bein’ afraid and bein’ yellow? Do you know the
 difference between a hero and a coward? No? Well I’ll tell you. There is no
difference between a hero and a coward. They both feel the same. It’s what
they do that makes them different. Everybody is afraid. The coward is
yellow. He doesn’t face what he has to face. He runs away. But the hero
faces what he has to face even though he’s afraid. Now this is something
that everybody knows, yet they don’t know. They don’t like to admit that.
They don’t like to think of themselves as being afraid. Everybody is afraid.5

It is one of the biggest obstacles in boxing and I suppose in every field of

human endeavor. Now the example I use is the same one all the time. It’s
about a deer crossin’ a field. Comes to a forest, and at that moment his
instinct tells him that danger is there. Now his instant reaction is to survive,
and his adrenaline glands inject a substance into the bloodstream causin’
the heart to beat faster and allowin’ the deer to perform extraordinary feats
of agility. Where normally the deer could jump 15 or 20 feet, the adrenaline
allows him to jump 40 feet, enough to get outta the way of the immediate
danger—of the mountain lion if that’s what it was. Now this is nature’s way
of helpin’ animals to survive. The same thing applies to people. Now if we
allow our fear to control us, we are doomed. Fear is like fire. If we can
control fire, we can use it to cook our food and heat our house. But if we
don’t learn how to control it, it will destroy us and everything around us. So
therefore, when you deal with fear, you must never allow it to build up. If
you ever have to deal with someone and you are intimidated by him, by his
money or his power, or whatever, this is another form of fire. You gotta
control that because he is no different than anyone else. This is important
for a fighter to know. It’s important to know that we all have fear. A
controlled fighter, one who controls his fear, can intimidate his opponent.
Fighters in the ring with Muhammad Ali were always intimidated by him.
Ali’s secret weapon was his fear. He was afraid to lose and he transferred
that fear into a tremendous will to win, and he projected it as an irresistible
force, which immediately tended to inhibit the ability of his opponent to
execute what he knew. Fear can be your best friend or your worst enemy.
Fear is a thing to be controlled. Make it work for you, like Ali. Don’t let it
control you. Control it and it makes you more alert. It gets the adrenaline
goin’ and helps you concentrate more.6

Month after month, Mike listened quietly to Cus’s monologues, without any
indication of whether he understood what Cus was trying to get across. As Cus
stared into Tyson’s vacant eyes, he often wondered, “How can I reach this kid?
Does he know what I’m tryna tell him? I gotta make him realize his potential.” It
Does he know what I’m tryna tell him? I gotta make him realize his potential.” It
was very frustrating, but Cus had been through it many times before and he was
prepared for the task. He knew what was required to penetrate Tyson’s shell in
order to expose the real boy. It would take kindness, understanding and patience.
In the end, lots and lots of patience.

The discussion was ended with the call for dinner. Cus quickly made his way to
the dining room to help Camille distribute the place settings. Helping with the
household chores was another part of the D’Amato psychological training
program. Cus placed great emphasis on teaching by example. As he carefully
arranged the napkins beside each plate, his mind wandered aimlessly, reflecting
on his recent domestication. “I was just thinking to myself, all my friends in my
past see me doin’ it and they won’t believe it. But after you do it awhile, you
forget about it, just like you been doin’ it all your life.”7

In addition to Cus, Mike, and Camille, dinner was usually shared with the other
boxers in the house, Atlas, Rooney, Minicelli, Tom Patti, and Jay Bright. Dinner
was noisy in the Ewald household with several conversations going on
simultaneously, but the subject of all the conversations was the same, boxing.
Some days Cus did not participate in the conversations, but instead sat back as
an interested observer, and let the boys do most of the talking. Most of the
boxers jabbered away incessantly about their day at the gym, but Mike rarely got
involved in these dinner-time activities, preferring to study the scene from a
distance, still suspicious of the entire group, still hostile. When dinner ended,
Mike quietly excused himself and stole away from the group to stroll around the
lawn, trying to understand his situation, trying to put his life in perspective. One
thing he was sure of—he enjoyed the solitude of being alone.

When daylight disappeared, Mike quietly ascended the narrow stairway to his
room to view old fight films with his new mentor, and to study the strategy of
past champions. He watched so many movies over the years, and studied so
many great fighters, thousands of them in fact, that he became a boxing trivia
expert. In addition to learning how these legends of the ring thought and how
they fought, he also knew all the vital statistics pertaining to their careers, how
many fights they had, who they fought, what their won-loss record was, etc. One
fight that remained embedded in Mike Tyson’s memory was the spectacular
battle between Battling Nelson and Ad Wolgast in 1910. As Mike told William
Nack at Sports Illustrated, “It was 40 rounds of non-stop action. I love watching
Panama Al Brown. He was 116 pounds, but nearly 5'11' tall. The things he did.
A guy nearly six foot tall movin’ in and out, side to side, punchin’ to the body,
bobbin’ and weavin’.” Rocky Marciano was another fighter that Mike Tyson
admired. “I liked Marciano’s style. He broke fighters’ wills. It shows great
character for a man to do that.”

Cus interspersed instructive comments into the fight commentary as he and Mike
watched.

Look at Marciano. See how he finished that guy off. When you’re a great
finisher, you’ll become popular. Joe Louis was a great finisher. So was Ray
Robinson. Ray Leonard. They got a man in trouble and they threw
everything they had at him. Bring him down.

See how persistent [Henry] Armstrong is. He hit that guy with everything
he had but the guy didn’t go down. But Armstrong just kept comin’. He was
a well-disciplined fighter. Without discipline, no matter how good you are,
you’re nothin’. You can’t let yourself get discouraged. When you hit an
opponent and he doesn’t fall, you have to keep your composure and hit him
again. You’ve got to maintain your discipline and your fight plan.

Notice how Rocky [Marciano] attacks the body. You don’t have to be a
head hunter. Concentrate on the body. Be a great body puncher. You can
take a man out with a well-timed shot to the liver just as easily as you can
with a punch to the jaw.

Concentrate on your opponent’s most vulnerable targets:

• The liver on the right side.

• The floating rib on the left side

• The jawbone below the ear lobe

• The point of the chin.8

Tyson invariably fell asleep with boxing jargon ringing in his ears.

Despite the fact that Mike was surrounded by people in Catskill, he was still
lonely, and he longed for the companionship of someone he could trust. In
Brooklyn, at least he had his street rats, his loving pigeons. One day he asked
Cus and Camille if he could build a pigeon coop in the back yard and stock it
Cus and Camille if he could build a pigeon coop in the back yard and stock it
with a family of his feathered friends. Cus immediately vetoed the idea. He told
his protégé that he would first have to earn that privilege through his actions at
home and at school. This directive from the old white man caused young Tyson
to brood more and to withdraw deeper into his shell of mistrust.

As fall turned to winter, the education of Mike Tyson continued unabated.

Slowly the veil of mistrust and hostility began to fade from Tyson’s
countenance. His personal relationship with Camille grew closer, and he began
to open himself up to D’Amato’s philosophy. At first it was nothing more than
an understanding of what Cus was saying. Little by little, however, a belief
began to evolve that perhaps Cus D’Amato did hold the secret to success, not
only in the boxing ring but in life in general. As Tyson’s attitude changed, his
ability to absorb and to comprehend increased rapidly. Cus’s words from the old
Grammercy Gym came to mind once again. “When he becomes receptive, I can
begin teachin’ him. Once he understands everything I’ve said, then and only then
do I begin teachin’. If I tried to do it earlier, my words would fall off him like
water off a window pane.”9

Now the real ring education of Mike Tyson could begin. In the early days, ring
work was designed primarily to get Tyson in the best physical condition possible
and to give him a working knowledge of the ring. Now that he was receptive,
Cus could zero in on the strategy of the sport and begin to develop the potential
of the inner man. Tyson’s ring education would now incorporate Cus’s unique
peek-a-boo style of defense with an aggressive offensive posture designed to
entertain the fans as well as to win the fight. The new gym program also
concentrated on improving Tyson’s mobility and flexibility and, most important,
on learning and perfecting the mental approach to the sport. Tyson arrived at the
Catskill Boxing Club every day at precisely 6 p.m. following his afternoon
excursions to the Boys Club. He quickly changed into his boxing gear. On
entering the gym, he went through his loosening-up ritual of shadow boxing for
five or ten minutes, then followed with some intricate rope skipping exercises to
get the perspiration flowing freely. When he was thoroughly warmed up, Teddy
Atlas set about taping his hands, lacing his gloves on securely, and tightening the
protective belt over his hips, preparatory to his getting in the ring.

Cus eagerly awaited Tyson’s arrival. He drilled Mike on the strategy behind the
peek-a-boo style of defense, to allow a fighter to move forward aggressively,
always bobbing and weaving, exploding punches in flurries without the fear of
getting hit. It was important that Tyson knew the reason for using that type of
getting hit. It was important that Tyson knew the reason for using that type of
defense. In order to utilize a strategy to the fullest, a fighter must first understand
the reason for it and have the utmost confidence in it. Otherwise it won’t work.
From the beginning, Tyson was a human dynamo in the ring, a destructive force
with tremendous power in either hand. He was a relentless puncher whose speed
caused one expert to remark that he had “the fastest hands in heavyweight
history.” In the initial stages of Mike Tyson’s ring education, he normally
worked out with Atlas or with welterweight Kevin Rooney. He was not allowed
to spar for many weeks, working instead on strategy and execution. Having once
been taught a particular maneuver, Mike would be drilled repeatedly by Teddy
as Cus watched. Teddy would don the big catcher’s mitts and Mike would aim
his punches at them as the two boxers moved around the ring. Mike concentrated
on his defense, always under the careful scrutiny of D’Amato, who hung over
the top rope yelling instructions to his young protégé. Three rounds on the speed
bag followed Mike’s ring work. Then he slowly tapered off with some sit-ups,
heavy bag work, and calisthenics. Time passed quickly in the gym, as it does
when you’re enjoying yourself, and in a little over two hours Tyson was in and
out.

Weeks passed and Tyson’s progress was phenomenal, just as D’Amato had
predicted.

First I explain what it takes to be a champion. I tell ’em that these problems
most everybody has, but most of them are buried under layer upon layer of
life experiences, so the fella is not even aware of them himself. So one of
the jobs I have is to peel off the layers until the real guy is exposed, not
only to me who knew it all the while, but to the fighter himself. And once
he becomes aware that he has these potentials, now he can start learnin’.
Now he can start understandin’. Now he can start makin’ progress. And
from that point on, progress is rapid.

Progress was rapid but it was not easy. Now that Tyson was receptive, Cus had
to work on his mental attitude, his concentration, and his confidence.

Now when I tell people that boxin’ is 75 percent psychological and only 25
percent physical, it’s very hard to believe. But I believe it’s more-so. I
believe it’s 85 percent psychological. And the ability to make a person see
this and to make him believe and understand it are usually the things that
will help to predict success.

You give me a man that believes somethin’, I mean believes it, I don’t
You give me a man that believes somethin’, I mean believes it, I don’t
mean just approves of it or agrees with it, but believes it to the exclusion of
all other things, and I’ll give you a champion. Now of course you gotta give
him an idea of how you’re gonna accomplish it. Now one of the greatest
fears is of gettin’ hit, because this fella has never been hit before. It’s hard
to make him understand, but these fellas are intimidated more easily. For
these fellas you’ve got to develop a defense. You’ve gotta show them that,
if they do what you say, they will develop the type of defense which makes
getting hit extremely unlikely, to say the least. I’ve had fighters who fought
for seven years, won the championship without ever takin’ a hard blow.
You find it hard to believe when you see all those punches flyin’ around.
You think they’re getting’ hit. They’re not getting’ hit. That’s because they
learned how to do it, and they believed in what they were doin’. They
believed it enough to do it with consistency, to be relaxed, to be impersonal.
To be relaxed and impersonal means your mind is clear. Now you can be
watching an accident for example, and report it. And maybe there were a
dozen people in the accident. You ask the dozen people who were in the
accident what happened and you’ll have a dozen different versions. But the
one guy watchin’ can tell you clearly what happened because none of his
emotions were involved. He’ll say just what he saw. Well, it’s the same
with everything else. If you’re able to become relaxed, impersonal, you
cannot make mistakes because the thing that causes you to make mistakes is
emotion, and the highest emotion is fear, or a form of fear like ridicule or
embarrassment. These kinds of things cause a fella to perform at less than
his real level.

Now, first I give him this defense and, as a result of this, he gains
confidence. Now for example, if a boy is boxin’, I tell him when he throws
a wide left hook to step inside with a right hand and the other fella’s left
hook will go over his head, see. Now, when he does it and doesn’t move
inside enough, the guy hits him on the jaw. Well, when he gets hit, he gets
shook up and hurt. Now when I tell him, “move in on that left hook,” he
says to himself, “the hell with you.” You gotta show him how to do it in
such a way that when he moves in, the punch will go around his head and
not hit him, or hit him on the gloves. So now when it works, he says, “Well,
I didn’t get hit.” If he does get hit on the gloves, it didn’t hurt. Now the next
time you tell him to do it, he does it with more confidence. So now the
point I’m bringin’ out here is the effect of the mind on his learnin’. You
have to teach him to do what he does in such a way that he can do it
 predictably and he has the confidence that comes as a result of his
accomplishments. Because, unless he gets that feelin’, the fear will
intimidate.10

As Tyson’s talents exploded, the time approached where he would have to be

thrust into the arena to face real opponents, opponents who would be in there to
take his head off. Tyson’s brain trust was already hard at work mapping out the
long-term strategy for his amateur and professional career. The brain trust
consisted of D’Amato, Jim Jacobs, and Bill Cayton. Jacobs and Cayton owned
“Big Fights, Inc.,” a New York firm that produced boxing films and
documentaries, films that, over the years, resulted in two Academy Award
nominations. Jim Jacobs was well known in boxing circles, having been
involved in the sport for over 20 years. In his younger days, Jacobs was a
renowned handball player. He won the Junior National Four Wall Handball title
in 1953, and between 1955–1960, advancing into the adult bracket, he captured
seven more national championships, six singles and one doubles. Even today, he
is frequently referred to as “The Babe Ruth of handball.” At one time, Cus
D’Amato had visions of turning Jacobs into a boxing champion, being convinced
that a gifted athlete could be a champion in any sport. Jacobs’ boxing career
never came to pass, but he did become a protégé of D’Amato’s, rooming with
Cus for ten years before gravitating toward a business career in boxing.

Over the years Jim Jacobs accumulated over 26,000 fight films, estimated to be
about 90 percent of all the fight films ever made. These include not only the
professional productions of the movie studios and television networks, but also a
rare collection of amateur films taken of obscure fights by ringside patrons. The
amateur films produced interesting footage of many celebrated boxers in the
embryonic stages of their careers, boxers like Floyd Patterson and “Sugar Ray”
Robinson fighting in the Golden Gloves. Jacobs’ film collection led to one of the
most popular sports television series of the 1950s. Bill Cayton, another of
Tyson’s managers, was weaned in the advertising business and, in the late
1940s, found himself creating television shows for NBC. In 1949, Cayton
developed a show called “Greatest Fights of the Century.” Each week the show
would focus on the career of one of the distinguished boxers of the twentieth
century, and would fascinate audiences with rare film clips from some of his
legendary fights. The films were from the collection of Jim Jacobs, who also
narrated the fights. In 1961, Jacobs and Cayton finally joined forces, forming a
film production company called “Turn of the Century Fights, Inc.” In addition to
being acclaimed the world’s greatest handbill player, and in addition to
accumulating the world’s largest collection of boxing films, Jim Jacobs had one
accumulating the world’s largest collection of boxing films, Jim Jacobs had one
other claim to fame. He owned the world’s most comprehensive comic book
collection, with two Los Angeles warehouses reportedly containing a copy of
every comic book ever published.

Jacobs and Cayton became boxing managers somewhere along the line. In 1977,
they obtained the contract of the world’s Junior Welterweight Champion,
Wilfred Benitez, for a minuscule $75,000, surely one of the best bargains of the
decade. Jacobs subsequently developed a reputation as a shrewd business
manager. Benitez, for example, was the only man that “Sugar Ray” Leonard ever
fought who got a larger percentage of the purse than Leonard did. In fact,
Benitez earned $7.2 million for seven title fights over a six-year period under
Jacobs’ direction.

The Tyson strategy committee set about to bring Mike’s career along very
slowly and carefully. Time was on their side. After all, the boy was only 14
years old, and there was plenty of time to mold him into a world class boxer and
eventual heavyweight champion of the world. The target date for his title shot
would be sometime in 1987, when Mike Tyson would still be only 20 years old.
If he were to win the title by that date, he would become the youngest
heavyweight champion in boxing history, surpassing Floyd Patterson, who
reached the pinnacle in 1956 at the tender age of 21 years and 11 months.

In late 1980, Mike Tyson began his climb to the top of the boxing world by
fighting in “smokers,” those unofficial and often poorly regulated boxing
matches that are still held in every metropolitan center across the country. Mike
got his baptism of fire primarily in and around the Bronx, still a hotbed of fight
clubs. Teddy Atlas was training several other young boxers in addition to Tyson,
and every week he piled six or seven of them into the family station wagon and
hauled them to New York for matches. John Chetti, another of the promising
fighters in Cus’s stable, remembered the “smokers” vividly.

We fought in the hell holes of New York City, old post offices, old
churches, roach-infested buildings, mostly in the South Bronx. It was a
Spanish neighborhood and Saturday night was their weekend, their night to
have fun. They got all dressed up and came to the fights, and there was a lot
of betting on the fights—big bets. I remember Mike’s first fight. It was
really funny. No one in the Bronx had ever seen him before, so they all bet
on the other kid, a Spanish kid from the neighborhood. Mike was really
 nervous before the fight and he got himself all worked up. When the fight
began, Mike started hitting the other guy. He beat the kid to death on the
ropes. The referee jumped in between the two of them to give the Spanish
kid a standing eight count, but Mike was so excited he pushed the referee
out of the way and started to pound the kid again. The crowd went wild.
Half of them were standing on their seats screaming at Mike and shaking
their fists at him. I thought somebody was going to get killed. The judges
couldn’t give a decision because of all the money that was bet on the fight
so they called it no contest. The Spanish kid was crying because he got beat
up so bad, and Mike was crying because he was so excited. It was really
funny. The two of them were hugging each other and crying in the center of
the ring.11

Tyson always related well to children (courtesy Paul V. Post).

The next time around, Mike Tyson was not quite so nervous, but he was still
The next time around, Mike Tyson was not quite so nervous, but he was still
anxious to fight. Many of the people at the fight knew who he was now, so there
weren’t many bets on his opponent, Jose Perez. Both boys were husky
specimens, weighing about 195 pounds each, but Mike had too much talent for
his older opponent and dispatched the local boy easily in the third round. He
followed up his first victory with four more “smoker” KOs in quick succession
to run his record to an enviable 5–0. These bouts were an important part of
Tyson’s development program, but they could not be included in his “official”
amateur record since they were not sanctioned by the New York State Boxing
Commission. The bouts did give the Catskill teenager valuable experience,
however. They provided the atmosphere that is present in all sporting events, the
thrill of actual competition and the excitement of fighting before a screaming
crowd of spectators. Mike also learned to adapt his fight plan to combat a variety
of opponents and boxing styles. He fought big men and small men, orthodox
fighters and southpaws, sluggers and runners. He fought them all, and he learned
how to defeat each type of fighter. He made the usual beginner’s mistakes, but
his skills so far outdistanced those of his opponents that he was able to overcome
his mistakes and still win comfortably. And he learned not to make the same
mistake twice.

Mike’s early career was not all positive, however. His youth actually stifled his
progress. He had matured very early and at 14 had the physique of a man several
years older. Despite his enormous talent, his chronological age prevented him
from competing in the Seniors competitions, such as the Empire State Games
and the Golden Gloves, where the age requirement was 16. Mike had to make
do, as best he could, in the Juniors, where the competition was not up to his
level. The Catskill duo took advantage of this situation to concentrate on other
aspects of Mike’s ring education. Teacher and student worked diligently on
perfecting his mental processes, a critical weapon in a boxer’s arsenal. It was
this segment of the sport that D’Amato focused on, first and foremost.

When I have a kid in the gym, the first thing I do is get him in perfect
condition. Then I put him in with a fighter who generally knows how to
fight, but who is not gonna hurt him. That fella will keep comin’. He’ll be
taking punches deliberately. Suddenly this guy gets exhausted. He can’t
pick up his arms. Now why is he tired? I purposely got him in perfect
condition so he couldn’t possibly get tired, see. But yet he’s exhausted. He
can’t pick up his arms. Well, if he were really exhausted, he couldn’t come
back. It’s like when a car runs outta gas. You can curse it, kick it, abuse it,
 it’s not gonna run. And in this case, if he was outta gas, he couldn’t come
back. But sometimes after a fella gets in a good punch, and it has an effect,
suddenly he’s a tiger. Sees this guy is hurt. Bang! Bang! Comes back. Well,
if he was really tired, he couldn’t generate that kind of energy to do that. So
now he realizes it was somethin’ else other than physical exhaustion that
made him feel tired and wanna quit. I try to make him understand at an
early age how much the mind can affect your performance. In fact, it is the
mind, and it is the emotion, the ability to control your emotions, that
determines whether you win or lose.12

That lesson was given a practical demonstration one night in a “smoker.” The
Catskill puncher fought a tough local kid who took his best shots and refused to
quit. After seeing his courageous opponent get back on his feet time and again
after seeming knockouts, the inexperienced Tyson became frustrated and
discouraged. He tried to quit after the first round, claiming an injury, but trainer
Teddy Atlas, realizing what was happening, pushed his fighter back out for
round two. The same scenario was repeated. Tyson knocked the kid down with a
devastating hook, but the youngster dragged himself upright one more time.
Between rounds, a dejected Tyson told Atlas he was too tired to continue. Teddy
exploded, “Get up, goddamn it!” He picked Tyson up off his stool and stood him
up.13 After struggling through the third round and winning an easy decision, a
thankful Tyson recalled the words of his mentor just a few short days ago. “It’s
the ability to control your emotions that determines whether you win or lose.”
D’Amato and Tyson toiled relentlessly to refine Mike’s mental and physical
skills, but they were cautious and systematic in their approach. They were
guided by a single goal, to win the heavyweight championship of the world in
1987, and they gauged their progress accordingly. Cus was very selective in
choosing Mike’s ring opponents, always looking for a man who could teach
Mike something about one specific aspect of the sport, but a man who was not
capable of beating him.

The strategy for each fight was reviewed in detail as soon as the opponent was
known. Sparring partners were hired to simulate the opponent’s style in the ring.
If Mike was fighting a southpaw, then left-handed sparring partners were
brought to Catskill to work with him. Mike was taught to move to his right,
away from the other man’s power. If the opponent was tall, then Mike worked
with tall spar mates and concentrated on working his way inside the taller man’s
reach, bobbing and weaving until he was in position to launch a full-scale body
attack. After each fight, D’Amato and Tyson would sit down to critique the
youngster’s performance. It didn’t matter how well Mike did in the fight, Cus
youngster’s performance. It didn’t matter how well Mike did in the fight, Cus
would always find something wrong with his effort, some aspect of his strategy
or execution that had to be improved. Cus always worked to build Mike’s
confidence, but tried never to let the praise reach the point where it would inflate
his ego. The most dangerous thing that can happen to a fighter is for him to get
cocky and overconfident. That’s a sure way to bring about his downfall. Cus
always had to travel the fine line between praise and criticism. Too much
criticism would destroy Tyson’s confidence. Too much praise, on the other hand,
could result in an overconfident fighter who was in danger of taking a fall. Build
the confidence but keep the fighter under control. That’s what Cus worked on,
and he was a master at it.

Each night, back at Ewald House, D’Amato and his protégé would sit next to the
movie projector and study films of former champions. Each fighter had
something to teach Mike. Initially, Cus would point out the important strategy
and fight plan, why certain fighters always won and why other fighters lost.
Eventually Mike learned to detect the little nuances in each fight himself, the
small, often unnoticed turn of events that determined the outcome of each match.
He learned how well big men could move if they were properly trained. He
learned how men with great discipline could break down an opponent’s will.
And conversely, he learned that most fighters don’t get beaten, they quit, a
subject that D’Amato expounded on in great detail.

The word quit means that you no longer want to continue even though
there’s nothin’ serious in front of you. I know fighters who hit the guy with
their best punch an’ when he didn’t go down, they didn’t wanna fight
anymore. They don’t say it but they’ll find a convenient blow that’ll knock
them down and they’ll lay there until they’re knocked out. Now usually
when a fella quits, he quits because he wasn’t properly prepared at that
particular time. It’s very difficult nowadays, you see. I have a friend who’s
a psychiatrist. His name is John Halpin, and he knows about the mind, and
he says I have better results than most of the doctors he knows. That’s a
fact. That’s what he told me. Now the reason I do have success is I’m able
to do what they can’t do. They have to wait for the normal development of
circumstances. I create the circumstances in the gym. I can put my fella in
with this fella, that fella, with their different styles, their different
capabilities, their different strengths, and their different weaknesses. See, I
can arrange for them to fight fellas who have weaknesses that he can meet,
and the ability to beat them is the key to success. And each time he meets
 with success, he becomes better and stronger. Success breeds success and
failure breeds failure. You always gotta give him an advantage in goals.
You put him in with a guy he can’t beat and it’s gonna have the opposite
effect. And it’s hard to rebuild unless, as I do, I always leave a way out, so
that if anything goes wrong, I now have this basis on which to approach
him and explain to him why he failed, and it wasn’t because he wasn’t
capable, because he failed to do one of the things he learned to do. When he
recognizes that, he knows that all he needs to do is do that again and it
won’t happen. That’s the way it works.14

As 1981 unfolded, winter turned to spring, the grass took on a mantle of deep
green, the trees blossomed with luxuriant foliage, and Mike Tyson’s scholastic
career sputtered along on its turbulent course. Tyson had a deep-rooted
abhorrence for authority, going back to his Brownsville days, where he had
constant run-ins with both school officials and juvenile authorities. The situation
was no different in Catskill, where every day was an adventure in learning for
the young rebel, as well as a trial for his aged guardian. At home, Tyson was
beginning to show some respect for both Camille and Cus, but at school he was
in frequent trouble. One day he was involved in a loud altercation on the bus as
it pulled into the schoolyard. Teacher John Turek quickly entered the bus only to
find himself face to face with a hostile Mike Tyson. Although no blows were
struck, Tyson refused to submit to Turek’s authority and was immediately
suspended from school. On another occasion, Tyson threw an eraser at a teacher
whose authority he rejected in the classroom, resulting in yet another suspension.
Each time Mike was suspended, Lee Bordick, the principal of the Catskill
Middle School, had to entertain the recommendation that Mike be permanently
expelled as a disruptive influence on the class. And each time, Cus D’Amato and
Teddy Atlas would rush up to the school to plead their case. Fortunately Cus
always succeeded in winning a stay of execution for Mike, permitting his formal
education to continue along on the rocky road of frustration and confrontation.15

Mike had many problems with his new classmates, problems of both a social and
educational nature. There were the daily conflicts with the school bullies who
enjoyed picking on the new kid in town. Mike, who was a big kid, had above-
average self-control for a boy his age and generally ignored the young punks, but
occasionally the teasing got the best of him and he reacted to it violently. His
relationship with the other kids was a mixed bag. He was street-wise, with well-
developed innate skills, but his formal education was poor. He felt superior to
his naïve classmates in day-to-day situations, but he still had deep-rooted
feelings of inferiority when it came to basic reading and writing skills. He had
feelings of inferiority when it came to basic reading and writing skills. He had
difficulty adjusting to the study halls of Catskill Middle School after spending
years on the streets of Brooklyn, but he promised Cus he would try.

Mike felt more comfortable in the gymnasium, and his attention was focused on
the Junior Olympic National Championships to be held in Colorado Springs in
June. His and Cus’s primary goal for 1981 was winning that championship,
which was open to boys from 13 to 16 years of age. Even though it was early in
Mike’s career, it was already becoming difficult to find satisfactory sparring
partners for him, so he was forced to condition himself as best he could, keeping
busy with bag work and road work, seven days a week.

On April 18, the boxing world was saddened by the passing of ring immortal Joe
Louis. The “Brown Bomber” had succumbed to a heart attack after watching the
Larry Holmes-Trevor Berbick title fight in Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. He
was 66 years old. Louis was considered by many boxing experts to have been
the greatest heavyweight champion of all time. He successfully defended his title
an unprecedented 25 times over a 13-year period, finally retiring in 1949 with
his crown still intact. Mike Tyson, too, grieved over the loss of the “Brown
Bomber.” Joe had been one of Mike’s early heroes and a man that he hoped to
emulate. In spite of the Louis tragedy, May was a big month for boxing, locally
as well as nationally. On May 1, Tyson’s stablemate, Kevin Rooney, ran his
record to 14–0 with a victory over Felix Nance. Then, on May 11, Gerry
Cooney, a 6'6", heavyweight from Long Island, vaulted into the national
spotlight with a devastating first-round knockout of former champ Ken Norton.
Cooney destroyed Norton with a barrage of punches that left the Californian
slumped in a corner, a battered hulk, at the 0:54 mark.

On Sunday afternoon, May 18, dozens of punching specialists from around the
northeast descended on Saratoga, New York, to participate in the local Junior
Olympic Elimination Tournament. The kids from the Catskill Boxing Club
didn’t disappoint their fans as they captured gold medals in four of six events.
Ten-year-old Billy Ham enthralled the audience with his performance, knocking
out Joe Blake in the first round. The 60-pound dynamo finished off the stubborn
Blake with a right hand to the body, a trademark of D’Amato-trained fighters.
Cus always drilled it into his students, “Kill the body and the head will die.”
Ham’s brilliant performance was recognized by the local tournament committee,
who selected him as the event’s most outstanding boxer. Several other Catskill
fighters fared nearly as well as Ham. Seventy-pound Gary Young won over Jose
Ramos, and 95-pound Mane “The Flame” Moore dazzled former three-time
champion Tyrone Jackson to earn a well deserved decision. Mike Tyson won his
match without working up a sweat. He was awarded the gold medal in a
walkover when no opponent could be found to trade punches with the 200-pound
behemoth. Tyson, Moore, and Gary Young advanced to the Regionals to be held
in New York from June 12 to 14. Billy Ham, the star of the tournament, was too
young to compete in the tournament.16

The Regionals were still four weeks away so the Catskill contingent kept busy
by organizing a tournament of their own. On Saturday, May 23, Cus presented a
ten-bout card in Redman’s Hall before an enthusiastic standing room only crowd
of 400. The excitable, teenage Tyson was matched against John Shea of Beacon,
and his youthful exuberance almost brought the house down, literally. Mike
pummeled Shea from the start, dropping him to the canvas twice. When the
referee stopped the fight without a count following a tremendous left hook to the
body, the ecstatic Tyson leaped on the middle strand of ropes and held his arms
aloft in a victory salute to the home crowd. The flimsy ring sagged and creaked,
almost collapsing under the young heavyweight’s exuberance. Frank Minicelli,
working hard to keep his emotions under control, squeaked out a three-round
decision over Hector Soto. Other local winners included the Young boys—Gary,
Greg, Kevin, and Rodney—along with John Chetti and Pat Shanagher.

On June 1, Kevin Rooney took another step toward the welterweight title with an
eight-round decision over tough Bobby Pledge. One week later, Leon Spinks
stepped into the ring against champion Larry Holmes in Detroit, Michigan, but it
turned out to be no contest. The 31-year-old Holmes ran his record to an
impressive 38–0 and scored his 28th knockout in the process as he disposed of
the overrated former champ in the fourth round. Two other heavyweight
contenders on the undercard came away victorious. The talented Greg Page
KO’d Alfredo Evangelista at 0:40 of round two. Page was a boxer with
unlimited potential, but he was completely lacking in discipline and
determination. He never displayed the inner strength required to get into top
physical condition. In spite of this deficiency, his raw talent kept him in the top
ten rankings for years, and even gave him a piece of the title for a short period of
time. Tragically, his lack of discipline prevented him from dominating the
heavyweight division. Greg Page took the easy way out. He settled for second
best. The other contender, Michael Dokes, KO’d Englishman John L. Gardner at
1:51 of the fourth round. Talk around the Holmes camp after the Spinks fight
was about a possible match with Gerry Cooney. The big, easygoing Irishman
was the perfect opponent for Holmes. Cooney was colorful, he was powerful, he
was the perfect opponent for Holmes. Cooney was colorful, he was powerful, he
was a crowd pleaser—and he was the latest “great white hope,” the type that
comes along every decade or so to challenge the reigning black champion. The
pre-fight bantering and racial slurs were certain to generate a multi-million dollar
gate. And, not only that—Cooney was sure he could beat Holmes.

Early in the morning of Saturday, June 13, a large entourage of fighters departed
from the Catskill Boxing Club and drove 130 miles to New York City where the
local boxing team would do battle with fighters from eight states in the Junior
Olympic Regionals. The combatants would compete for gold medals in eight
different weight divisions. On the line, however, was more than just a flashy
medal. The winners would also qualify for a trip to Colorado to participate in the
Junior Olympic National Tournament. The two-day tournament was held in Lost
Battalion Hall in Queens under sizzling hot and humid June skies. It was the
kind of sticky, hot summer day that the police dread in crowded metropolitan
melting pots like New York City. The oppressive temperatures made tempers
short, resulting in a large increase in murders in the big city ghettos. Two of the
Catskill boxers, notably Mike Tyson and Gary Young, were as hot as the
weather. Mane Moore won his semi-final encounter but lost in the finals. Gary
Young swept through to the gold, winning the final bout with a second-round
TKO over game William Shang.

And then there was Mike Tyson. Devastating was the word for his performance.
In the semi-finals, Mike made short work of Tom French, the New England
representative. He knocked French down twice and, when the outclassed
heavyweight struggled to his feet after the second knockdown, a thundering
uppercut finished it. The finals, the following day, was not much more of a
challenge. The other finalist, Ira Turner, was game and determined, but he was
no match for the precocious Brownsville Bomber. Turner came out punching,
but was stopped in his tracks almost immediately and sent crashing to the canvas
twice in the opening round. A lightning right cross was the culprit both times.
When Tyson picked up where he had left off in the second round, the referee
quickly stepped in and stopped the fight to save Turner from further unnecessary
punishment. Mike Tyson was king of the east.

Seven days after the Catskill teenager captured his amateur gold, stablemate
Kevin Rooney made his first attempt to scale Mt. Everest. Rooney tackled the
tough future Junior Middleweight Champion, Davey Moore, in Atlantic City.
Rooney had taken two out of three fights from the New Yorker in the amateurs,
but this time was different. Moore was at the top of his game, and he handed
but this time was different. Moore was at the top of his game, and he handed
Rooney his first professional loss, a resounding seventh-round KO.

After a three-week sabbatical from the ring wars, Mike and trainer Teddy Atlas
departed Albany on a jumbo jet and headed for the mountainous climes of
Colorado. The flight to Denver was Mike’s first experience with long-distance
travel to a fight location. It was another aspect of boxing that the fighter had to
master, how to overcome jet lag and time zone change, and how to adapt to a
new locality and a new hotel in a world of strangers. The inconveniences of
travelling were not difficult obstacles for the youngster, as it turned out, and his
ring performance did not suffer at all. Tyson’s major opponent in Colorado was
his emotions. He tried hard to keep himself under control, but at 14 years of age,
that task was virtually impossible. Mike was still an excitable fighter, with all
the advantages and disadvantages that such a state brings. The emotional highs
were sky high and the lows were depressing. Cus D’Amato and Teddy Atlas
constantly worked on Tyson’s state of mind, trying to teach him to remain
detached during a match, to maintain a calm demeanor in all situations. It was a
quality that Tyson would master by the time he turned professional, but in 1981
he was still too young and immature. He put a lot of pressure on himself early in
his career by making winning a life or death struggle each time. He was always
edgy before a fight, which is normal, but he carried it to extremes. At times, he
almost worked himself into a frenzy by fight time, a condition that not only
destroyed his concentration but sapped his energy as well. Fortunately, Mike’s
talent was so much greater than that of his amateur opponents, that he could
overcome a multitude of mistakes and still win.

Tyson and Atlas landed at Stapleton International Airport in Denver on a bright

June day and immediately took an airport limousine to the United States Air
Force Academy in Colorado Springs, some 70 miles south. Colorado was
breathtaking in mid–June. Everything was green and blossoming, and the Rocky
Mountains rose majestically in the distance, the snow-topped Pike’s Peak
glistening in the mid-day sun. The pre-fight workouts were intense but
stimulating. By contrast, the evenings were relaxing in the pleasant surroundings
of the Air Force Academy. Classes were out for the summer, and the Junior
Olympics had the run of the entire campus. As a result, Mike and Teddy were
able to enjoy the comfort of a spacious private room in one of the student
dormitories. They could entertain themselves during their free time by attending
the local movie theater or enjoying the extensive canteen facilities. They could
stroll around the campus, enjoying the spectacular beauty of the western
landscape, or they could just sit in their room and talk.
For the most part, Mike kept his mind on the upcoming fights, of which there
were three beginning with the quarter-finals. On Wednesday, June 24, Mike
Tyson stepped into the ring for the first time. There were three rings in the vast
Academy complex, and Mike’s match was the 20th match in ring number three.
It began three hours after the start of the program, and for a 14-year-old, the long
wait was sheer torture. The Catskill fighter spent most of the time nervously
pacing the hallways and outside perimeter of the Field House like a greyhound
waiting for the gates to open. His nerves were completely frazzled by the time
his match was finally announced, but he took a deep breath and regained his
composure before entering the arena to do battle. By the time he climbed
through the ropes, he projected an air of confidence and determination to the
spectators, although inside his stomach churned with terror. When the bell
sounded for the start of the fight, Mike stalked his opponent, Jesse Esparza of
Lindsay, California, like a starving predator, backing him immediately into the
ropes. A crunching body shot to the liver dropped Esparza to the canvas for the
full count. The fight was over almost before it began, leaving many patrons still
searching for their seats. The official time was 30 seconds. After the fight Tyson
admitted, “There was a lot of tension and I was really nervous. I really did not
have that many fights behind me, and to come this far was pretty mind
boggling.”17

The next day, Mike’s semi-final encounter was the 16th match in ring number
two. Again, the waiting preyed on the youngster’s mind and he entered the ring
nervous and agitated. His adversary, a 260-pound Texan named Randy Wesley,
gave his best macho performance during the referee’s instructions, as he tried to
stare down the New York teenager, but Tyson would have none of it. He had
been trained by D’Amato to ignore such theatrics by his opponent, so he
returned Wesley’s stare with a menacing scowl of his own. When the fight
started, Mike was ready and waiting, and Wesley fared no better than Esparza.
Both fighters answered the bell quickly and met in center ring. Wesley threw
several rights and lefts. Tyson slipped the punches easily, and then countered
with a thundering left under the jaw, ending the contest at the 40-second mark.
That same evening, 800 miles away in the Houston Astrodome, a much larger
spectacle unfolded. Texas was treated to a world class doubleheader with
Thomas ”The Hit Man” Hearns and “Sugar Ray” Leonard fighting on the same
card. Hearns had little competition in Pablo Baez as he successfully defended his
WBC Welterweight title with a convincing fourth-round knockout. Leonard, on
the other hand, had his hands full with tough little Ayub Kalule. The two fighters
frequently stood toe to toe, whaling away at each other. Kalule took some heavy
shots from the Sugar Man’s flashing fists, but he never took a backward step.
shots from the Sugar Man’s flashing fists, but he never took a backward step.
Leonard eventually wore him down, and the courageous African was counted
out midway through the ninth round, giving Sugar Ray his second title, the
WBA Super Welterweight crown.

Friday was an off-day for the Junior Olympics so many of the participants took
advantage of a guided tour of the area. They visited the Pioneers Museum in
Colorado Springs and the famous mineral springs in Manitou. They studied the
grotesque sandstone rock formations in the Garden of the Gods, and then they
motored into the mountains to obtain a better view of the 14,109-foot Pike’s
Peak. Others, like Tyson and Atlas, stayed at the Academy and spent a peaceful
day away from the noise, the tension, and the violence of the competition,
relaxing and enjoying the Academy’s facilities. Saturday rolled around soon
enough, and a large crowd pushed their way into the Field House as soon as the
doors were opened. Most of them had come to see the new boxing sensation
from the east, Mike Tyson, whose reputation as a slugger was already
established in Colorado Springs, and whose early performances had made him
the “hometown” favorite in the finals.

As soon as the fighters entered the ring, the bloodthirsty fans began screaming
for a Tyson knockout. Mike did not disappoint them. His opponent, Joe Cortez,
was not intimidated by the reception, however. He had come to fight and, when
round one began, he rushed from his corner and threw two wicked hooks in
Tyson’s direction. Mike bobbed and weaved, slipping both punches, and then
leaped in with a right hook of his own that ended the fight at the ten-second
mark. Cortez’s face twisted in agony as he slumped to the canvas motionless.
The immense power behind the punch brought a gasp from the stunned crowd.
Tyson summarized the fight pretty well at the post-fight interview. “The guy
came at me really fast and tried to catch me off balance, but I slipped under his
first flurry of punches and stopped him quick.”18

Pat Napp, the United States Olympic Boxing Coach, was in the stands for the
entire tournament and, like most of the other boxing experts who spent the week
in Colorado, he came away very much impressed with the young heavyweight
champion. “Tyson is a tremendous prospect. It’s hard to believe he’s only 14
years old. He has the physique and skills of a man six years older. He is fast and
smart and has great power in both hands. He is a definite contender for the 1984
Olympic Team.”19

Tyson and Atlas were on cloud nine for several days after the Junior Olympics.
Tyson and Atlas were on cloud nine for several days after the Junior Olympics.
Euphoria set in following Mike’s quick victory and turned their world into a
surrealistic landscape where everything was shadowy and dreamlike. The two
men were still in a daze when they deplaned in Albany, and the sight that greeted
them in Catskill compounded the situation. A large banner waved in the breeze
over Main Street, placed there by a grateful Board of Selectmen. It read,
“Welcome home champs Teddy and Mike, Junior Olympic Champs.” Although
Teddy was Mike’s trainer, he was not much more than a boy himself. He was
only 24 years old and still very emotional. It was Cus D’Amato’s job to bring
Teddy and Mike down to earth and put them back on track again. “Remember,”
Cus said, “Control your emotions. You must not get too high or too low. You
must stay detached to reach your maximum potential.” Maybe it was still too
early for a 14-year-old to remain detached. Maybe it was difficult for Tyson to
accept his new celebrity status without suffering some minor emotional
problems. Be that as it may, he was jerked back to reality in his next fight.

Mike was matched with 20-year-old Anthony Burnett from Rhode Island, an
older, more experienced, more seasoned boxer than Mike had encountered in
Colorado. This was Burnett’s last bout before turning professional, and he made
the most of it. He gave Tyson a good boxing lesson for three rounds and came
away with a close decision. Mike was back in the real world once again, but he
was not depressed by the setback. He realized that it was another profitable
learning experience, and that it was just another step forward in his development
process. As he told the Daily Mail, “Burnett was tough, smart, and fast. The lack
of experience really hurt me against him, but I learned a lot from fightin’ him.”
D’Amato put Tyson back in the ring in the blink of an eye against another
experienced, older fighter. This time Mike was on track, and he won a three-
round decision against Rick Melton of Albany.
Tyson was the world’s amateur champion at age 15. With Teddy Atlas and
New York social worker Ernestine Coleman (courtesy Teddy Atlas).

Even with his ring successes, Mike Tyson was still struggling to find his
identity. He was unsure of where he fit into society, and he was confused as to
where his home was and where his roots were. Were they in Catskill or were
they in Brooklyn? Periodically, when the doubts became too much for him to
handle, Mike would disappear from Catskill without telling anyone where he
was going. But Cus and Camille knew. They knew he was on his way back to
Brooklyn, but they also knew he would return to them once he thought things
out. Mike did go to Brooklyn. He went to visit his family, and to see all his
friends from the old gang, but he never stayed more than two weeks. He always
found it depressing to return to the life he once knew. His mother, who had been
the backbone of the family when Mike was a child, began to drink after her man
deserted her. She was now a hopeless alcoholic. She was also suffering from
stomach cancer and had less than 18 months to live. Brother Rodney had enlisted
in the Navy by this time and was seldom home any more, and the burden of
running the household had fallen on Mike’s 16-year-old sister, Denise.
running the household had fallen on Mike’s 16-year-old sister, Denise.

Mike enjoyed seeing his buddies again, and he even participated in a street
holdup “for old times” sake. The thrill of living on the edge was still there, but
so was the promise of punishment. Every time Mike went back to Brownsville,
there were fewer and fewer friends to greet him. One by one they disappeared.
One died in a knife fight. Another was in prison for armed robbery. One former
Tyson associate, barely out of his teens and strung out on drugs, gave the
Catskill boxer the benefit of his mistakes. “I’m dyin’, man. The drugs are killin’
me an’ I can’t stop. It’s too late for me, but not for you. Stay away from drugs or
you’ll kill yourself.”20 Mike left town quickly, returning to the safety of upstate
New York. His home was now in Catskill, but his heart would always be in
Brooklyn.

On Wednesday, September 16, the attention of the boxing world focused on the
Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana, where Tommy Hearns attempted to lift
the Super Welterweight crown from the head of “Sugar Ray” Leonard. In one of
the classic championship battles of all time, each man’s momentum and
opportunities ebbed and flowed from round to round. In the sixth round, it
looked like Leonard was going to finish “The Hit Man,” but Hearns backpedaled
and escaped Sugar Ray’s coup de grace. As so often happens, the rhythm of the
fight began to change almost immediately. It was imperceptible at first, but as
rounds nine and ten came and went, the direction of the fight became more
evident. Tommy Hearns had regained command of the action and was
dominating the champion. Between rounds 12 and 13, a distraught Angelo
Dundee admonished his charge with the warning, “You’re blowin’ it, son.
You’re blowin’ it.” That was all Leonard needed. Like the champion he was, he
sucked in his gut and went back on the attack. With one eye puffed up and
almost completely closed, he carried the fight to Hearns in round 13, doing
considerable damage in the process. In round 14, he continued to punish the
challenger until Hearns’ spindly legs could no longer support the weight of his
limp body, and he slumped to the canvas in defeat.

Three weeks later, Kevin Rooney got back on the victory trail with a decisive
win, running his record to 16–1.

On a warm October evening, the Catskill Boxing Club journeyed to East

Greenbush for another of their frequent boxing competitions. Mane “The Flame”
Moore took on Tracy Harris from Floyd Patterson’s New Paltz Boxing Club, and
Moore ground out a three-round decision. Next on the card was likeable Frank
Minicelli, who also won a three-round decision. As a matter of fact, he almost
Minicelli, who also won a three-round decision. As a matter of fact, he almost
pulled off a first-round knockout, but his excitable nature betrayed him and the
opportunity slipped through his fingers. Minicelli came out fast and caught Don
Papenall with a left hook early in the fight, a punch that completely paralyzed
the youngster. The nervous New Yorker lost his poise, however, in his anxiety to
win the fight, and Papenall survived. In round two the tables were turned as the
boy from New Paltz dominated and almost KO’d Minicelli in a magnificent
comeback. To Frankie’s credit, he withstood the onslaught and actually won
round three to take a close decision.

Mike Tyson followed Frankie into the ring, fighting yet another old pro. This
time the opponent was Andy Robitelli of Vermont, the country’s number three
ranked amateur heavyweight. Tyson was in peak condition for this fight, both
mentally and physically. He moved like a lightweight and his punches were
sharp and crisp, snapping Robitelli’s head back every time they made contact.
The Vermont fighter, realizing he had lost the first two rounds, tossed caution to
the winds in round three and tried for a knockout. Tyson managed to fend off his
flurries without much difficulty, and came away a decision winner to keep the
Catskill Boxing Club’s perfect record intact.

Mike Tyson was beginning to feel more comfortable with the other members of
the gym now, and he began to enjoy the social aspect of the gym as well as the
training. Over the previous 12 months, he had developed several close
relationships at the Catskill Boxing Club, not only with Cus and Teddy, but with
other boxers like Kevin Rooney and John Chetti. Chetti, three years older than
Mike, was something of an advisor to his younger companion. Any time Mike
had a problem, particularly a problem associated with growing teenagers, girl
problems, that sort of thing, he always went to Chetti for advice. If his problems
were of a more serious nature, he sought out “the old folks,” Teddy and Cus.
Mike’s circle of friends included many who were not members of the gym. In
addition to John Chetti, he enjoyed the company of Teddy, Jay Bright, and Mike
Murphy. Murphy’s younger brother Jim, and Chetti’s younger brother Chris,
stayed close to the older boys, thrilled to be able to associate with their heroes.

One fall night in late 1981, the Chettis invited young Tyson to dine with them at
the local Chinese restaurant. It turned out to be an embarrassing exercise in
etiquette for the boy from Brooklyn, but all part of the growing process. As the
meal progressed, it became apparent that Mike had never eaten in a restaurant
before. He ordered spareribs and immediately tried to carve them up with a knife
and fork. John Chetti told Mike it was okay to eat the spareribs with his fingers,
but young Tyson frowned on that suggestion. “Oh no, I can’t do that. Camille
told me never to eat food with my fingers.” The situation went downhill from
there. After everyone had finished their meal, a Chinese waiter cleared away the
plates and brought a bowl of fortune cookies to the table. Before anyone could
stop him, Mike snatched one of the crisp little delicacies from the bowl, popped
the whole thing into his mouth, and began to chew away. “No, no,” he was told.
“You don’t eat the whole thing. There’s a paper fortune inside the cookie. First
you have to break it open and take out the fortune before you eat the cookie.” An
embarrassed Mike Tyson quickly removed the soggy paper and discarded it.21

During Tyson’s early years of amateur competition, he spent most of his time in
the gym perfecting his boxing style, developing new tactics, and working on the
proper mental approach to the sport. Official bouts were of secondary
importance to him and Cus at this stage of his development, but he still managed
to fight every other month. The learning process and the drills were primary.
After he turned professional, experience became primary, and his ring activity
increased significantly, with a fight every two to three weeks. But for now it was
school time in the gym, with Cus and Teddy giving Mike a new lesson every
day, while at the same time refining and improving his basic talents. During his
first year on the circuit, Mike had amassed a record of 6–0 in “smokers” with
five KOs, plus an official amateur mark of 8–1 with six KOs. Cus D’Amato was
satisfied with his protégé’s progress as an amateur, and he told the press what
they might expect from the adolescent gladiator in the future. “Mike has all the
tools to reach every goal we set for him. He has drive, ambition, and skills. All
he needs is time, experience, and more experience.”

People in the sports world were beginning to take notice of Tyson now, and
reporters occasionally stopped by Redman’s Hall for an interview with the new
phenom. Cus permitted interviews to some extent as long as they didn’t distract
Mike from his primary objective, boxing. Tyson enjoyed fighting, but his
interviews showed the world that he was not one-dimensional.

People think boxers are not human sometimes—that they just exist to fight
and train, and that is simply not true. I enjoy many things. I enjoy school
and gymnastics and I like to spend a lot of my spare time reading and
acquiring knowledge about boxing. I really would prefer to fight regularly
but I learn a lot of things in the gym and get a chance to work on new
things, and good mental training is very important and makes the difference
 when you’re in the ring. It’s the mind that beats you, not the body.22

The boxing year ended on a sad note as two of the sport’s most famous
gladiators struggled to regain some of their lost glory. On December 3, “Smokin
Joe” Frazier failed in a comeback bid as he was held to a draw by journeyman
Floyd “Jumbo” Cummings. Frazier finally conceded victory to Father Time and
hung up his gloves for good, leaving behind an enviable record of 32–4–1. One
week later, Muhammad Ali also tried to fool Father Time as he fought a hungry
Trevor Berbick in Nassau, the Bahamas. Ali was soundly beaten but, unlike
Frazier, he would hang on for several more pitiful years.
 4

The Quest Begins—1982

The gym at the Catskill Boxing Club buzzed with activity in the winter of 1982,
with a dozen or more boxing hopefuls going through their conditioning exercises
in and out of the ring. One of the regulars at the gym was ten-year-old Johnny
Lowe, a quiet, little street urchin. Johnny adopted the gym as his second home
and the residents, in turn, adopted Johnny. One day, as Johnny entered, Cus was
talking to 18-year-old John Chetti, discussing his philosophy of life with the
young fighter. Cus interrupted the dissertation when he caught sight of Johnny
passing by. “Wait a minute. Come here. You really said hello to me.” Turning to
Chetti, “He did. You heard him, John. He said hello. Who’s the guy on your
shirt?” Cus inquired, pointing to the silk screen image of a fighter that graced the
front of Johnny’s t-shirt.

“You don’t know him?” Johnny asked Cus incredulously.

“Who is that guy?”

“Muhammad Ali.”

“Oh, Muhammad Ali. Wow. Do you know him?”

“No.”

John Chetti, taking Johnny by the arm, led him over to the wall where dozens of
yellowed newspaper clippings were hanging. John pointed to a photo showing
Cus D’Amato playfully throwing a right-hand punch to the jaw of Muhammad
Ali.

“Who’s that?” Johnny asked.

“Ali.”
“Who’s that right there?” John pointed to the older man throwing the punch.

“That’s Cus D’Amato.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

Johnny was impressed when he realized that Cus was a friend of Muhammad
Ali’s.

Trainer Teddy Atlas, wearing a red and white Coca Cola t-shirt under a blue
warm-up suit, moved into the gym to work with some of the aspiring teenage
fighters. Teddy was a tough-looking young guy whose protruding front teeth, big
ears, and jagged scar made him appear very intimidating. The straight black hair,
the mustache, and the distinctive boxer’s nose added to the impression that here
was a guy to be reckoned with. He seemed to have a good rapport with the
teenagers in the gym, though, as he guided them through their boxing drills.
“Punch inside, then get out. Good.” Cus watched the proceedings with a slight
smile on his face.

When Teddy first came to me, he came here with the idea of being a
fighter, and I trained him as such. In fact, he was a fighter, and when I
thought he was ready, I put him in a tournament, and he won every fight he
had by a knockout. And it looked like he was gonna make it big someday,
big. But then I caught him wincing, you know grimacing in pain. I said,
“Whatsa matter?” “Oh, nothin’. Nothin’.” So anyhow I pursued the point
and I found out he had serious back trouble. So I began to think, maybe I
can make a trainer out of him. I can train him and teach him to be a trainer
just like I can train him to be a fighter. At first he wasn’t so keen about it
because all he wanted to do was fight, but after awhile I tried to make him
see, and I think I succeeded, that even if you’re not a fighter yourself, you
can become the same type of success through your fighter. If you take a boy
and teach him how to fight from beginning to end, part of you is in him too.
So that when he fights, part of you is in the ring, and really, suddenly I
discovered he had a real talent for teaching. The fella was a born teacher,
and he’s the type of person who wants to help people, especially kids, and
they come to depend on him and rely on him a great deal. So they become
very close that way.1
Atlas was in the corner of the ring watching his kids spar and shouting out
instructions.

“Get outside his right. Keep your gloves high protecting your face. Duck under
his punches. That’s it.”

Later Teddy held the body bag while a rambunctious youngster pounded it with
murderous intentions. Suddenly he left the bag and rushed back to the ring,
interrupting a sparring session that was in progress, to correct a flaw he had
noticed in a fighter’s movement. He put his arm around the boy, talking to him
quietly, and then gave him a graphic demonstration of how to bob and weave
properly in order to avoid the opponent’s punches. He took the second boy aside
also, and talked to him. “You know, you made up for your mistakes with
courage, like a tiger, but you also gotta use your brain. You gotta be a tiger and
use your brain. Come in and move your head from side to side, right?” A love
tap on the cheek sent the boy back to the ring to practice his lessons.

Cus continued as he watched Teddy in action, “Teddy always comes to me when

he has any doubts about something important. I let him go because I know he
can do it. I wouldn’t let him go if I didn’t know he could do it. I’m the one that
makes the final decision. But they know me, and Teddy and I are together.
We’re synonymous. I’m Teddy. Teddy’s me.” Soon it was Mike Tyson’s turn in
the gym and, after loosening up for 15 minutes, Mike climbed through the ropes
to work out under Teddy’s direction. Mike was fully covered in a white cotton
sweat suit, light blue trunks, and white shoes. Teddy briefed him on the drill and
then started shooting out straight rights and lefts. Mike slipped under them all
easily. Cus, as usual, observed the drill, while commenting to a friend, “Mike, to
look at him, he looks like a fighter. He’s big. He’s got the physique. He’s strong.
You know, he’s awesome. But he’s a kid in a man’s body, and he’s still young.
He’s only 15 now. He’s 210 pounds and well developed.”

Cus yelled a few words of encouragement out to the young Tyson as he sparred
with his trainer. “You make me proud. You do this in the ring and you’ll be
champ of the world some day. Just keep your mind where it’s supposed to be.”
Then to a visitor, Cus whispered,

I’ll give him a strong body and he’s gonna hafta get strong in other ways on
his own. He’s not as tough or as hard as people think he is. When they see
me, they say, “Oh boy, you got that Tyson. He just loves to fight. He just
loves to hurt people. He’s afraid of nothing.” That’s not true, but when
 loves to hurt people. He’s afraid of nothing.” That’s not true, but when
we’re done with him, he’ll look like he is anyway. He comes from a tough
environment. He comes from a hard upbringing. He never had nothin’.
Down in that kind of environment, I know how it is. You can’t trust people.
You grow mistrusting, and if anybody does anything for you, there’s a
reason, you know. Nobody helps people. He’s got the potential to go down
as one of the greatest fighters ever, but he’ll only reach that potential if he
keeps his head screwed on straight.

Teddy continued to prod Tyson. “Keep it goin’ for awhile. Boom, boom, move
and a bop, bop.” Atlas demonstrated by shooting out rights and lefts in bunches,
all the while bobbing and weaving. “Move, and bop, bop, bop, know what I
mean? Keep it goin’ like it’s an exchange, and the guy’s still fightin’ witcha.”
Tyson went into his drill with the approval of his trainer. “That’s it. There ya go.
Again. Again. Who’s the last guy to stop? Time.” Tyson, dripping sweat, headed
for his corner. “Very good. That’s what you have to do,” with a pat to Tyson’s
midsection. “One more round.” Ten-year-old Johnny Lowe was watching the
action from the apron of the ring. Atlas walked over to him. “You my friend?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Gonna do good in school?”

“Uh-huh.”

Teddy rubbed the top of his head and then returned to work.2

Tyson finished his workout, then slipped through the ring ropes and walked
slowly over to the stage where the speed bag was hanging. A good-looking black
boy moved into the ring with Teddy now, for his daily workout. Teddy had the
big catcher’s mitt on and was fending off Mane Moore’s sharp jabs. Whomp!
“That’s it. Bad intentions. Don’t drop it. Don’t drop it even half an inch, and let
it come the same height as your shoulders. Elbow, whop, straight across.
Awright?” Teddy noted to a friend at ringside,

Mane was a kid when he came here. He was without any confidence in
himself. I’ll give you an idea. He was what you would call yellow or
somethin’. They took his lunch money at school. I try to build him up here.
I tell him that what he’s scared of is the feelin’. He knows how scared he
feels. I said I felt the same way and the same thing happened to me as a kid.
But after awhile, I said, “Hey, I’m either gonna starve to death or I’m gonna
 But after awhile, I said, “Hey, I’m either gonna starve to death or I’m gonna
whack this guy out. I can’t keep goin’ this way.”

Teddy took Moore aside and showed him how to hold his hands. “Straighten that
wrist out. Now throw it with bad intentions. I can tell when you’re throwin’ it
with bad intentions and when you’re not. Somebody you wanna hurt.” Moore
threw a sharp jab that Teddy caught on the big mitt. “That’s better. Throw it like
you don’t like somebody. Throw it harder. That’s better. See the difference. It’s
in you all the time. It’s just gotta come out. Ya gotta throw it with bad intentions.
Remember, when you’re in the ring, you’re not playin’ ping pong.” Moore
continued to move forward, punching, bobbing, weaving, and punching some
more. “That’s it. That’s how you gotta slip.” Then to a visitor, “He comes from a
good family. You know, a tough thing because the mother raised him basically
with no father. She’s a religious woman. She leaned on religion. I think religion
was her ace in the hole.” After the workout, Moore sat down on one of the long
benches, leaned back against the wall, and daydreamed, his eyes a million miles
away. “I wanna be rich, and whatever I want I’ll try my hardest to get it. After I
take care of my mother and Teddy and Cus, I’m gonna take it and blow it.
Before I blow it, I’m gonna hafta make somethin’ like thirty million dollars.
Naw, make it a trillion. After a trillion, I’ll give up. I’m gonna take a thousand
dollars with me every night and just blow it.”3

Teddy promised to spend the afternoon with Johnny Lowe, so after the gym
emptied out for the day, the two pals left arm in arm, jumped into the station
wagon, and drove out to the Ewald house near Athens. The large Victorian
mansion towered over them like the Colossus of Rhodes as they climbed out of
the car. Teddy pointed up to the big, white house. “Like it?”

“Nah.”

“Whatta ya mean, nah?” He playfully grabbed Johnny by the neck. After a tour
of the grounds, Teddy showed Johnny around the inside of the house, then led
him up the narrow staircase to the third-floor bedroom. “This is where the street
rats live,” referring to Tyson and the rest of his bunkmates. Johnny was
impressed with the roomy sleeping quarters. “What’s this screen?”

“That’s for showin’ fight movies. We got hundreds of fight movies over here in
the bookcase.”

“Got Muhammad Ali?”

“No.”

“Got Sugar Ray Leonard?”

“No. How about Benny Leonard?”

“Who’s he?”

Teddy laughed. “You don’t know now, but when you get older, you’ll appreciate
him. You’ll wanna see his fights then.”

The bright sunlight shone through the window and fell directly on the movie
screen. Johnny walked over and held his hand in front of the screen, casting a
shadow of his hand. Teddy followed suit and made images of dogs and rabbits
appear on the screen by manipulating his hands. They both laughed at the silly
caricatures they had created.4

After another of Camille’s famous dinners, Cus settled back in the big,
overstuffed chair in the library and held court. Twenty-five hundred years ago,
another philosopher by the name of Plato held court in the ancient Greek city of
Athens and, like D’Amato, taught his pupils the secret of life. Plato’s
schoolroom was a grassy area under a large tree near the Agora or main square
in Athens, while Cus taught either in the gymnasium or from the big chair in the
library. On this night, Frank Minicelli and Tom Patti were the attentive students.
Cus was reminiscing about Frankie’s first days in Catskill. “You have to
understand how bad he was when he first came here. Don Shanagher said, ‘You
gonna make a fighter outta him? Impossible.’” Cus looked at Frankie.

So when you get to the point where you’re not excited—see that’s what
you’ve got to tell yourself, to completely relax, to be able to see everything
that’s goin’ on. Your sense of anticipation is sharp. And that can’t happen
unless you relax. A man whose thinkin’ and worryin’ about gettin’ hit is not
gonna have a good sense of anticipation. He will, in fact, get hit. And most
important, when you get hit, like you get excited. When you get hit, that’s
when you gotta be calm. That’s when you gotta be calmest, when you get
hit. A professional fighter has got to learn how to hit and not get hit, and at
the same time be exciting. That’s what professional boxin’s about. You
gotta be clever. You gotta be smart and not get hit. If you’re able to do this,
you’re a fighter.5
When Saturday rolled around, it was fight time again for members of the Catskill
Boxing Club. Teddy Atlas and his small contingent of gladiators hit the New
York Thruway and headed south for the big city. On this particular day, the
fights were held at the Apollo Boxing Club in the Bronx, where a small crowd of
about 100 rabid fight fans were present. Mane Moore and Frankie Minicelli were
on the card, along with a large group from New Jersey. Moore was first up and
he looked sharp as he danced circles around his New York opponent in the first
round. Frankie Minicelli was off in a corner shadow boxing, trying to loosen up
his muscles and settle his frayed nerves. Atlas was on the top step of the ring in
his fighter’s corner, yelling instructions to Mane Moore. “Mane, double up your
jab, double up.” Mane looked to be in top physical and mental condition as he
moved smoothly around the ring. He completely outclassed his opponent and
was awarded a unanimous three-round decision, as well as the first place ribbon.
Next Frankie Minicelli climbed into the ring. Teddy queried him. “You calm?
Listen to what I’m sayin’.”

“Yes.”

“Awright, relax and think about what you have to do now.”

Teddy whispered to Don Shanagher, who had accompanied the boys to the fight,
“Frankie has trouble relaxin’ once the fight starts. That’s what I work on with
him mostly. Other people I work on mostly physical things. With Frankie, it’s
mostly mental.” When round one ended, Frankie paced back and forth in his
corner like a caged animal. “Frankie, come here. Relax. You can’t throw one
punch with this guy. You gotta throw two or three, you understand? Let’s see
you work a little more in this round. Just like it’s in the gym.”6 Frankie followed
Teddy’s orders sufficiently well to come away with a well-earned decision.

Tyson’s stablemate and friend, Kevin Rooney, was back in the news early in the
year. Rooney, trying to rebound from a 1981 TKO loss to Davey Moore, was
working hard for his upcoming fight with the legendary Alexis Arguello. In
order to get Rooney more experience before the fight, Cus D’Amato arranged to
have his fighter serve as a sparring partner for Wilfred Benitez in Las Vegas.
Benitez was in training for a title fight with Roberto Duran to be held at Caesar’s
Palace. Rooney and his trainer, Teddy Atlas, spent two relaxing weeks in Las
Vegas in late January working out with Benitez during the day, then enjoying
some of the Las Vegas attractions in the evening. The workouts certainly didn’t
hurt Benitez. He came away from his title fight with Duran with his
welterweight title intact after a tough 15-round decision on Saturday, January 30.
welterweight title intact after a tough 15-round decision on Saturday, January 30.
Less than two weeks later, on February 11, Rooney flashed his wares on
nationwide television, winning a ten-round decision over Marvin Jenkins on
ESPN and improving his record to 18–1. He followed that up with a third-round
knockout over outgunned Jackie Morrell on April 7. Things seemed to be
looking up for Kevin Rooney, but it was all illusion. His star finally fell from the
heavens only four months later. He was knocked cold by Alexis Arguello on
July 31, although he pocketed $40,000 for his night’s work. His ring record was
still an impressive 20–2, but Rooney’s career as a title contender was, for all
intents and purposes, over. From this point on, Rooney would concentrate more
on the other side of the fight game, working as an assistant trainer for Teddy
Atlas and helping Teddy and Cus bring out the maximum potential in Mike
Tyson.

Kevin Rooney fought as a welterweight before becoming Tyson’s trainer

under D’Amato (courtesy Paul V. Post).

The Catskill Boxing Club was a busy place in 1982, day in and day out, seven
The Catskill Boxing Club was a busy place in 1982, day in and day out, seven
days a week. On Sunday, the gym was just as crowded as it was on any other
day. Most, or at least, many of the young fighters were not church-goers. As
John Chetti once said, “None of us had any particular religion or went to church.
Everyone was too busy training on Sunday.” In addition to the guys who worked
out regularly in the gym, the Catskill Boxing Club also included one of the few
female boxers in the northeast, a tall, sinewy blonde named Nadia Hujtyn. Nadia
was a dedicated fighter who often climbed between the ropes to spar with the
boys, including John Chetti. According to Chetti, she could hold her own in the
ring.

When the training session ended, the gang often went out to hit the town which,
in Catskill, was not a big hit. The Community Theatre on Main Street was one of
the major attractions in the evening. John Chetti often served as chauffeur for his
brother Chris, Mike Tyson, Teddy Atlas, and Frankie Minicelli. The five of them
went to countless movies at the Community, and accumulated a thousand and
one unforgettable memories over the months. There were the popcorn fights and
the juvenile jokes, the times they chased each other up and down the aisles to the
chagrin and discomfort of the ushers and the patrons. And, of course, there were
the clumsy, adolescent attempts to pick up girls in the darkened amphitheater.
Some of these attempts met with success. The necking matches that ensued were
recounted in minute detail later at the local Burger King up on Maple Street.
Leering Lotharios boasted of their latest conquests as they chomped away at
their burgers and guzzled Cokes.

Then there were the basketball games. The crowd that Tyson hung around with
all loved sports, and they attended as many of the high school athletic events as
possible. Basketball was the winter sport in Catskill, and twice a week John
Chetti would drive the guys to the games. Mike was already something of a
celebrity in Catskill as a result of his successes in the ring, and he enjoyed the
attention of the public. His sense of inferiority, weaned during 13 brutal years in
Brownsville, was still deeply imbedded in his psyche, and he needed constant
reassurance that he was liked. He craved affection like a starving man craves
food. Invariably, when the rest of the gang got back to the car after a home
game, Mike Tyson would be among the missing. No matter. They always knew
where to find him. He would be standing by the door shaking everyone’s hand as
they were leaving.7

As spring approached, Tyson made preparations to defend his title in Colorado

Springs. He was also interested in gaining some publicity for his hometown of
Catskill, and perhaps helping the local economy. “I want to promote the town of
Catskill and I want people to know that there is a fine town there.”8 The first step
in Mike’s return down the glory road was the Adirondack competition, which he
won easily—no opponent. Next he was entered in the Regional Qualifying
Tournament held in the Sheraton Hotel in Syracuse. Again he emerged
victorious without ever throwing a punch. It was almost impossible to find local
boxers who were willing to risk life and limb by stepping into the ring with the
Catskill clubber. As a result, he won most of his qualifying matches in
walkovers.

Within a few short weeks, Mike and Teddy were escorted to Albany Airport by
Cus and Kevin Rooney, and they were put on a big jet for Colorado, on their
way to another Junior Olympics. The two boys were returning to the scene of
their greatest triumph, the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado
Springs. But this time they were returning as the defending heavyweight
champion. Mike Tyson was no longer an unknown in Colorado territory. He was
a full-blown celebrity and was in demand, not only by the printed media, but by
radio and television as well. Atlas had his hands full keeping Tyson isolated
from the press and allowing him time to concentrate on the task at hand.

During his early sparring sessions, Tyson developed a sore shoulder, and it
became a source of great concern for both him and Teddy. As fight day
approached, the soreness did not get any better, so Tyson was hustled over to the
Olympic medical facility for examination. The doctors found nothing seriously
wrong with Mike’s shoulder and gave him a clean bill of health to participate in
the tournament. But the entire medical staff was amazed by his magnificent
physique and by his great strength, particularly considering his age. Dick
Maguire, the New York State coordinator, had encouraged similar skepticism
about his age previously. And he gave the Olympic doctors the usual answer. “I
have three birth certificates, school affidavits, and I even sent a telegram to God
but have not received an answer yet. The kid is only 15.”9 Maguire produced
photostats of the birth certificates and a copy of the Catskill High School
certificate verifying his age. The doctors just shook their heads in disbelief then
they proceeded to quiz Maguire and Teddy Atlas about Tyson’s conditioning
program. They wanted to find out as much as they could about this marvel of
physical fitness, searching for a secret training method they could use in their
own program with the Olympians.
Back in the gym, Mike resumed training for his first bout on Thursday, June 24,
three days hence. Mike’s quarter-final opponent was Jonathon Littles, a former
Silver Gloves champion from Michigan. Littles proved to be no puzzle for the
energetic defending title holder. The Catskill High School freshman caught
Littles with several crushing body punches early in round one, and Littles got on
his horse immediately, attempting to stay out of harm’s way the rest of the
round. But that is easier said than done when you’re fighting a machine like
Mike Tyson. Tyson was not to be denied. He caught Littles with an overhand
right at the 1:30 mark and dropped him to the canvas for the first time. At that, it
was the longest a Tyson opponent had avoided a knockout in more than two
years. Tyson rocked Littles again later in the round and put him on the floor a
second time. Littles miraculously survived until midway through round two,
when an uppercut to the body brought the fight to a speedy conclusion. At the
post-fight interview, Mike expressed disappointment at the other fighter’s
performance. “He didn’t want to fight. He kept running.”10 Joe Louis once had
an opponent who bragged he would avoid Joe’s vaunted left hook by boxing him
from a distance. Louis responded with his now famous remark, “He can run but
he can’t hide.” Jonathon Littles discovered too late that he couldn’t hide either.

Mike looked forward to his semi-final encounter with increased anticipation.

The challenger was a curly-headed blonde thumper from California named Don
Cozad. Tyson remembered Cozad well from the 1981 tournament. Although the
two fighters didn’t meet in the ring, Mike knew that Cozad had a punch to be
respected. As a matter of fact, Don Cozad held the record for the quickest
knockout in Junior Olympic history, flattening one opponent in just 11 seconds.
Tyson and Teddy Atlas watched Cozad fight several times at the Air Force
Academy, and they thought they spotted a weakness in Cozad’s style. Every
time he threw a punch, his head was up in the air. Tyson scrutinized the Cozad
films in minute detail and made mental notes of Cozad’s idiosyncrasies. On fight
day, Mike killed time by working out in the warm Colorado sun. He spread a
towel on the grass and did his back stretching exercises in cool, green comfort.
Then he shadow boxed for several minutes more before meandering back to the
dormitory to get dressed for the bout. Mike sat contemplatively in front of Teddy
while his trainer carefully wrapped the gauze around his hand. “Make a fist.
Easy. Keep it steady.” Teddy methodically stripped tape from a roll and applied
it to Mike’s hand. “You’re all set.” Mike slipped into his blue satin robe with
gold trim and the words “Catskill Boxing Club” emblazoned in bright gold script
across the back. Teddy was adorned in a bright orange windbreaker publicizing
the “Empire State Games” as the two men left the dormitory again for another
breath of fresh air before the action began.
breath of fresh air before the action began.

Boxing in many ways parallels war. War, they say, is weeks of boredom
interspersed with seconds of sheer terror. In boxing, the weeks of boredom are
followed by hours of intense tension building up to fight time. Mike nervously
paced the sidewalk outside the field house as Teddy engaged two ten-year-old
boys in conversation. Mike slammed one fist into the other as the boys looked on
in admiration. Teddy spoke quietly to them. “This is the hardest part of boxing,
you guys. The hardest part is the waitin’. Isn’t that the hardest part?” The kids
nodded in agreement.

“When you get in there and box, it’s not as hard as the waitin’, know what I
mean, kid?”

One of the kids nodded. “You say ‘I’m gonna get beat up.’”

“No, no, you don’t say that. You hafta have confidence you’re gonna win, but
still your mind thinks things, but you just have to have enough discipline to go
through it.” Tyson had walked away from Atlas and the kids and was now 50
feet down the sidewalk, deep in thought. Teddy yelled at him, “Michael. Mike.
You’re so nervous, you’re getting farther and farther away. Loosen up your
shoulder good?”

“Yeh.”

“Good. Feels looser? Now you can loosen up a little faster, shadow box a little,
’specially when you feel the tension mount. Motion relieves tension.”

Teddy walked over to his young apprentice and tied the belt on Tyson’s robe.
“You’re the champ. They’re the ones that gotta worry. If you weren’t nervous,
there’d be something wrong with you. A nervous feelin’s a sign you’re gonna
win. A sign you’re ready. A sign you’re ready to win. Just got to keep it up
here,” patting Tyson’s head, “and go do it. Everything here is right,” patting
Tyson’s stomach, “Just gotta keep it up here.” It was nearing fight time as the
defending champion and his trainer walked down the stairs to the field house.
Once in the ring, Teddy adjusted Mike’s protective headgear and checked his
gloves. Mike was already deep in contemplation, getting himself psyched up.
“They’re not gonna take my title.”11

Both fighters looked tight as they stood in their corners waiting for the start of
the action. Tyson, in blue trunks with gold trim, and a white USA shirt, rushed
forward at the bell and met Cozad in the center of the ring. Cozad started to
throw a jab. As his left hand went out, his head came up, and Mike countered
with a dynamite right that landed flush on the jaw. A glassy film suddenly
covered Cozad’s eyes and the young man stared out into nothingness. The
Region 12 champion hesitated momentarily, then fell backward to the canvas
and lay motionless as the final count was tolled. The concerned referee rushed to
his side and bent over the unconscious fighter as an excited Tyson jumped up on
the middle strand of rope in his corner and raised both arms in the victory salute.
Atlas quickly grabbed him to calm him down. “Calm down. Hear me? Awright.
Awright. Relax. Relax.”12

After a minute or so, the Californian was helped to his feet and stumbled back to
his corner. Tyson rushed right over to hug Cozad and to sympathize with him.
When he returned to his own corner, Mike was greeted by one of the Olympic
officials, who leaned over and whispered to him, “I’m going to have to ask you
to come to a private room next to the gym. We have received a formal complaint
from the other corner, and we’re going to have to check your gloves for foreign
substances.” Tyson and Atlas were incredulous, but they dutifully followed the
officials to a small room nearby. Cozad’s trainers were sure that Mike’s gloves
contained an illegal substance that helped him to knock out their fighter so
quickly. They had never seen anyone hit that hard in their lives. As the gloves
came off and the wrappings were removed from Tyson’s hands, it became
evident that nothing except Mike Tyson himself had brought about Don Cozad’s
rapid demise. And Mike made sure that everyone knew that as he pointed to his
glove. “There isn’t anything in here except flesh and bones.” Olympic officials
apologized to Tyson and Atlas later for their actions, but an apology wasn’t
necessary. As far as the Tyson camp was concerned, it was good publicity.

On their way back to the locker room, Teddy stopped at the pay phone to call
D’Amato back in Catskill. He couldn’t wait to give Cus the good news. “Hey,
Cus, eight second knockout of the first round. Yeah, the right hand. And he set a
new record. The official came over to him and said, ‘You just set a record,
quickest knockout ever.’ Yeah, eight seconds. Well, I rushed right over to call
you, ya know. I wanted to catch you before you went to the gym. Yeah, he’s
fightin’ a tall, thin kid. He’s gonna have no problem. He’s gonna hit the body.
Okay, and tell her it was eight seconds. Awright. Goodbye.” Mike approached
the phone as Teddy hung up, and the two men embraced in celebration. “Let’s
go home.” The newspapers and television networks had picked up on the story
of Tyson’s powerful hands, and they added fuel to an already blazing Tyson
mystique. Suddenly he was the toast of the town, and he was sought out by
dozens of media reporters prior to the finals. Teddy Atlas made sure that the
victory over Cozad remained in the headlines. He wanted Mike’s final opponent
to read about it and dwell on it. “Mike hit Cozad so quickly, he never had a
chance. He never saw the blow coming. He went down like a felled tree.”13

By the time Saturday rolled around, Tyson’s notoriety had spread far and wide.
A large crowd pushed their way through the turnstiles to get a look at this brute
from New York who felled opponents like so many bowling pins. The crowd
wanted to see him win by a knockout in the finals so they could tell their friends
that they were there when the great Mike Tyson won the championship. As fight
time approached, Tyson got edgy with anticipation. He paced the locker room
from one end to the other, occasionally flicking out soft rights and lefts to
Teddy’s midsection. Tyson was thinking out loud as he worked. “They want my
title, but they’re not gettin’ it.” Teddy countered, “Smart like a tiger, hungry
tiger, but smart and confident.” Both men started to pace and circle each other
restlessly. Tyson’s face was taut and stern. Teddy continued to counsel his
fighter. “Make your arm strong with your jab—and move your head—and cover
—and when you get inside, set up those body punches. Concentrate on the
body.”

“Yeah.”

“Give him an eight, a few jabs then an eight, specially if he tries to run use the
eight.”

“If he keeps runnin’, I’ll track him down like a dog.”

It was time for another fight to start, and time for another gladiator to enter the
arena to test his mettle. The trainer headed for the door. “Awright Gene, let’s do
it.” A young boxer gaily adorned in a bright yellow robe followed the older man
out of the locker room and down the long corridor to the arena, hitting the air
with his hands as he walked.

Teddy sat Mike down on a bench and carefully wound the gauze wrapping
around Tyson’s mammoth hand. “Win the title, then we’ll go home to all our
friends, right?”

“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, right.”

The conversation was slow, measured, and agitated. With the taping complete,
Mike and Teddy walked outside the arena, into another bright, picturesque
Colorado day. The pacing continued on the terrace. Tyson, with his hands on his
hips, seemed ready to explode from the tension that was building within him.
Teddy put an arm around his anxious warrior to calm him down. “C’mon. Don’t
worry about it. Relax. Just relax.” They walked to a chain link fence at the rear
of the terrace and Tyson leaned against the top rail. He put his taped hand around
Teddy’s shoulder and began crying softly. Teddy tried to comfort his fighter.
“Relax. Just relax. Don’t get tense. Relax. All it is is another boxing match.
You’ve done it already 20 times. Against better fighters than you’re ever gonna
fight here.”

“Yeah, I’m Mike Tyson,” he sobbed. “Everybody likes me. I’m proud of
myself.”

“That’s right. You have reason to be proud. And you’re gonna continue to do it
as long as you don’t let anything mess you up. If you don’t let yourself mess you
up, you’ll continue to have people like you. Just always remember, that’s all.”

Teddy gave Mike a reassuring pat on the back, then walked away, leaving the
15-year-old man-child alone with his thoughts. There was a minute of silence as
both men composed themselves. Teddy came back and tapped Mike on the side.
“Awright, let’s go get ready for the fight.”

Tyson moved away from the fence and walked toward the field house, throwing
punches into the wind. His stride was strong now, his face determined. Mike
Tyson had gotten his head together, and he was ready to go. They walked down
the corridor toward the gymnasium, Tyson throwing more combinations and
faster combinations. “Good. Good. Awright, that’s better.” Teddy put his arm
around his fighter again, and Mike broke into a jog. The local TV station was
reporting the fight, and the commentator could be heard in the distance.
“Coming up, the fight between Mike Tyson and Kelton Brown. Both fighters
have been very, very impressive. A very experienced Mike Tyson. He was the
champion last year, and has been in national competition in Junior Olympics
with five bouts and five knockouts.” Another fighter approached Tyson in the
corridor and the two men slapped hands as they passed—a message of
encouragement from a fellow competitor. Kelton Brown was already in the ring
with his headgear on and his mouthpiece in position, ready to go. He was tall,
6'6'' to be exact, with milky white skin and curly brown hair. He was decked out
6'6'' to be exact, with milky white skin and curly brown hair. He was decked out
in white from his jersey to his shoes. The TV commentator was still singing the
praises of the Catskill boxer as Mike made his way up the steps to the ring.
“Mike Tyson has not gone the distance in any of his bouts here. He’s being
looked at, and there’s a lot of noise being made about this young man as a
possible Olympic prospect, and a possible professional champion in years to
come.” Tyson adjusted his headgear as he listened to the referee’s instructions,
then headed back to his corner for last-minute advice from his trainer. “You’re
the champ. Fight smart. Eye like a tiger and calm.” Mike slapped both of
Teddy’s hands with his gloves, leaned over and gave his trainer a kiss on the
cheek.

At the bell, the two fighters came out quickly. Two lefts by Brown caught
nothing but air. An overhand right by Tyson smashed against Brown’s jaw,
stunning the Texas fighter. Tyson immediately pressed his advantage,
maneuvering Brown to the ropes and unloading his full arsenal of punches.
Brown attempted to cover up, but a flurry of lefts and rights found his
unprotected body. Brown finally succeeded in tying Tyson up, but the referee
separated them immediately. The 15-year-old New Yorker came back with a
hard right to the jaw, and the desperate Brown grabbed him again. The referee
had to pry them apart this time, and he gave Brown a warning for excessive
holding. The big heavyweight did not appear anxious to continue his struggle
against the muscular knockout artist. Tyson, on the other hand, was eager to mix
it up. As soon as his hands were free, he rocked the game Texan with a left to the
jaw, then buckled his knees with a follow-up right. Brown’s gloves dropped to
his sides as the kid from Catskill pushed him to the ropes and bombarded him
with both hands. The referee, seeing that Brown was defenseless against the
onslaught, stepped in and declared Tyson the winner. It was officially recorded
as a TKO at 42 seconds of round one. Brown, feeling he could have continued,
spit his mouthpiece out in disgust and drop-kicked it out of the ring. An elated
Tyson rushed to his corner and leaped up on the middle strand of rope. He was
so excited he continued to bounce up and down around the ring in a frenzied
victory celebration. Grabbing Teddy Atlas, he planted another big kiss on his
trainer’s cheek. Then he grabbed his head with his hands in disbelief and
tumbled backwards to the canvas, rolling over and over across the ring.
“Michael, c’mon. Come here. Come here. You gotta act with respect. Come
here.”

Kelton Brown, sobbing aloud with disappointment, approached Tyson, and the
two gladiators embraced. Teddy tried to console the stricken fighter. “You gotta
lotta guts, kid. You just stick with it and don’t let this discourage you. He’s a
two-time national champion. You stick with it and you’re gonna have your day.
You have a lotta guts, a lotta guts. A lot to be proud of.” He patted Brown on his
headgear and sent him back to his corner. Tyson, still pumped up by the sudden
end of the match, yelled to the crowd, “I don’t give my title to no one.” Across
the ring, Brown buried his face in his hands. The referee beckoned Tyson to the
center of the ring and raised his hand in the symbolic victory salute. “The winner
in the red corner, in division number one, Mike Tyson. And the runner-up from
Texas, Kelton Brown.” Mike bent over proudly as the Olympic official placed
the red, white, and blue first-place medal over his head. Mike threw kisses to the
screaming crowd, thanking them for their support.14

The post-fight press conference was a beehive of activity as reporters clamored

for attention from the dais. Teddy Atlas gave the news-starved reporters his view
of the fight. “I never saw anything like it in all my boxing experience. It was just
like one of the scenes from Rocky III where Rocky fights a professional wrestler
who is over 6'7'' tall. Brown tried to stare Mike down before the bout, but we
have taught Mike not to be intimidated, and Mike stared right back at him and
actually pushed him back with his chest before the bout started.” The press
wanted to know what was in store for Tyson now that the Junior Olympics were
over, and Atlas obliged them with a capsule summary of Tyson’s upcoming
program.

People don’t realize that Mike is still just a youngster and his mental
toughness still needs to mature slowly. He will be able to fight in the senior
class as soon as he’s 16, then we can get him experience against older and
better fighters. And we will really start to work on his discipline in the ring
and his mental toughness. For the rest of the year, there will be a lot of gym
work and strategy sessions in the ring, and some more amateur fights
around New York. The long range plan right now is to point ahead to 1983
and another defense of the Junior Olympic title, then to set our sights on the
Olympic Games to be held in Los Angeles in 1984.15

Mike and Teddy were welcomed home by their friends in Catskill and by their
“family” at Ewald House. The “Welcome Home Champ”’ sign was prominently
displayed across Main Street again as the town fathers expressed their pride in
the achievements of the two boys. It was June 28, and the mood was festive on
the banks of the Hudson. Two days later, Camille and Cus threw a house party
for their “adopted son.” It was a two-fold celebration: to toast Mike’s
achievements in Colorado Springs and to wish him health and happiness on his
16th birthday. His friends and gym associates—Teddy, Frankie, John, and Jay—
were on hand, and the Catskill Daily Mail sent a photographer around to record
the momentous event for posterity. It was a big day for Mike Tyson in more
ways than one. Being 16 years old meant that he could now compete in the
seniors class, something that he desperately needed. As precocious a fighter as
Tyson was, there had been no challenge for him in the juniors. He needed to get
in the ring with adult boxers, men who were ring-wise and could provide him
with the variety of skills and styles that he needed in order to progress.

The day after the big bash, it was back to the gym for Mike and Teddy. The
glory was behind them once again, and a lot of hard work lay ahead. Cus
watched intently as Mike began his first workout with a rope skipping exercise.
“Your mind is not on your work. Your mind is not on your work. There’s
something distracting you.” Just then, little Johnny Lowe entered the gym and
quickly made his way over to where Cus was seated. “Hi, young man. Come
up.” Cus beckoned to Johnny to join him. Cus loved to draw people out, to get
them talking, to learn their inner secrets, to find out what made them tick. On
this day, he used his psychology on ten-year-old Johnny Lowe.

“You remind me of Mike when he first came here.”

“He’s a good fighter, too,” Johnny retorted.

“Oh, I don’t think so. You think he’s a good fighter? What makes you think so?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, you must have some reason for thinkin’ he’s a good fighter. What makes
you think so?”

“He looks like he could knock out anybody.”

“That’s a very good reason, isn’t it? A very good reason to think it anyway.”

About 30 minutes later, Teddy arrived on the scene and latched onto Johnny.
“How ya doin’, buddy? Did you keep in shape while I was gone?”

“Yeah, but I asked Cus every day when you were coming back.”

“You did, huh? That’s nice. Maybe some day I’ll bring you with me.”
“You did, huh? That’s nice. Maybe some day I’ll bring you with me.”

“If I’m world champ, I can box down there.”

“Yeah, if you’re world champ, we can box anywhere. If you wanna box in
Europe, we’ll box in Europe. When you’re the best you can do a lot of things,
remember that. But to be the best, you gotta work hard. It’s a lotta work.”

Back at Ewald House that evening, there was a flurry of activity as Camille
arrived home with the weekly groceries. Camille, Cus, and several boys scurried
around the kitchen putting everything in its proper place. Frank Minicelli
grabbed the dog food and quickly disappeared outside to feed the two friendly
Eskimo Huskies who were hungrily pacing the back yard.

“Whatta ya do with the sunflower seeds?” Cus inquired.

“For the birds,” said Camille.

Cus shook his head. “Birds an’ animals. They’re better off bein’ in this house
than anybody.”16

Dinner was more of a family get-together in the old mansion now. Mike Tyson
was beginning to come out of his shell, and he was more open with everyone.
Frank Minicelli, as usual, was always looking for fun. On this night, Mike and
Frankie approached the dining room table with some light horseplay. Mike
playfully grabbed Frankie from behind in a gentle bear hug. After he freed
himself, Frankie spun around and faked several punches to Mike’s midsection.
The give and take continued as they took their seats. During the meal, Cus once
again held center stage. It was always school time for Cus and his pupils. “The
only guy at this table who always thinks about fightin’—he always thinks about
fightin’, no matter what he does—is Frankie Minicelli.” “Yeah, Frankie,”
laughed Tyson. Frankie grinned and shook his head sheepishly. As the piping
hot casserole was passed around the table, Cus went into his spiel.

You know, a guy went into a restaurant and he took off a very expensive
coat. He hung it up, and on the coat he put a card. It read, “This coat
belongs to the heavyweight champion of the world.” That means, don’t
touch it. So he went about his business, and when he came back the coat
was gone. Instead, right over where the coat was, was another card. “This
coat was stolen by the fastest runner in the world. Come and get me.”
 “Is that for real?” asked a puzzled Jay Bright.

Well, I don’t know if it’s for real, but I don’t doubt that it’s happened.
There are very few new things in this world. Very few. That’s why, when
people are young, if they’re smart, they try to profit by the experiences of
an older guy so they won’t have to go through all the pain and sufferin’. But
a certain amount of pain and sufferin’ is good because it makes a person
think. They learn.17

With the approach of fall came the American rite of manhood better known as
high school football. With the football games came the Friday night teen dances
at the Elks Club. Mike Tyson never missed a Friday night at the Club. He loved
to dance, and he was an exceptional dancer according to the local girls. Mike,
who had a girlfriend named Angie, stayed on the dance floor from the time they
opened the doors at 7 o’clock until the last number was played at 11 p.m. Like
most small town events, the weekly dances also provided a forum for the high
school jocks to show off their muscles and compete with jocks from nearby
towns for boasting rights. In this locale, the guys from Catskill were always
trying to outdo their next door neighbors from Cairo. Occasionally, the jousting
for position approached the rumble stage. One night, Catskill kids stood toe to
toe with Cairo kids, each side trying to stare down the other side. Just when it
looked like the confrontation would erupt into full-scale warfare, Mike Tyson
put his 210 pounds of sinew and muscle between the two factions and
admonished them. “All right guys, cool off and let’s dance.” One glance at the
Tyson physique and the kids from Cairo and the kids from Catskill quietly
returned to the dance floor.18

October and November were busy months for the Catskill Boxing Club as a
number of their fighters were engaged in tournaments around New York State.
Five local boxers made the finals of the Adirondack Golden Gloves Tournament.
Three came away victorious. Kevin Young, with an amateur record of 55–5,
won in a walkover as his opponent was unable to compete. Greg Young (52–7)
won a decision, and Frankie Minicelli (40–15) streaked to a TKO victory in the
second round to win the 139-pound open classification. A left hook to the body
by Frankie paralyzed his opponent late in the first round and he was unable to
answer the bell for round two. Frankie moved on to the Northeast Regional
Finals on Friday, November 19, and lost a heartbreaking split decision to John
Powell of Boston. It was a good match. Frankie carried the fight to Powell in the
opening round with a series of debilitating body punches. Powell bounced back
with some good head shots in round two and, in round three, both fighters gave a
with some good head shots in round two and, in round three, both fighters gave a
good account of themselves. It was difficult to lose, but Frankie came away
knowing that he fought a good fight.

Elsewhere, November was a sad month for the boxing world. On Saturday the
13th, lightweight champion Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini defended his crown in
Las Vegas, Nevada, against Duk Koo Kim, a relatively unknown challenger
from South Korea. From the outset it was a brutal match. Duk Koo Kim was a
street fighter just like Mancini. Both fighters dished out savage punishment
round after round. Early in the 14th, Mancini caught Kim on the ropes and nailed
him with a vicious right hook to the side of the head. Kim pitched forward to the
canvas, struggled gamely to his feet and then collapsed, unconscious. The
ringside physicians were unable to revive the courageous Korean fighter, and he
was finally carried from the ring on a stretcher and brought to the dressing room.
Kim lapsed into a coma shortly after arrival at the hospital. His grief-stricken
mother was flown in from Korea and rushed to his bedside. Her vigil was sad
and lonely—and hopeless. After three days, she brought in a Chinese
acupuncture team to work on her son, but they, like the American doctors, were
unable to breathe life back into Kim’s broken body. Finally, on Wednesday,
November 18, 1982, Duk Koo Kim was declared brain-dead. His life-support
system was disconnected and his mother selflessly donated his organs to medical
science. It was left for the police to discover a mystical footnote to the tragic
story of Duk Koo Kim. When the Korean’s hotel room was examined following
his death, officers found a cryptic message scrawled across the mirror in Kim’s
hand. It read, “Kill or be killed.”19

Boxing promoter Bob Arum, always the opportunist, immediately called for an
investigation, which was normal procedure in any case. The first thing the
investigators did was clear the referee of all blame in Kim’s death. There had
been no opportunity for the referee to stop the fight. It had been a one-punch
knockout. Ironically, if Kim had survived the final five minutes of the fight, he
would have been declared the new WBA lightweight champion. He was leading
on all three cards when he was struck down. As the investigation continued,
there was the usual hue and cry to ban boxing, mostly from people who never
liked boxing, didn’t know anything about it, and didn’t understand it. Some
detractors asked for bigger gloves, bigger headgear, and longer rest periods.
Both Kevin Rooney and Teddy Atlas had strong opinions about safety and the
sport of boxing. Rooney just shook his head in disgust when he heard the latest
suggestions. “If a guy gets hit right, he’s goin’ down, no matter how big the
gloves. All these rule changes people are talking about are silly. They will just
gloves. All these rule changes people are talking about are silly. They will just
ruin boxin’.” Teddy was more outspoken on the subject.

If you switch to bigger gloves, the fighter will just take a worse beating for
a longer period of time. He’ll get pounded for ten rounds instead of being
taken out early. I think it would make boxin’ less attractive to the public,
and that’s the first step in abolishing the sport. If they would make fighters
go through stiffer physicals, some of those guys who aren’t in the right
shape would be prevented from fightin’. The trainers and managers are to
blame mostly. It’s their job to make sure those guys are ready to fight.20

Kevin and Teddy both made some good points. Boxing was not banned, but
tragedies such as the death of Duk Koo Kim do focus attention on the safety
aspects of the sport, and do lead to legislation that will increase boxing safety
without diminishing the excitement of the spectacle. Stiffer physical
examinations, as advocated by Atlas, have become one of the major
improvements in the sport in recent years.

On November 24, Kevin Rooney returned to the ring wars in Scranton,

Pennsylvania, determined to begin a comeback after his devastating loss to
Alexis Arguello. Rooney dominated the first two rounds against Terry Crawley,
but in round three, the two fighters accidentally bumped heads, and Rooney
suffered a deep gash just below the right eyebrow. The cut bled profusely from
that point on and, although Rooney continued to lead by a wide margin on all
judges’ scorecards, the ring doctor decided the cut was too deep and too
dangerous to allow the fight to continue. He refused to let Rooney answer the
bell for round seven, awarding a TKO victory to Crawley. Rooney was bitterly
disappointed and, although Crawley apologized for the accidental butt and
unfortunate ending to fight, Rooney’s record dropped to 19–3 and brought his
career closer to the final curtain.21

The year 1982 was not all fun and glory for Mike Tyson either. It was the most
traumatic year of his young life, a year in which two close personal relationships
came to an end, scarring his psyche deeply. First, his mother succumbed to her
two-year battle with cancer, a crushing blow to Mike as he stood poised on the
threshold of a promising pugilistic career. Mike had wanted to earn a great
reputation in boxing in order to please his mother and prove to her that he was
the kind of son she could be proud of. He mourned her loss with a heavy sense
of guilt. “I never made my mother happy or proud of me. She only saw me come
home with clothes I never paid for. I made her cry so much. I wish she could
home with clothes I never paid for. I made her cry so much. I wish she could
have lived until I became champion.”

Another emotional experience cast a pall over Mike Tyson’s world late in the
year. His trainer, Teddy Atlas, and his manager, Cus D’Amato, had a falling out,
and Atlas was barred from the Catskill Boxing Club forever. The full story of the
confrontation between the two men has never been satisfactorily explained.
There appeared to be a real or imagined attempt by Teddy Atlas to gain full
control of Mike Tyson’s career from his aging manager, according to reports
emanating from the D’Amato camp. There is an old adage that “familiarity
breeds contempt,” a phrase that contains more truth than fiction. A point is often
reached in the teacher-student relationship where the student begins to feel he
knows more than the teacher. From that point on, the relationship becomes
strained and often ends disagreeably. The D’Amato-Atlas relationship followed
such a course. Once Teddy learned his stock in trade, he became more confident
in his new position, and as he became more confident, he began to develop his
own ideas about how a fighter should be handled. Some of those ideas came in
direct conflict with the philosophies of Cus D’Amato. This situation, coupled
with Teddy’s natural stubbornness, eventually resulted in an explosive
confrontation between the two men.

The beginning of the end occurred in mid–1982, after Tyson had claimed his
second successive National Junior Olympic title. Teddy felt that the sudden fame
and media attention in Colorado had made Mike cocky and difficult to work
with. Mike returned to Catskill rebellious and lazy. Some days he was late for
his gym workout. Other days he didn’t bother to show up at all. In his
association with Teddy, he became defiant and obstinate. Teddy was determined
to nip the problem in the bud and get Tyson’s feet back on the ground before the
situation deteriorated too far. Already, in Teddy’s eyes, Mike was beginning to
slack off in his school work and was beginning to hang around with an
undesirable element. To combat this situation, Teddy sat Mike down and had a
long talk with him, trying to make Mike see where he was going wrong. To
emphasize his point, Teddy barred Mike from the gym for two weeks, a ploy he
used routinely with other fighters when the situation required disciplinary action.

When Cus caught wind of this turn of events, he hit the roof. “You can’t do that
to Mike. He’s gonna be the heavyweight champion of the world one of these
days and he needs to be developed more carefully. You can’t bar him from the
gym. In the first place, he needs the work. He’s got to work out every day. And
he needs to be handled in a positive manner. Kickin’ him outta the gym will
have a negative effect on him. Get him back in here. I’ll talk to him.”
have a negative effect on him. Get him back in here. I’ll talk to him.”

At this point, Teddy rebelled. He had been working with Tyson for two years
and the duo had been eminently successful in their boxing endeavors, two
national titles and an impressive string of knockouts. The friction between Atlas
and D’Amato seemed to grow almost daily, and by November, Cus D’Amato
had had enough. He felt it necessary to terminate Teddy’s employment before
the in-fighting had a detrimental effect on Mike Tyson’s career. Shortly before
Thanksgiving, Cus D’Amato picked up the telephone and placed a call to his
partner Jim Jacobs, to inform him that Teddy Atlas was all through as a trainer
for the Catskill Boxing Club.

The final parting was bitter, at least on the part of Cus D’Amato and his
associates. Cus himself had nothing to say about the matter publicly, and Kevin
Rooney, a boyhood chum of Teddy’s, was reputedly so full of anger for Teddy’s
tactics that he also refused to talk about it. The friction in the club that year was
evident to all the boys. John Chetti, who had been boxing for about four years,
had decided to quit the club about a week before Teddy got fired. Chetti went to
Cus and informed him that he was giving up boxing so he could concentrate on
his high school studies and go on to college. Cus wished him well, then inquired,
“Would you be willing to help Kevin and I with Mike?” Chetti could see the
handwriting on the wall as far as Teddy was concerned. He liked Teddy, but he
was also fond of Cus and Mike. Not wanting to be drawn into the conflict
between people who were all his friends, he declined Cus’s offer and departed
from the club permanently. In fairness to both parties, there was probably some
guilt and some innocence on both sides. When two stubborn men collide, right
and wrong often gives way to “principle.” In any case, Teddy Atlas returned to
the metropolitan area, where today he is a respected trainer at Gleason’s Gym in
New York City. He commutes to the city daily from his suburban home in Staten
Island, where he lives with his wife, Elaine, his daughter, Nicole Marie, and his
young son, Teddy Atlas III. Several of his fighters show considerable promise,
but there’s not a Mike Tyson in the bunch. A boxer of Tyson’s caliber comes
along only once in a lifetime.22

A separate incident that reportedly took place about the same time may or may
not have contributed to the final confrontation. As Teddy Atlas told it, Mike
Tyson groped Teddy’s 11-year-old sister-in-law, Susie, causing Teddy to seek
out his fighter. He put a .38 caliber pistol to Tyson’s head and warned him that if
he ever did anything to the Atlas family again, he would be killed.23
Mike’s final disappointment of the year took place inside the ring on December
10. His manager, Cus D’Amato, entered him in his first “Seniors” competition,
the United States Amateur Boxing Championships. Tyson drew a tough
opponent in the opening round, Al “Chico” Evans of Chicago, a veteran of the
ring wars. Evans, a tall, black slugger packing 210 pounds on a well-muscled,
sinewy frame, had many more fights than Tyson, and against much stronger
competition. Mike, still basking in the glory of his second successive Junior
Olympic title, entered the ring with a feeling of invincibility. He was cocky and
visibly disdainful of his opponent, just as Atlas had feared. But the good Lord
has a way of bringing people back to their senses when they get too big for their
britches, and this was Mike Tyson’s day to taste the humble pie.

Both fighters came out punching in round one, and it wasn’t long before Tyson
realized he was in with a different caliber fighter than he had encountered in the
Juniors. Evans took Mike’s best shots and came back with some of his own.
Time and again, in rounds one and two, Mike hit the Chicago fighter with his
Sunday punch, but he was unable to drop the tough heavyweight. At the end of
round two, the fight was dead even. Tyson, frustrated by this unexpected turn of
events, lost his composure. He charged out in round three, determined to score a
knockout. His fight plan was completely forgotten as he threw flurries of wild
punches in Evans’ direction, none coming close to making contact. The two
fighters exchanged jabs in mid-ring. Then Tyson tried to surprise Evans with a
haymaker right to the head. The cool Chicagoan slipped the punch easily and
caught the off-balance Tyson with a counter right of his own, putting the Catskill
fighter on the seat of his pants for the first time in his career. Mike jumped up
quickly, more embarrassed than hurt. As soon as the referee had finished the
required eight count, Mike lunged after Evans again. He pounded Evans to the
body, backing the Chicago man to the ropes. During the ensuing action, Tyson
slipped on the wet canvas just as Evans landed another good right hand. For a
second time, Tyson fell to the floor, and this time the fight was automatically
stopped because of a two-knockdown rule. Tyson was beside himself with
frustration, disappointment, and anguish, but it was too late. The fight was over,
and his record would forever show a third-round TKO loss to Al Evans of
Chicago.

The Catskill teenager retreated to the shadows of the locker room, where he sat
slumped on a bench long after the fight ended. He sobbed long and loud. The
loss was a crushing blow to his ego, particularly after his glorious triumph in
Colorado. Rooney too was disappointed, but he was also philosophical about the
experience. “He was punchin’ well to the body and wearing Evans down, but he
got a little anxious. He tried to go for a knockout in the third round and it cost
him. This loss could be a good thing for Mike. He’ll learn some things and next
time he won’t make the same mistakes.”24

On the same day as Tyson’s loss, World Boxing Council President, Jose
Sulaiman, announced that the WBC was shortening title fights from 15 rounds to
12 rounds in an attempt to curb late-fight fatalities. He also announced that the
WBC was initiating a standing eight count for a fighter in trouble. The rule
change caused considerable furor throughout the boxing world. Some fighters,
like Larry Holmes, came out in favor of the rule change, while other fighters,
like “Boom Boom” Mancini, called the move idiotic. For his part, Sulaiman
stated that 12 rounds is the dangerous limit. Beyond 12 rounds, a fighter is in
danger of being seriously hurt because he is so tired. The statistics did not seem
to bear out Sulaiman’s contention. Of the 439 ring deaths recorded between
1919 and 1985, only four occurred after the 12th round—less than one percent.
The real need would appear to be more thorough physical examinations for the
fighters, closer monitoring of their critical bodily signs, and better protective
equipment. The WBA apparently did not agree with Sulaiman’s assessment of
the situation since they retained the 15-round limit for title fights.
 5

A Taste of Glory—1983

It was dark. Mike Tyson, wearing a red warm-up suit, was alone in the bedroom.
He quietly threaded the movie projector, then eased himself down into a nearby
chair and flashed the light on the distant screen, adjusting the focus knob until
the old black-and-white picture was sharp and clear. Jim Jacobs’ articulate voice
could be heard narrating the film, another in “The Greatest Fights of the
Century” series. “Henry Armstrong on the left trying to win his fourth worlds
championship. He’s already held the featherweight, lightweight, and
middleweight championships of the world. They’re at Gilmore Stadium, Los
Angeles, California, March 1, 1940.” Tyson moved away from the projector and
found a comfortable stuffed chair to view the film from. “The fight is scheduled
for ten rounds. Henry Armstrong’s style here is typical of him, head down on the
chest of his opponent whaling away to the body and then shifting to an attack to
the head.” Mike was engrossed in the film, his chin cupped in his hands, his eyes
glued to the screen, concentrating on every move and punch that Armstrong
made. He thought to himself, “You can’t stop that guy. He’s got so much
energy.” This was Mike Tyson’s classroom, and Mike was an honor student in
the science of pugilism. He could identify most of the top professional boxers.
He knew their styles, their strengths, and their weaknesses. He observed their
styles, and he remembered. He learned what it took to become a champion, the
sacrifices that had to be made, the dedication that was required. He discovered
why some fighters were successful while other fighters were failures.1

Studying the fight films was all part of Cus D’Amato’s curriculum in the school
for developing world champions. Cus taught his own philosophies to his
students. Then he would sit the student down and view films of the boxing
masters with him, being careful to point out the significant factors in each fight
and the important characteristics of each fighter. Cus would explain how his
philosophy was utilized by the winning fighter in each bout. After reviewing a
film with Cus, the fighter would review the film over and over by himself until
he absorbed and understood what Cus was trying to teach him, just as Mike
he absorbed and understood what Cus was trying to teach him, just as Mike
Tyson was doing on this night. Mike watched Henry Armstrong, and he silently
nodded in agreement as Armstrong’s tactics brought him another victory. Over
the years, whether consciously or unconsciously, Mike Tyson’s approach to the
sport closely modeled that of Henry Armstrong—the same boundless energy, the
same aggressive, pressing attack, the same head on chest, the same unrelenting
body attack followed by an assault to the head. Mike Tyson could have been
cloned from Henry Armstrong if he wasn’t already the reincarnation of “Little
Perpetual Motion.” And well he should emulate Armstrong, for Henry was Cus
D’Amato’s all-time favorite fighter.

Outside the ring, Mike was lonely. He enjoyed the quiet moments when he could
sit in his bedroom alone, viewing the fight films and meditating. He needed time
to himself to recover from a traumatic 1982, a year in which he lost two of the
people closest to him, his mother and Teddy Atlas. He mourned for a long time
over the death of his mother, the person that he loved more than any other in the
world. He felt he had let her down. He had given her numerous heartaches when
he was a young street hoodlum, and he wanted so desperately to make up for all
the pain he caused her that his sense of grief was even more intense than it
would have been under normal circumstances. He wanted to win the
heavyweight championship of the world for her, so she could see him become
successful and rich, and so he could buy her a big house and lots of clothes. Now
those things would never happen. It was too late to make amends. He was left
alone now. With his mother gone, with no father, with his sister married and his
brother in the Navy, and with many of his friends dead or in jail, his visits back
to Brooklyn became fewer and fewer. Catskill, New York, became his real home
now, and Cus and Camille became his real family—and his only family.

Then, suddenly, Teddy Atlas also left him. Teddy and Cus clashed violently in
late 1982 and Teddy was banished from the Tyson camp forever. Mike Tyson
loved Teddy Atlas but he loved Cus D’Amato even more. Cus was his new
father, his family. With the death of Mike’s mother, Cus became even more
important in Mike’s life. Cus became his adopted flesh and blood, his roots. And
Mike needed roots. With time, Camille would come to be the mother he sought
to please. As Cus and Teddy battled, Mike was forced to choose sides. He chose
to stay close to Cus and watched Teddy leave, but he watched with a twinge of
regret. Teddy was like an older brother to Mike, and to watch his “older brother”
fighting with his “father” was more than he could tolerate. He watched Teddy
depart with a feeling of sadness. It was the end of a cherished relationship.

The perfect cure for these crushing personal losses was work, hard work, and
The perfect cure for these crushing personal losses was work, hard work, and
Mike committed himself to his training regimen with an increased intensity, as if
wanting to prove Teddy Atlas wrong. Mike always enjoyed the gym work. He
found it relaxing and rewarding. When he worked, Cus was always nearby,
studying, scrutinizing, and instructing. He could often be seen on the apron of
the ring, leaning against the top rope, a large 88 decorating the front and back of
his blue football jersey. Mike Tyson was in the ring, working with Kevin
Rooney. Cus often had Mike work with small, fast boxers to develop his
defensive instincts. The 16-year-old slugger was not allowed to throw any
punches during these sessions. He could only bob and weave and learn to be
evasive. As Rooney noted, “Joe Frazier would take one or two punches in order
to get in one good one. Mike doesn’t take any.” Mike Tyson danced around the
ring, followed by Rooney. Kevin shot out a straight left and Mike easily ducked
underneath it. His movement caught D’Amato’s eye, and Cus was not happy
with what he saw. “You’re a little bit too square. Your right shoulder should be
forward more. So when you’re drivin’ in, there’s nothin’ to hold that blow.
You’re gonna do real damage. You might drop the guy with one punch. You aim
the right at his rib cage and if his guard drops you bring the same hand up to his
jaw. Bang! A left hook to the head. You got a chance to get in three perfect
punches, if he’s still standin’.”

Tyson demonstrated. Under Rooney’s left. Pop. Pop. Pop. Right to the ribs.
Right to the head. Left to the jaw. “That’s it. See. There’s no way he’s gonna hit
you then, right? Now remember, it’s always good to throw the punch where you
can hit him and he can’t hit you. That’s what the science of boxing is all about.
Remember, from the side you can let that punch go with the worst kind of
intention because you know he can’t hit you back. So you can throw the bomb
with all the power you can generate.” Tyson continued to circle Rooney,
constantly bobbing and weaving, throwing rights and lefts in clusters, always
just short of their mark. D’Amato slowly moved away, leaving Tyson and
Rooney to perfect the new strategy. He quickly corralled a 12-year-old and
started working with him outside the ring. Cus began throwing his left in and out
continuously, teaching the youngster how to weave back and forth to avoid the
punches. “No. Straight back and forth like this,” motioning right and left. “Okay,
good, don’t stop.” Next Cus began swinging both his hands back and forth, back
and forth, teaching his pupil to bob and weave in perfect synchronization. The
kid moved up and down, right and left, letting Cus’s punches slip harmlessly
past his ear or over his head. “Awright, see these are little things. But that’s the
difference between bein’ a pro and bein’ an ordinary guy.” Cus whispered to a
bystander, “I’m not a creator. What I do is discover and uncover. I take the flame
and turn it into a roaring blaze. That’s what I coach these boys. See, that’s what I
try to do.”2

Kevin Rooney was Tyson’s trainer from 1982 to 1988, during which time
Tyson racked up 35 consecutive wins, 31 by KO (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

As February rolled around, the boxing season got under way with the Western
Massachusetts Golden Gloves Tournament at the Holyoke Boys Club. Mike had
been working hard in the gym, and with his two Junior Olympic titles in tow, he
was already rated as the number eight amateur super heavyweight in the country.
Although still only 16 years old, he tipped the scales at a solid 201 pounds. Cus
arrived in Holyoke fully confident about Mike’s chances, but tournament official
Mike Burke was skeptical of Tyson’s ability to handle the experienced fighters
that were entered in the open competition. He recommended to Cus that Mike
fight in the novice class. “He’ll get killed in there with experienced fighters.”
Cus just smiled and nodded. ”Yeah. Just watch him.” Mike received a bye to the
finals of the tourney due to a lack of willing opponents, and on Saturday,
February 12, he was matched against a tough kid from South Boston, Jimmy
Johnson. As with most of Tyson’s amateur fights, this one ended before the
crowd had settled in their seats. After a few seconds of feeling each other out,
the fighters clinched. As they parted, Tyson shot out a straight right hand that
landed flush on Johnson’s chin, and the boy from Southie went straight down
and took the full count. Trainer Kevin Rooney was more impressed with the
performance than anyone else. “He went down like he was shot,” Rooney
exclaimed. “It was a perfect punch.” Kevin, who was working in his first fight as
Tyson’s trainer, was happy with Mike’s emotional approach to the fight. “Mike
remained calm in this fight. In his past fights, he would start to get excited
during the bout, but this time he was calm and cool.” February 12, 1983, marked
the beginning of Mike Tyson’s maturing process. Mentally and emotionally
Mike was breaking free of the cocoon of childhood and was moving into the
adult world. The teenager was already gaining control of his inner self, a
characteristic that would make him doubly dangerous in the future. Some people
live their entire lives without harnessing their emotional energy. This precocious
young man was on the road to achieving it while still in high school.3

Tyson’s sudden triumph in Holyoke advanced him to the New England

tournament only three days later. On Tuesday, February 15, Mike stepped into
the ring in Lowell, Massachusetts, to face his semi-final opponent, Jimmy
Brisson, from nearby Salem. Brisson, a husky 228-pounder, was very popular
around the metropolitan area, but he had never fought a man as deadly as Mike
Tyson. That Catskill Clubber, as he would come to be known to local
sportswriters, was intimidating to look at, and he was perpetual motion in the
ring. The upcoming encounter began to prey on Brisson’s mind. Tyson and
Rooney themselves were concerned about the bout. They had heard about what a
rough fighter Brisson was, and they prepared themselves for a knockdown, drag-
out battle. As fight time neared, both boxers worked on their mental preparation
for the encounter. Mike settled down as the bell sounded for round one, but
Brisson was still agitated, and he started to come unglued immediately. He
retreated from Mike’s initial thrust, but Mike pursued him around the ring
relentlessly, finally catching him on the ropes. A hard right hand to the body
followed by a left to the body and a right to the head backed the rugged New
Englander into a corner. Several more body shots brought a look of anguish to
Brisson’s face and caused the referee to give the injured fighter a standing eight
count. It wasn’t enough. As soon as the final count was tolled, a towel came
flying out of Brisson’s corner, terminating the battle at the 42-second mark.4

The next day, Tyson was scheduled against Jim Rayburn of Burlington,
Vermont, for the New England Five States Championship. Rayburn had
impressed the Tyson camp with his semi-final performance, and Tyson and
Rooney were preparing themselves for a hard match. It ended up being easier
than they expected. Rayburn had sprained an ankle in the semi-final, and the
tournament physician declared him unfit to fight in the finals. Tyson became the
New England Golden Gloves Champion by default, a route that was not
uncommon to him. Many of his opponents found various excuses to withdraw
from their fights. His reputation as an executioner was growing by leaps and
bounds. Another walkover in the Northeast Regionals in Ithaca, New York,
automatically qualified the Catskill Clubber for the Golden Gloves National
tournament in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Prior to the tournament, however, the
Tyson management team met in New York City to review their fighter’s
performance. So far, everything looked good. His progress was on schedule. The
plan was for him to win a series of national titles, including the Junior Amateur
Boxing championships and the Golden Gloves, then to concentrate on making
the Olympic team and winning a gold medal at the 1984 Summer Games.
Assuming all went well, Mike Tyson would turn pro immediately after the
Games, and would gear his timetable toward annexing the world’s heavyweight
championship within three-and-a-half years, making him the youngest
heavyweight champion ever.

Albuquerque was a pleasant change from the cold, blustery weather that swept
through the northeast in March. New Mexico was warm and sunny, with the
temperature hovering around the 70-degree mark. Tyson was not on vacation,
however. His week was a busy one with over 32 fighters entered in the super
heavyweight division, the cream of the crop from around the country. On
Tuesday, Mike faced Ron Williams of Springfield, Illinois. A Tyson left hook to
the liver demolished Williams in one minute and 30 seconds. The next day,
Mike was matched with Andrew Stokes of Indianapolis, Indiana. Stokes gave
Tyson a battle for more than six minutes before Tyson’s famous left hook sent
him to Never-Never-Land in the third round. Mike Tyson was responding well
to his first taste of national prominence and the pressure that accompanies it. He
had the usual butterflies before a fight. After all, D’Amato preached if you don’t
get nervous you’re one of two things, either dead or a liar. However, when the
bell sounded, he was all business, moving smoothly and punching with
authority.
authority.

The quarter-finals were scheduled for Thursday, March 24. Big Mike Bradwell
of Jacksonville, Tennessee, again carried Tyson into the third round, but he
eventually succumbed to a numbing left hook to the body. Two-time defending
champion Warren Thompson was the only fighter left between Mike Tyson and
a spot in the finals. To win the coveted belt, Mike had to rise to new heights to
conquer this hurdle. Thompson was defiant, but Mike was more than up to the
task. In the dressing room before the semi-final encounter, Kevin Rooney gave
Mike his final instructions. “Get on top of this guy and stay there. He’s got a
good right hand and a lot of experience. If you’re patient, you’ll get a good shot
at him and then you’ll hurt him.” Mike followed the fight plan that Kevin had
outlined. He kept his head buried in Thompson’s chest for three rounds,
pummeling the former champion with rights and lefts to the body, and not giving
Thompson an opportunity to unleash his vaunted right hand. Mike never found
an opening to bring down the number one seed, but he did keep busy enough to
win a unanimous decision and catapult himself into the finals. “It was one of his
best fights,” said Rooney. “He did what he had to do.”

Mike had disposed of four foes in impressive fashion, including a victory over
the two-time champion. Now only one obstacle separated the Catskill Clubber
from the National Golden Gloves Championship, a three-round match against
crafty Craig Payne. Tyson was nine minutes from glory. His strategy in the final
was the same as it had been in previous matches, to stay on top of his man, to
work the body incessantly with both hands and, if an opening occurred, to switch
his attack to the head. From Tyson’s corner, the fight seemed to go almost as
planned. Mike kept on top of Payne and midway through the first round hurt his
man with a thunderous right hook. The wily Payne backed off and managed to
dance away from Tyson’s bullish charges, giving himself time to get rid of the
cobwebs. In round two, a refreshed Payne came back strong to win the round on
all scorecards. Tyson appeared to dominate round three, however, and looked
like a sure winner as the five judges totaled up their scores. The decision was
close, and it was controversial. When their tallies were checked, Craig Payne
emerged the winner by a 3–2 count. Tyson was crushed. He knew in his heart he
had won the fight, and he couldn’t understand how the judges could take it away
from him. Kevin Rooney was more vocal than his fighter, echoing the sentiment
of losers from time immemorial. “We were robbed,” screamed the frustrated
Rooney. “Mike beat the guy and everyone knew it.” The crowd obviously agreed
with Kevin because they booed loudly when the result was announced. The
silver medal was small consolation for the distraught Tyson, but he had learned a
valuable lesson in losing the final: Whenever you leave the decision up to a body
of judges, anything can happen and usually does. In spite of the loss, Mike’s
reputation continued to grow in boxing circles. Tom Colter, Director of the
National Ranking Committee, noted that Tyson fought five of the best super
heavyweights in the country and held his own with all of them. Although failing
in his bid for the national championship, Tyson achieved the number two
ranking in the country, behind Craig Payne. His star was still in its ascendancy,
and his hopes of making the Olympic team in 1984 were not diminished by the
defeat.5

In the professional ranks, Larry Holmes still dominated the heavyweight

division. On March 27, he defended his title in Scranton, Pennsylvania, the site
of his first pro bout, against the European Champion, Lucien Rodriguez of
France. Rodriguez, as it turned out, was durable but not very talented. Holmes
pounded the Frenchman from pillar to post for 12 rounds en route to a
unanimous decision. He floored Rodriguez in the sixth round but could not
finish him off as the bell saved the European champ. Holmes did, however,
manage to pile up a majority of points in successfully defending his title for the
14th time. Four days later, “Irish” Gerry Cooney announced one of his many
comebacks, perhaps spurred on by Holmes’ lackluster performance plus a lack
of legitimate contenders for the heavyweight crown. Cooney had been KO’d by
Holmes in 11 rounds in 1982 and had gone into retirement immediately after the
fight.

As spring settled over the Catskills and the snow disappeared from the
landscape, Cus D’Amato drove his young charge unmercifully. He continued to
refine Mike’s physical skills, but he spent most of his time and effort on the
mental approach to the sport. As a break from these taxing training sessions,
Mike liked to spend some afternoons with his friends. Now that John Chetti had
dropped out of the gym, Tyson grew closer to Mike Murphy, and he began
spending more and more time at the Murphy house on Spring Street. His first
visit to the neatly kept red dwelling was a memorable one. Murph invited Tyson
over the play hoop one afternoon after school and, while Murph went to his
bedroom to change his clothes, Tyson settled comfortably into a stuffed chair in
the living room to watch TV. As fate would have it, Mrs. Murphy, returning
home from work, walked in on the big rugged black kid sitting in the middle of
her living room. Startled by the strange sight, Mrs. Murphy unleashed a blood-
curdling scream. The noise not only shocked young Tyson, but probably startled
half the neighbors on Spring Street as well. A flustered Mike Tyson jumped to
his feet stammering, “Oh, Mrs. Murphy, hello. I’m Mike Tyson. I didn’t mean to
scare you.”6

During the rest of the year, Tyson became a regular visitor to 207 Spring Street.
Mrs. Murphy liked the affable boy-giant and enjoyed having him around the
house. Mike Tyson, for his part, found the Murphy house to be a comfortable
place to relax, a safe haven from the pressures of the day. The Murphys had a
basketball hoop in the driveway, and the boys played a lot of one-on-one there
during the summer months. Jim Murphy, three years Tyson’s junior,
remembered Mike as a player with limited talent, but one who was intimidating.
“People tended to get out of Mike’s way when he drove for the basket.”7 Being a
210-pound high school sophomore might have had something to do with that.
Mike Murphy was the only one of the crowd with a driver’s license, so he
automatically inherited the position of group chauffeur. The boys spent many
pleasant summer evenings at the local baseball and softball games rooting for
their favorite teams and gorging themselves on hot dogs and soda. And then
there were the movies. They were still a popular form of evening entertainment.
In addition to the girl-hunting trips to the Community Theater, the boys could
now go to the drive-in by the carful. In spite of a full schedule of mind-boggling
academic courses at Catskill High School, and in spite of the tyrannical physical
and philosophical workouts under the watchful eye of Cus D’Amato, life was
good for Mike Tyson in 1983. He was coming into his own emotionally. His
boxing career was meeting with astounding success. He had a lot of girlfriends, a
great group of guys to hang out with, and a loving family at the Ewald mansion.
Mike Tyson knew it didn’t get any better than this.

Cus D’Amato now considered the amateur tournaments to be of minimum value

as far as Tyson’s progress in the ring was concerned. Mike was physically too
advanced for the young kids that he met in the junior tournaments, and his skills
were rarely tested. Cus felt that Tyson could receive a better education
elsewhere. In addition to developing his boxing skills in the gym, and his
practical ringmanship in “smokers” and club fights, Tyson added to his
experience by serving as a sparring partner for older, more mature fighters who
were entering the professional ranks, or who were progressing through the
higher levels of amateur ranks. On one occasion, Mike travelled to White Plains,
New York, to spar three rounds with Carl “The Truth” Williams, who was
beginning to make a name for himself in the professional arena. Williams
needed stronger competition than the run-of-the-mill sparring partners were
capable of providing, and Mike Tyson was happy to oblige. Williams’ record as
a pro was already 13–0, but that didn’t phase the high school kid from upstate
New York. Tyson put pressure on Williams from the opening bell and gave “The
Truth” a sound beating to the rib cage. Tyson’s chin was tested, probably for the
first time, during this skirmish. Rooney remembered it clearly. “Michael was
coming in and Williams hit him with a straight right hand. It was like Michael
wasn’t hit. He just kept coming. An ordinary person would have gone down.
He’s not ordinary. Needless to say, we didn’t get invited back.”8

On Saturday, May 21, Nadia Hujtyn drove half a dozen members of the Catskill
Boxing Club down to the Bronx and parked the old blue Chevy station wagon
next to the Apollo Boxing Club on Westchester Avenue. Several of the Catskill
fighters were on the card, including Mike Tyson, who was pitted against a 22-
year-old boxer from the Nassau Police Club, Bill Sammo. Tyson would always
remember these “smokers” fondly in the years to come. One of the Catskill
contingent claimed that most of their opponents were thugs who just wanted to
see how much pain they could inflict on the other guy. Mike admitted that some
of those fighters would have scared the guys from his old neighborhood in
Brooklyn. Sammo had been fighting much longer than his younger opponent,
compiling a 30–6 record compared to Tyson’s more modest 17–3 mark. It turned
out to be a good fight for Tyson because he had to work hard to maintain an
advantage. Sammo was a rough guy and not the least bit impressed with Tyson’s
credentials. From the outset, the Sammo-Tyson bout was a war, both fighters
throwing bombs with abandon. The Nassau slugger was not intimidated by
Tyson’s long list of first-round knockout victims in the junior tournaments. He
was determined to welcome Mike to the “men’s division” with a thorough
beating. Tyson got in several good shots in round one, but Sammo walked right
through them and kept the pressure on for a full three minutes. Round two was
more of the same, busy and bloody. In round three, Tyson’s jab began to take its
toll on Sammo’s face, which turned red and puffy. Suddenly, a Tyson right hand
exploded on Sammo’s face, splitting open the Nassau man’s left eyebrow. Blood
spurted freely from the jagged wound, covering both fighters with the sticky red
fluid. The referee jumped In immediately, wrapping his arms around Sammo to
prevent further damage, and awarded a TKO victory to the ecstatic Tyson. While
Tyson accepted the accolades of the crowd, Bill Sammo retreated to the confines
of the dingy dressing room where a doctor took seven stitches to close the
wound. Another Catskill fighter, Frankie Minicelli, also won his fight, a three-
round decision over Bob Strong of Beacon.9

The boxing world was saddened once again on May 31 as another of its
The boxing world was saddened once again on May 31 as another of its
immortals, Jack Dempsey, took the full count at the age of 87. Newspapers
across the country headlined the passing of the beloved “Manassa Mauler,” a
man who epitomized the “Golden Age of Sports” in America. Together with
baseball legend Babe Ruth, football’s “Galloping Ghost” from Illinois, Red
Grange, tennis champion Bill Tilden, and golfer Bobby Jones, Dempsey
romanticized sports in America. During the 1920s and 1930s, these heroes were
larger than life, idolized by every kid from nine to 90. Dempsey, a comparatively
small heavyweight at 182 pounds, captured the imagination of the American
sporting public by recklessly attacking his much bigger opponents, some of
whom outweighed him by 50 to 70 pounds, and battering them into submission.
He was a real-life David, and he traveled the back roads of America slaying the
Goliaths wherever he found them. Dempsey held the heavyweight championship
for seven years before yielding the title to a former Marine, smooth-boxing Gene
Tunney, in 1926.

The following year, 1927, was the year of the famous “long count” in boxing. It
occurred in the return match between these two worthy adversaries. A recent
change in boxing had made it mandatory for the boxer delivering a knockdown
to go to the nearest neutral corner while the referee tolled the count over the
fallen fighter. Prior to 1927, the standing fighter was allowed to hover over his
fallen foe, waiting to knock him down again as soon as he regained his feet. On
the night of September 27, Dempsey trapped Tunney in the corner in the seventh
round. A vicious left hook to the chin dropped the Californian to the canvas,
dazed and hurt. In a moment of excitement, Dempsey stood over his man,
ignoring the new rule. The referee refused to start the count until Dempsey went
to a neutral corner. The confusion gave Tunney an extra five seconds to regain
his senses. It was apparent to many ringside observers that Tunney would have
had considerable difficulty getting to his feet in time had it not been for the
delay. As it was, Tunney was actually given a 15-second count, allowing his
head to clear enough for him to get on his bicycle and avoid Dempsey’s frantic
rushes for the remainder of the round. By the time round eight started, Tunney
was fully recovered, and he went on to defend his title with a 15-round decision.
Dempsey, for his part, offered no excuses. He blamed no one but himself for the
loss. “I forgot the rules. I lost my head and couldn’t move as Referee Barry
shouted, ‘Get to a neutral corner.’”10

Wilfred Benitez visited the Catskill gym in early June to spar with Kevin
Rooney in preparation for his July 16 title fight with Mustafa Hamsho. At 17,
Benitez became the youngest professional boxing champion of all time. Turning
Benitez became the youngest professional boxing champion of all time. Turning
pro at the tender age of 15, he won the World Junior Welterweight title in 1976
with a 15-round decision over Antonio Cervantes. He subsequently added the
Welterweight title by beating Carlos Palomino in 1979, and the Junior
Middleweight title with a convincing knockout of Maurice Hope in 1982.
Another fighter of note visited upstate New York that summer. British
heavyweight Frank Bruno was in training at Grossinger’s for a July fight against
Mike Jameson. D’Amato, never one to miss an opportunity, arranged for his
young charge to spar with Bruno on several occasions, both at Grossinger’s and
at Catskill. It was a good experience for the up-and-coming Tyson, allowing him
to get in the ring and bang away with a world-class fighter. Bruno, a big
heavyweight at 6'3½", 220 pounds, was undefeated as a professional. His record
was a perfect 16–0 with 16 knockouts. Tyson worked the summer away in quiet
solitude, his mind set on only one objective, winning the U.S. Amateur Boxing
Championships to be held in Colorado Springs from August 17–20.

As August rolled around, D’Amato entered his boxer in the Ohio State Fair
National Championships to gain additional experience prior to the trek to
Colorado Springs. Tyson reached the semi-finals in Ohio with no competition.
Then, on August 13, he was matched against Jerry Goff from Sainer,
Mississippi. Goff must have thought he was in the ring with Hercules himself.
Tyson stormed all over him from the opening bell, pounding him around the ring
for the full three minutes. Goff miraculously survived the first-round onslaught,
but how he did it was anyone’s guess. He survived for another minute in round
two before a Tyson right knocked him unconscious at the 1:12 mark. Goff was
out cold for ten minutes before he could be revived, and in the process he lost
two teeth. The sight of the slaughter must have had an unnerving effect on
Tyson’s opponent for the final. Hugh Copeland entered the ring obviously
agitated and nervous the next day. When the bell sounded, he fought like a man
in a trance, showing little movement and no offense. A crushing right hand
counterpunch by Tyson dropped Copeland to the canvas in just 44 seconds of
round one, giving Mike the Ohio State Fair National Championship.11

Five days later, Tyson was back at the Air Force Academy seeking the Junior
Amateur Boxing Championship. Mike liked the Air Force Academy. It was
filled with pleasant memories of happy days. It was the scene of his greatest
amateur triumphs, his most exciting knockouts. Fighting in the Academy was
like having a home court advantage for Mike Tyson. He knew that the large
crowds attending the fights would be rooting for him. He was a home-town
favorite in Colorado. Mike’s semi-final opponent was Dave Yonko, a large hulk
of a man from Long Beach, California. Yonko, at 6'4' tall and 250 pounds,
towered over the muscular Tyson. He also tried to out-psyche Mike with
reminders he had beaten the highly touted Henry Tillman in an earlier fight and
expected to do the same thing to him. Tyson was unimpressed, to say the least.
His only reaction was a shrug of the shoulders and a noncommittal “we’ll see.”
At fight time, Tyson walked his man down as he had all his other opponents, and
delivered the coup de grace to Yonko at 1:38 of round one. A left hook to the
body and a right to the head, the old 7–2, did the damage. The referee quickly
stepped in and stopped the fight without a count after the knockdown. Trainer
Kevin Rooney was thrilled at Mike’s stunning victory. “Yonko was an
experienced fighter, but Mike came out strong and worked the body well. He
scored with a left jab and then worked the combination.”12

Once again, Mike Tyson was thrust into a title fight, this time for the Junior
Amateur Championship. The man across the ring from him in the finals was
Mark Scott of Palm Bay, Florida. But Mike was not to be stopped. A left hook
crashed against the side of Scott’s head just 54 seconds into the fight. Scott hit
the deck so hard there was no count. The referee just walked across the ring and
raised Tyson’s hand in victory. Not resting on his laurels, Mike Tyson was
added to an International boxing card between West Germany and the United
States in Lake Placid, New York, in mid–September. Mike was scheduled to
meet German super heavyweight Peter Hussing at the Olympic Center on
September 17. Hussing was an experienced fighter, a veteran of two Olympic
Games. The 35-year-old strongman won the bronze medal at the 1972 games in
Munich, and seven years later, in 1979, he won the European Amateur
Heavyweight title. Rooney was slightly on edge. “This will be Mike’s toughest
test so far. Hussing is an experienced boxer who has fought in the Olympics. I’m
sure Mike will be nervous about the bout, but if he can keep calm, I think he will
do OK.”13

After the Junior Amateurs, Mike’s fourth national title, more and more people
began to jump on the Tyson bandwagon. The Catskill Clubber, although still
only 17 years old, was ranked second nationally behind Tyrell Biggs. Tom
Coulter, chief of the U.S. delegation to Lake Placid, remarked, “Mike is the best
puncher in amateur boxing today. He has great natural ability and instinct, and
the ability to knock out anyone. Mike’s only drawback in this fight is his
inexperience.”14 A couple of days before the match, Tyson, Kevin Rooney, and
Cus D’Amato made the long trek from Catskill to Lake Placid, about 150 miles
up the Northway. Rooney still remembered the recent sparring session between
Tyson and Carl Williams. “Mike looked real good against Williams. He was
quick and hard to hit. If he can keep his composure against Hussing, it could be a
big win for him.”

Tyson’s opponent, however, turned out to be someone other than Peter Hussing,
who was forced to withdraw from the competition with an injury. He was
replaced by a 300-pound behemoth named Peter Geier. Tyson was not
intimidated by the size of the walking mountain, even though he was outweighed
by almost 100 pounds. He exploded across the ring at the opening bell as if he
were fighting Willie Shoemaker. His first wild right missed its mark, but a flurry
of lefts and rights left Geier stunned and glassy-eyed. A straight right hand to the
jaw buckled the big German’s knees. Referee Heinz Birkle gave Geier a
standing eight count and then waved the fight to continue. Tyson was on top of
his man immediately, backing the wobbly German into a corner. A sizzling
uppercut lifted the 6'4' boxer completely off his feet, and the German’s corner
threw in the towel before their man suffered a serious injury. The time was 1:47,
and it brought Tyson’s amateur record to 23–3 with 20 knockouts. Tyson was
ecstatic. “I knew I was quicker, and if I started quicker and went to the body I
would do okay.” Cus was equally impressed with Mike’s performance. “This
was important to his development. Even though the fight itself was not that hard
for Mike, the pre-fight experience was helpful. He didn’t know who he was
fighting and he had to wait. The pressure was there, but Mike handled it well as
you can see.” D’Amato was also proud of the fact that his young protégé
followed his instructions to the letter and didn’t deviate from the battle plan as
the excitement mounted. “We could see the guy was big, so we told Mike to go
out quick and not let him get started.” Mike did as he was told.15

As the year wound down, the Tyson camp pointed toward one last summit to
scale, the Amateur Boxing Federation National Championships to be held in
Colorado Springs in early November. “This will be the key to the Olympics for
Mike,” Rooney reported, “because the winner will get an automatic berth to the
Olympic trials next spring. If he can impress the officials in the ABF, they will
help him get the international fights he needs before the Olympics. Right now
they are aware of him and they are waiting to see if he will be the Olympic
heavyweight.”16 D’Amato worked feverishly to schedule some fights for his boy
wonder in Catskill, but no opponent could be found. As a result, Mike had to
content himself with the drudgery of gym work and some infrequent sparring
sessions.
In October, the Adirondack Regional Golden Gloves Tournament was held in
the IUE Hall on Erie Boulevard in Schenectady but, as usual, Mike found
himself alone in the ring when the bell sounded. He won in a walkover. “Nobody
wants to fight Mike,” cried Kevin Rooney. “The trainers don’t want their kids to
get beat at the local level. But even though this might be good for Mike’s ego,
we wish he could’ve gotten a fight. It’s better for him if he gets experience. We
hope Mike gets a fight in the States, but we wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.
Hopefully, he’ll get at least one fight before the Nationals.” On October 22, at
Lake Placid, New York, was the New England-New York Olympic Regional
Boxing Trials. And once again the lonely man of amateur boxing stood alone in
the center of the ring—just him and the referee. Another walkover advanced
Mike Tyson to the ABF Nationals. He would be making another long journey to
the Air Force Academy, but unfortunately he wasn’t getting any experience
along the way. D’Amato tried to compensate for this sad state of affairs by
intensifying Tyson’s sparring sessions. Phil “Bazooka” Brown, a rangy black
heavyweight with the build of Adonis, was brought in from California to lean on
the smaller fighter and test his potential. The Louisiana slugger possessed an
outstanding professional record with 21 wins and two draws in 23 bouts, 15 of
the wins coming via the knockout route. He was favorably impressed by Tyson’s
ring savvy. “I’ve been a sparring partner for Ken Norton, and I’ve beaten
Renaldo Snipes and James “Quick” Tillis in the amateurs. And I know Tyson
punches harder than any of them. He’s young, strong, and a comer. I don’t see
how anyone will beat him in the Olympic Trials.” Brown’s manager, Ron
Iovenella, agreed. “Mike Tyson is the best amateur fighter in the United States,
and will represent this country in the 1984 Olympics.”

Tyson himself was confident as the ABF Tournament approached. “It doesn’t
matter who I have to go through, I’m gonna win this tournament.” The
tournament, in fact, turned out to be a star-studded event. All the top amateur
heavyweights in the country were entered, including the flashy Tyrell Biggs.
Also present were Craig Payne, who had decisioned Tyson in the finals of the
National Golden Gloves Tournament just seven months previous, and Al Evans,
the only man to knock out the Catskill Clubber. Still, Mike Tyson exuded an air
of confidence when he was interviewed by the local media. “The competition
doesn’t matter to me because I think I’m the best super heavyweight in the
country. Now I get a chance to prove it. I have just finished sparring with one of
the top heavyweights in the country, Phil Brown. I haven’t been hit hard in most
of my fights, but Brown came right after me and landed a lot of solid body
blows. I wasn’t used to that.”17
Tuesday, November 8, arrived, and Mike Tyson was in the ring again, in the
opening round of the American Boxing Federation National Championships.
This time an opponent stared at him from the opposite corner, a journeyman
fighter named Kommel Odom. The details of the fight are hazy, but what is clear
is that Mike Tyson was disqualified in the second round. His manager, Cus
D’Amato, back in Catskill, was dumfounded after his telephone conversation
with Kevin Rooney in Colorado. “I think they said Mike was holding, which I
don’t understand. This Odom is probably the weakest fighter in the class and I
can’t really explain it except that Mike is out of the tournament. These things
happen in boxing. Now we have to go back to the gym and work.” It was one of
the low points in Mike Tyson’s career. He was down but not out. Cus picked
him up, brushed him off, and started to rebuild his confidence. Mike was
showing the first signs of maturing under D’Amato’s patience guidance. A
setback such as he experienced in Colorado would have completely destroyed
him emotionally only a short time ago. Now he was able to assess the reasons for
his loss, to correct the deficiencies, and to forge ahead. Now a defeat was no
longer the end of the world, but rather a temporary obstacle that had to be
overcome.18

The days ran into weeks, and the Tyson championship express was put back on
track by the deft hands of the crafty old trainer. During 1983, the relationship
between Mike and his mentor had grown steadily stronger. Mike’s thick shell of
suspicion and mistrust was still evident in his daily relationships, but it was
beginning to show some cracks in its steadfastness. In the three years since Mike
had moved into the big white house on the river with Cus and Camille, he had
progressed to the point where he was just now beginning to feel comfortable
with them. The threesome were slowly but surely becoming a family. Mike was
no longer the loner he had been when he first arrived in Catskill. Gone was the
sullen youth who had slinked into the Ewald house back in the late summer of
1980. In his place was a more relaxed individual, a growing boy who was
outgoing and friendly. Rather than sitting quietly at the dinner table as a casual
observer, Mike was now a major participant in the activities. Dinner had
developed into a warm, relaxed time in the old house, and Cus felt a sense of
satisfaction at the improvement in Mike’s demeanor. He sensed that, at last,
Mike Tyson was becoming his own man. If he continued to mature at his present
rate, Cus was confident that he could handle the inevitable media pressure that
would accompany his rise to stardom in the professional ranks. Tyson’s self-
esteem had also increased tremendously since he came under the influence of the
white-haired wonder worker. The private tutor that Cus had hired had improved
Mike’s reading capabilities and his language skills to the point where he was on
an equal level with the rest of his age group. Cus’s words came back to him as
he remembered the progress that he had made in the past three years. “There are
no stupid people. Only disinterested people.” Cus was right, and Mike smiled to
himself as he thought about it.19

It was a cool gray winter morning as the old man and the young man emerged
from the big white house on the river. They headed down the driveway as the
first rays of light broke through the trees along the Hudson, walking slowly and
leisurely, and talking softly to each other as they entered the old dirt road, the
one dressed in baggy pants and a blue football jersey sporting a gaudy number
33, the other comfortably attired in a loose-fitting gray warm-up suit. A half-
breed mutt trailed obediently behind. Their conversation touched on most of the
important subjects of the day—girls, life, death, truth, belief, dedication, and
boxing. In the end, the conversation always returned to boxing. Cus touched on a
new lesson each day. He impressed upon Mike the importance of maintaining an
honest relationship between fighter and trainer at all times. “You can’t lie. You
can never lie. Lying is the worst thing a fighter can do, because if you lie, I can’t
teach you nothin’. If I tell you to do one thing in the ring and you do somethin’
else, I can’t teach you.” Cus’s lectures were non-stop, and they dwelled on the
secret to success as Cus saw it.

In any endeavor, you have to feel that you are going to be successful, in
order to be successful. Boxing is the same way. Now, if a fighter allows
himself to think about losin’, he can never become a success. No matter
how much talent he has, he’ll never realize the talent because the thing that
makes you a champion is not necessarily the talent. I’ve known of fighters
who have won championships who were crude in effect, but they had such
determination and will to win, and competitive spirit, and they fought with
such enthusiasm that they overcame skill. In fact, I have a sayin’, and it
goes somethin’ like this: When you’re watchin’ a fight, you’re watchin’
more a contest of will than of skill, with the skill prevailin’ only when the
skill is so superior that the will is not tested. If a man fails, he only fails
because he didn’t believe. You gotta believe in yourself—in everything you
do in life—even boxing. If a fighter goes into a fight and he believes he is
gonna win, he will win. He may have other qualities to overcome the skill,
but he will win. See now, there is no difference in what you do and where
you do it. If you go in with the enthusiasm, the trust, the desire, you will
win. The mind always wins over the body. Take knockouts, for example.
 Ninety percent of knockouts are not knockouts. What you witness as a
knockout is a silent acknowledgment that he no longer wants to continue.
That’s what it means.20

Nationally, the high point (or low point) of the year was a middleweight match
between Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Roberto Duran. The fight, held in
Caesars Palace, was a boring 15-round affair that should have been staged in a
funeral home. The bout was eventually won by the champion, Hagler, although
he fought a surprisingly cautious fight, almost as if he were afraid of Duran.
Hagler’s hesitancy was Duran’s good fortune, because if Hagler had been his
usual aggressive self, it is doubtful that Duran would have been around to see
round four. In any case, Marvelous Marvin took his $5,000,000 and ran.
 6

The Fall and Rise of Mike Tyson—1984

The winter of 1984 was a time of reflection for Mike Tyson and his strategy
team, coming off a busy 1983 where Mike broke into the amateur ranks under a
full head of steam, compiling an impressive 12–2 record and carving out a big
reputation for himself in the process. The Brooklyn teenager had acquired a
considerable amount of experience over the previous 12 months, fighting a
variety of opponents with different styles and physical attributes. He had
advanced to the finals of the National Golden Gloves Tournament in
Albuquerque, New Mexico, before losing a close decision to Craig Payne, an
admirable feat for a boy of 16. His only other loss of the year came on the
strange disqualification to Kommel Odom in November. Even his losses
provided valuable experiences for the rapidly developing Tyson. If 1981 and
1982 were young Tyson’s kindergarten years in amateur boxing, then 1983
represented his high school training, and the year ahead would be his college
education preparatory to entering the professional field. Two major objectives
lay ahead for the Catskill dynamo that, when achieved, would make his name a
household word across America, and would vault him into the professional ranks
by the end of the year, with a large asking price on his head.

The first objective was the National Golden Gloves Tournament to be held in St.
Louis, Missouri, in April. Having narrowly missed winning that title in 1983,
Tyson was now ready to claim the jackpot, one year older and more mature with
considerably more experience. The second objective, and by far the most
important, was to qualify for the Olympic Games in Los Angeles in August.
With his impressive amateur record, Tyson was favored to represent the United
States of America in the heavyweight division. Mike was geared for the
competition. His heart was already set on winning the coveted gold medal, and
he had been fantasizing about the matches for months. In the romantic eyes of a
17-year-old athlete, nothing was more important than representing his country in
the world’s most prestigious international sporting event, and winning
impressively against all competition, including the highly respected Cuban and
impressively against all competition, including the highly respected Cuban and
Soviet boxers. He dreamed about standing on the podium to accept his gold
medal while the strains of the American National Anthem echoed in the
background, and the Stars and Stripes rose majestically in the quiet California air
to fly above all other flags in the arena. The thought of such a glorious day
brought tears to the eyes of even the sensitive Tyson.

Before such things could be accomplished, however, a lot of hard work

remained, including a strenuous gymnasium program complete with calisthenics,
bag work, and countless hours of nerve-wracking and body-punishing ring work.
The brutal regimen also included seven days a week of discipline-building road
work, plus regular psychological sessions with Cus D’Amato and John Halpin.
Dr. Halpin, a graduate of St. John’s University, had practiced hypnosis in the
city of New York for 35 years. He and Cus met for the first time in 1971, and
they quickly discovered they had a common interest, a study of the subconscious
mind. The two men immediately began to use Dr. Halpin’s specialty to delve
deep into the intellect of Cus’s boxing hopefuls in an effort to make them relax
more, control their natural fear, and improve their concentration. Dr. Halpin
started working with Mike Tyson soon after the former juvenile delinquent was
released from Tryon School. He and Cus utilized hypnosis to cleanse Mike’s
mind of the subconscious scars of his childhood years. Sometimes Mike and Cus
would travel to New York City to Dr. Halpin’s office, while on other occasions
Dr. Halpin would make the two-hour drive to Catskill, combining the hypnosis
sessions with a relaxing weekend in the country. Dr. Halpin started working with
Mike Tyson in 1981, and their meetings continued at regular intervals for the
next five years. After the good doctor put Mike under hypnosis, Cus would go to
work on his psyche. “Always be relaxed when you fight—don’t get personally
involved, stay detached—block out everything except the fight—concentrate
only on your opponent—don’t allow yourself to get tired during a fight.” And so
it went, the duo of D’Amato and Halpin always striving to improve Mike’s
mental attitude and to stabilize his emotions.1

Other than the psychological sessions, the drudgery of gym work filled Mike
Tyson’s days. His trainer, Kevin Rooney, made sure that Mike kept his nose to
the grindstone.

OK, Michael, hit the jump rope, three rounds and I wanna see a hundred
and fifty jumps per minute. No goofin’ off. Good. Now five rounds of
sparrin’ and no letup. Remember, punch with bad intentions. If we need to,
we’ll change sparrin’ partners afta the second or third round. That’s good
Michael, but you’re not through yet. You still have some exercises to do.
 Michael, but you’re not through yet. You still have some exercises to do.
Situps—leg lifts—crab walk—wrestler’s bridge. You gotta get those neck
muscles strong. Awright. Good job Michael. Take a rest and call it a day.

Mike Tyson loved the activity of the gym, the effort, the sweat, the physical
abuse. But he also enjoyed being a teenager and, after a vigorous workout, he
often met his friends next door at the Village Pizza for a quick snack. He usually
consumed two large slices of cheese pizza and a Sprite while the conversation
turned to the usual teenage subjects of fast cars and fast girls. Mike liked both of
them. He had his share of girlfriends, and he did enjoy playing the field, but he
still spent most of his time with Angie. As far as Cus and Kevin were concerned,
playing the field was safer for a boxer. No commitments meant no
complications. When asked about his off-duty activities one day, Mike
emphasized his appetite for junk food. “I’m just a normal teenager. I have
friends I like to hang out with and have a good time. I like girls and junk food.
But instead of drugs and booze, I get high piggin’ out on pizzas, banana splits,
Whoppers, and Big Macs, and I wash them down with Sprite and ginger ale.”
Mike Tyson was still a child. He was only 17 years old, but destiny would force
him into manhood before his time. The spotlight and the pressures of being a
celebrity would increase by leaps and bounds over the next two years, and Mike
would lose his privacy and his childhood in his quest for the heavyweight boxing
championship of the world. Would it be worth it? Only time would tell.2

As February rolled around, the television cameras were focused on Sarajevo,

Yugoslavia, where the 17th Olympic Winter Games were in progress. The hero
of the Games, as far as America was concerned, was a brash, young, downhill
skier named Bill Johnson. Johnson, a cocky, blond unknown from California,
burst upon the international scene like a breath of fresh air. No one outside of the
international ski community had ever heard of Bill Johnson before the Olympic
Games, but when he loudly proclaimed to the world that he would win the gold
medal in downhill racing, everyone became aware of his existence. And they all
thought he was crazy. But he was newsworthy, so his statements were carried on
television and in print around the world. Johnson didn’t have any kind words for
the favored Austrians either. In fact, he was quoted as saying, “They ain’t
much.” On the day of the big competition, all eyes were focused on Mount
Bjelasnica to watch the bold American attempt to carry out his boast.

In far-off Catskill, New York, Mike Tyson and Cus D’Amato were glued to the
TV set for the same reason. Naturally they were rooting for Johnson to succeed.
Cus D’Amato made good use of events like this in his education of Mike Tyson.
He would utilize Johnson’s performance to impress upon the young boxer the
importance of heart and courage in determining the winner of an athletic event.
Johnson’s boasts, as it turned out, were not just hollow bellowing without any
substance. The crafty Californian had surveyed the course very meticulously,
and he knew that this course could well have been designed and built
specifically with him in mind. It was a perfect course for his style of skiing. The
layout of the course, the surface, and the slope all pointed to one thing, a
Johnson victory, so he had told everyone that, not in bragging, but simply as a
matter of fact. When the starting gate opened for the first run of the day, Bill
Johnson came charging out like a wild animal, confident and reckless. Flying
down the hill on wings of fiberglass, he hit speeds upwards of 80 miles an hour
to take an early lead in the competition. Never in the history of the sport had an
American of either sex won a gold medal in an alpine event. But on this day
history was being played out on a cold, snowy mountain, 6,000 miles from
home. Johnson’s second run turned out to be as good as his first, and he crossed
the finish line triumphantly, the number one downhill skier in the world. He had
said he was the best and then he went out and proved it.3

Another brash young man had done precisely the same thing 16 years previous,
but in a different sport. Quarterback Joe Namath of the New York Jets had
promised the world that his much-maligned group of American Football League
misfits would emerge victorious from their Super Bowl III tussle with the
powerful National Football League Baltimore Colts in 1969. And Broadway Joe
backed up his boast that year by passing the Jets to a convincing 16–7 victory.
D’Amato reminded Mike Tyson of these things—know what you are capable of
doing, then go out and do it.

February marked the beginning of Mike Tyson’s quest for the National Golden
Gloves Championship. His first challenge was an easy one. On February 18, at
Queensburgh High School, he won his match in another walkover when no
opponent was courageous enough to trade punches with the Catskill Clubber.
After the “no-fight” fight, Tyson returned home to his mentor to renew his
physical training and to continue work on his mental approach to the sport. Cus
and Mike took their usual early morning walks along the dusty lane that led from
Ewald House to Thorpe Road. The damp mist of early March chilled their bones
as they walked, the 76-year-old man and the 17-year-old boy, in perfect harmony
with each other. The old man in the blue and white football jersey spoke
endlessly to his charge, imbuing the boy with his philosophy of positive
thinking. And the young boy listened quietly and attentively, occasionally
thinking. And the young boy listened quietly and attentively, occasionally
nodding in agreement at the man’s statements.

In the gym, the same scenario was evident. The teacher, in his usual pose,
leaning over the top strand of ropes, carefully studied his student as the boy went
through his boxing routine with trainer Kevin Rooney. Every so often something
would catch the old man’s eye, a weakness in the boy’s execution, the beginning
of a bad habit, something. As soon as he spotted an imperfection, the old man
would interrupt the action, point out the mistake to his protégé, explain the
consequences of making that mistake, and then instruct him in the correct way to
execute the movement. Two hours of gym work did not complete the student’s
day. It only ended his “classroom” work. His homework continued on into the
late afternoon and early evening hours until it was time to turn in. At dinner, the
family discussions usually revolved around the fight game, life in general, and
the close relationship between the two. The old man would regale his audience
with tales from his own life, his childhood, his boxing champions, and his
confrontation with the mobsters of the IBC.

After dinner, the old man would settle into a chair in the upstairs bedroom and
the two of them, man and boy, would watch fight films together. The
schoolwork continued as the teacher carefully dissected the strategies of each of
the combatants, explaining the ebb and flow of the fight in great detail. The boy
just sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the movie screen, enthralled by the boxing
expertise that was hidden beneath the frail veneer of the old man. He was
convinced that the old man knew more about boxing than anyone alive, so he
listened intently. He absorbed the knowledge and retained it. Cus D’Amato, in
turn, loved his young charge. He had seen the boy grow from a street thug to a
decent young man. Once he explained the boy’s development to a friend. “I
believed that all the boys brought up in the environment that he did would
require help, patience, and understanding. I tried to make him feel, and I hope I
did, that I understand this kind of life. I grew up in a tough neighborhood myself.
And having watched him come from where he was to where he is, I have a deep
affection for him, I do.” Cus also confided another secret to his friend.

If he weren’t here I probably wouldn’t be alive today. The fact that he is

here and doin’ what he’s doin’, and doin’ as well as he’s doin’, and
improvin’ as he has, gives me the motivation and interest to stay alive. I
believe a person dies when they no longer want to live. Nature’s a lot
brighter than people think. Little by little we lose our friends that we care
 about, and little by little we lose our interests till finally we say, “Well,
what the devil am I doin’ around here?” We may have no reason to go on. I
have a reason with Mike, and it gives me the motivation to stay alive, and I
will watch him become a success because I will not leave until that
happens.4

During March, the Tyson strategy committee made a momentous decision, one
that would have serious ramifications before the year was out. Mike’s managers
decided that he would compete as a heavyweight in the upcoming Golden
Gloves Tournament and the Olympic Trials. This decision meant that Mike
would have to box well below his optimum fighting weight of 210 pounds. The
limit for heavyweights was only 201 pounds, or nine pounds below Mike’s best
weight. The super heavyweight division was for a weight class above 201
pounds, and it was presently dominated by Tyrell Biggs, supposedly the
preferred choice of the Olympic Boxing Committee. Biggs had been carefully
groomed as America’s super heavyweight challenger, competing in numerous
international matches against the world’s top super heavyweights, including
Cuba’s Teofilo Stevenson.

As Tyson warmed up in his dressing room before his final match in the New
York State Golden Gloves Tournament, trainer Kevin Rooney explained their
position to the press. “We didn’t wanna fight the Olympic Boxing Committee.
They’ve made up their minds they want Tyrell Biggs for the super heavyweight,
so we decided to drop down and try the heavyweight class. I think we should
have a good shot at that.” Tyson’s opponent in the final was Mark Pettinato of
Endicott, New York. The result was a knockout victory for Mike at 1:06 of the
first round. “Mike came out strong and was slippin’ and hittin’ well,” according
to Rooney. “He was workin’ the body and put Pettinato down for an eight count.
When he got up Mike hit him with a left hook to the jaw that knocked him out.
Mike looked real good. He was movin’ a lot and boxin’, not just throwin’ wild
punches.” So much for the New York competition. From here on, the opposition
would get tougher. Next stop, St. Louis, Missouri, and the Nationals beginning
in just 13 days.5

Mike Tyson had many things on his mind as the tournament approached. He
would have to win five tough matches within a period of five days. Not only
would he have to exhibit superior skills in his matches, but he would have to be
lucky as well. A cut of any kind, whether from a punch or from an accidental
head butt, could end his quest prematurely. But Mike wasn’t concerned about
luck. Mike was thinking about making his own luck. His attention for the
luck. Mike was thinking about making his own luck. His attention for the
previous two months had been focused on only one thing, winning the
tournament. Now, on April 17, he was in St. Louis and he was ready.

The 1984 Golden Gloves Tournament was held in Kiel Auditorium, and it drew
one of the strongest boxing fields in history. Among the favorites was Henry
Milligan, rated as the number one amateur in the country. The number two
amateur heavyweight, Olin Alexander, was also entered. Tyson was oblivious to
the quality of the field. Since he considered himself to be the best amateur
heavyweight boxer in the world, everyone else was just an opponent to him,
someone who had to be dealt with on his road to the championship. He was soft-
spoken but confident in his assessment of the situation. “I’m gonna knock
everyone out. I don’t care who’s there. It really doesn’t matter to me. I’m gonna
fight everyone the same way.” Trainer Cus D’Amato and his assistant, Kevin
Rooney, had been working Tyson mercilessly for the two weeks prior to the
tournament. Cus had brought in a powerful young professional fighter named
Jimmy Clark to spar three rounds with Tyson every day. Clark, from Providence,
Rhode Island, stood 6'3' tall and tipped the scales at a solid 215 pounds. He had a
professional record of 13–0 with 12 KO’s, and he gave Mike a good workout in
the gym. D’Amato was pleased with what he saw. “Mike looked real strong
against Clark. He’s ready for the Nationals. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t put him in
the tournament. His only drawback continues to be inexperience. We have a hard
time gettin’ anyone to spar with him, so he hasn’t had the ring time he needs.”6

On April 15, two days before the start of the tournament, the Tyson entourage,
consisting of Mike, Cus, and Kevin Rooney, boarded a plane at Albany airport
and set out for St. Louis. Horace Greeley, a 19th-century politician, when
discussing the opportunities that existed in this land of plenty, once exhorted a
fellow legislator, “Go west, young man. Go west.” Over 100 years later, Mike
Tyson took Horace Greeley’s advice. He headed west in search of fame and
fortune. After one day of leisurely gym work, Tyson began his drive to the
championship. On Tuesday, April 17, he disposed of Roger Peppel in one round.
The next day, the Tyson express polished off Derrick Isaman, also in the first
round. And on Thursday, in a quarter-final match, Tyson met Johnny Williams
of Chicago. Williams, as it turned out, was no more of a puzzle to the Catskill
Clubber than his previous two opponents. Midway through round one, Mike
caught Williams with a short right to the chin that stopped the Chicago boy in
his tracks, causing the referee to give him a standing eight count. As soon as the
action resumed, a vicious Tyson left hook found its mark on the right side of
Williams’ face, dropping him for the full count at the 2:15 mark. The knockout
Williams’ face, dropping him for the full count at the 2:15 mark. The knockout
brought Tyson’s tournament record to 15–3 with 11 KO’s. Trainer Kevin
Rooney was satisfied with Mike’s performance. “Mike is looking very strong.
He’s very confident and I think he’ll win the tournament.”

The tournament continued at a frenzied pace. Although Tyson had had three
fights in three days, there was no letup. He was right back in action on Friday in
a semi-final match with Richard Johnson, a scrappy Texan from Fort Worth.
Johnson was getting a lot of press around St. Louis because he had eliminated
the pre-tournament favorite, Henry Milligan. He was confident coming into this
bout, while Tyson was a little bit apprehensive. Mike paced the locker room
nervously in the minutes before the fight. He worked hard to keep his emotions
under control, and tried to concentrate on nothing but his fight plan. As he
climbed the steps to the ring, Mike still appeared to be agitated, but he was
gradually getting himself under control, and by fight time his nervousness had
been replaced by a feeling of quiet determination. When the bell rang, Mike was
composed and anxious to get it on. In typical Tyson fashion, he stalked his man
from the outset, trying to maneuver him back against the ropes. Mike’s
aggressive posture and deadly punches gave him rounds one and two on all
scorecards. In round three, Tyson came out firing, looking for another knockout.
He kept the pressure on constantly and eventually dropped Johnson with a
sizzling left hook, flush on the button. A left-right combination put Johnson
down a second time, and a crushing right hand ended the competition only 45
seconds into the round.

Tyson’s opponent in the final was no other than Jonathon Littles, an old friend
from the Junior Olympic days. Tyson had KO’d Littles in the second round of
the 1982 tournament in Colorado Springs. As usual, Mike was fidgety before the
fight, but not as bad as he had been before the Johnson fight. He knew Littles
and he had no doubt he would KO his man again. But still…. “He beat Olin
Alexander, one of the best heavyweights in the country, so I was a little nervous
before the fight, but when I got into the ring, I said to myself, ‘In the ring, I’m
the king.’” And king he was. He came out winging, throwing punches in a
never-ending assault on Little’s body. A left-right combination early in the round
put Littles down. Tyson waited patiently in a neutral corner as the referee tolled
the count and then got right back on top of his man when the referee waved the
fighters together. Within seconds, the ref was forced to give the helpless Littles a
standing eight count. Still later in the round, Tyson had his man in trouble again.
This time the referee stopped the fight. Mike Tyson was declared the winner
after a hectic two-minute, four-second mauling of a greatly overmatched
after a hectic two-minute, four-second mauling of a greatly overmatched
Jonathon Littles. The young New Yorker assessed the fight candidly for the men
of the press. “He was real tough, but I hurt him the first time. He jumped right up
but I knew I had him. He was tryna bluff me, but I kept throwin’ punches. He
wouldn’t go down but he was hurt.”

Not only did Tyson win the gold medal in the heavyweight division, but he also
walked away with the trophy as the most outstanding boxer in the tournament,
an award that caught the ecstatic Tyson by surprise. “I knew I was the best
fighter there, but I wasn’t really expectin’ to win the ‘Most Outstanding Boxer’
trophy. The tournament had some of the best fighters in the world. I can’t really
describe how great it was when they called my name.” As happy as Mike was
over winning the tournament, he realized it was just one step along the path to
boxing immortality—and he had a long way yet to go. “Winnin’ this tournament
was very satisfying, but it’s only the first step. The next step is winnin’ the
Olympic Trials, and then I wanna win the gold medal in Los Angeles. Anything
less would be a disappointment. I know I’m the best heavyweight in the world
and now I want a chance to prove it.” He was queried at some length by the
newsmen, particularly about his probable opponents in the Olympics, those
rough, tough boxers from Russia, East Germany, and Cuba. Tyson just shrugged
when he thought about it. “They’re just boxers like I am. When we step into the
ring it doesn’t matter where we’re from. Only who’s the best fighter. I’m the
hardest puncher in my division and I’m very confident about the future.”7

Trainer Cus D’Amato didn’t let his protégé rest on his laurels for very long. He
didn’t want Mike to get too used to his new-found celebrity status, a situation
that could easily go to a young boy’s head and upset his social values. So Tyson
was whisked quickly back to Catskill, New York, and into the humdrum world
of the gymnasium—the drills, the sparring sessions, and the monotonous
roadwork. Only a few days removed from being the toast of amateur boxing in
America, Mike Tyson was again a student, trying desperately to please his
teacher. In early June the Olympic Boxing Trials would be held in Fort Worth,
Texas, but a seven-week layoff was too long as far as Cus D’Amato was
concerned, so he entered Tyson in the National Police Athletic League
Tournament in Niagara Falls, New York, in late May. Mike’s first bout, a
quarter-final match, was held on May 29. His opponent, Jeff Thompson, was a
perfect test for him. Thompson was an experienced fighter with over 100 fights
and, to top it off, he was a southpaw, an unorthodox fighter who confused and
frustrated his foes. No one liked to fight southpaws because southpaws usually
made their opponents look bad. Mike Tyson was no exception. This was his first
fight against a southpaw, and Mike didn’t know how to maneuver against this
fight against a southpaw, and Mike didn’t know how to maneuver against this
type of fighter. As a result, he looked very clumsy in the first round as he tried to
figure out a way to bypass Thompson’s right jab. In round two, Mike felt a little
more comfortable and started getting inside Thompson’s defenses. Near the end
of the round, Tyson unleashed a left-right sequence that sent Thompson
sprawling. The round ended before Tyson could finish the job, but the
anticipation was there. Mike knew it was just a matter of time now, and he
nervously waited in his corner between rounds, pawing the canvas with his foot
like a chained animal waiting to get at a piece of raw meat.

When the bell sounded for round three, Tyson bolted across the ring, throwing
punches from all directions. He dug a hard left to Thompson’s body and
followed it up with a right to the head. Thompson went down for an eight count.
As soon as he arose, Tyson was there to greet him. A left to the head and a
strong combination of lefts and rights to the body took the wind out of
Thompson’s sails. He hit the floor again but, like a courageous gladiator, he
dragged himself to his feet, barely beating the count of ten. It was bravado in the
finest sense of the word, but it was also foolhardy. Thompson was standing erect
on unsteady pins, and the bronze executioner stood before him, poised for the
kill. It was quick but it was not painless. Tyson sent two crushing left hooks to
the side of Thompson’s head, causing the old warrior’s eyes to roll in their
sockets. Their glassy stare saw nothing but darkness as the fighter pitched
forward on his face. It was 1:38 of round three and the fight was over. Tyson’s
tournament record now stood at 18–3 with 16 knockouts.

Tyson’s semi-final opponent was scheduled to be James Thurber of Wisconsin,

but Mike had developed a sore shoulder in the Thompson fight and the thought
of an incapacitating injury sent shivers through the Tyson camp. D’Amato didn’t
want to take any chances of knocking his heavyweight contender out of the
Olympic Trials. When the shoulder did not respond to heat treatment the
following morning, Tyson withdrew from the competition to rest his aching
muscles.8

Back in Catskill, Mike Tyson dropped by the Murphy home to talk with Mike
and Jim. According to Jim, “He stopped over the house just to hang out. He
didn’t want to go out.” More than anything else, it was a sad goodbye visit to his
companion of four years, Mike Murphy. Tyson and Murphy had been close for a
long time, but now it was almost over. Mike Murphy was graduating from
Catskill High School soon, and in September he would be starting his studies at
Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York, majoring in business with a minor
Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York, majoring in business with a minor
in marketing. Things would never again be the same for the two Mikes. They
would surely drift apart as most high school buddies do. But they would always
have the memories of the good times together. And, with a bit of luck, they
might meet again to renew their friendship sometime in the future.

Four days later, the New York State boxing contingent boarded a jumbo jet in
Albany and flew west to Chicago, then south to Fort Worth, Texas, to keep their
date with destiny. The next four weeks would determine who represented the
United States in Los Angeles. It was time to separate the men from the boys.
Mike Tyson’s shoulder was still sore but it was healing, and it apparently wasn’t
a serious injury. D’Amato made sure of that. As soon as Mike withdrew from the
P.A.L. Tournament, Cus rushed his valuable property to New York City to have
the shoulder checked out by not one but two orthopedic specialists. Both doctors
concurred in their diagnosis. After thoroughly examining the shoulder and
reviewing the X-rays, they declared the problem to be nothing more than a slight
muscle pull. Mike was advised to rest the shoulder for a couple of days prior to
his upcoming matches.

When Tyson, Rooney, and D’Amato arrived in Fort Worth, it was Sunday
afternoon. They had a day and a half to rest and get organized before the hurly-
burly of the tournament began. Mike did his normal roadwork and some
calisthenics on Monday, but he also took a lot of time to relax and adjust to the
Texas environment. On Tuesday, the turmoil began in earnest. After the
roadwork and the gym session, there was an organizational meeting conducted
by the Olympic Trial Committee to familiarize all the participants with the
details of the tournament and to select a draw. There were eight fighters in each
weight class. Quarter-final matches were scheduled for Wednesday, Thursday,
and Friday, the semis on Saturday, and the finals on Sunday. ABC television was
broadcasting the big matches on Saturday and Sunday.

Mike Tyson not only had to contend with his opponents during the week, but
also had to deal with heavy media pressure as well. As a two-time Junior
Olympic National Champion and reigning Golden Gloves National Champion,
Mike was a genuine celebrity, perhaps the most famous amateur boxer in
America to the boxing community. But Tyrell Biggs was better known to Mr.
And Mrs. John Q. Public. The Olympic Committee had been grooming Biggs to
be the American super heavyweight representative in the Olympics for some
time, and had provided him with a heavy dose of international competition plus
the national television coverage that went along with it. Tyrell Biggs was an
early product of the television industry, one of the so-called media darlings.
early product of the television industry, one of the so-called media darlings.
Mike Tyson was a fighter and only a fighter. He fought with less fanfare than
Biggs, but the men of boxing’s inner circle knew him well. He was rated number
one in the country, yet in spite of his stature, Mike Tyson was entered in the
heavyweight division rather than the super heavyweight division so as not to
confront the Olympic Committee’s fair-haired boy, Tyrell Biggs. Being in the
heavyweight division meant that Mike had to shed ten pounds in order to come
in below the weight limit of 201 pounds. Cus D’Amato had to protect his boy
from the press 24 hours a day. It was certainly necessary to grant a certain
number of interviews, but the constant demands of the media could be
devastating to a young fighter if they were allowed to go unchecked. Cus saw to
it that it was kept to a minimum.

Mike’s first match on Thursday was against Avery Rawls, and he came out like
he wanted to end it quickly. He rushed his man at the bell and unleashed a solid
right to the rib cage followed by a left to the head. Rawls hit the deck at the 15-
second mark. With the coolness of a true professional, however, Rawls got back
on his feet and survived the round. He constantly backed away from Tyson and,
whenever the kid from Catskill tried to move in close, Rawls tied him up like a
Christmas package. In fact, Tyson was unable to drop his man again in the fight,
but he did come away with a three-round decision, advancing him to the semi-
finals. Tyson confessed some nervousness before the Rawls fight. “I was
nervous, but I’m always nervous before a fight. When I step into the ring it all
goes away. I’ve been working towards this for a long time now and I’m ready.”
Mike’s confessed stage fright is a common malady affecting many professional
performers. Even celebrated actors and actresses, who appear on stage six nights
a week, are never completely free of the jitters. British actor Laurence Olivier
once admitted that, when he was in his sixties, he developed such a bad case of
stage fright he was unable to face his audience. Night after terrifying night, for a
period of six months, Olivier mouthed his words with his back turned to the
audience!

Cus D’Amato assessed Tyson’s upcoming matches for the press.

I’d have to say Milligan and Tillman will be the roughest opponents,
Milligan because he can punch and Tillman because of his experience. You
have to remember that what we’re asking of Mike is almost impossible on
the surface. We want a 17-year-old kid with only 20 fights to beat older
men who have had hundreds of amateur bouts and have plenty of
international experience. Most people would consider that an impossible
 international experience. Most people would consider that an impossible
task, but boxing is Mike’s life. He lives, eats, and breathes the sport, and
right now the only thing he cares about is winning the Olympic Trials.

On Saturday, June 9, Mike Tyson stepped into the ring to face tough Henry
Milligan, as ABC cameras whirred away incessantly. Milligan, from Delaware,
was a street fighter, but on this day he was no match for the excited Tyson. With
all the exuberance of youth, Mike pursued his blond-headed foe from corner to
corner, and he carried the first round easily with his aggressiveness. In round
two, Mike dropped the Princeton University graduate for an eight count, and a
few seconds later, put him down again to end the fight. The victory put the
Catskill boxer into the finals against the wily veteran, Henry Tillman, six years
his senior. Mike Tyson was now only nine minutes away from the Olympics.
But nine minutes can be a lifetime in a boxing ring. Tillman was a classy,
experienced boxer with good lateral movement and an outstanding jab. He was
not about to mix it up with the New York boy wonder. He would not stand in
front of Tyson and let Mike pound away at him. Tillman’s strategy was to keep
moving for the entire nine minutes so Mike could not draw a bead on him.

In round one, Tillman jabbed and moved, deftly avoiding Tyson’s wild rushes
for the first two minutes. Near the end of the round, Mike trapped Tillman on the
ropes and knocked him down with a sizzling right hand to the head. The
Californian was stunned by the blow, but his experience saved him from further
trouble. He was fully composed as he got to his feet and danced away from his
17-year-old adversary until his head cleared. Surprisingly, Tillman won the
round because he had scored the greater number of punches. Knockdowns
receive no more points than a light jab in amateur boxing, and Henry Tillman
had landed dozens of light jabs. In round two, Tillman managed to keep his
distance and again won the round with a constant barrage of flicking jabs,
punches that would almost be ignored by professional judges. But again, in the
amateurs, it’s not how hard you hit, but how often you hit, that counts. Cus
D’Amato was openly concerned in the corner between rounds. He counseled his
fighter to be aggressive in round three and go for a knockout. He knew that
Tillman’s jabs had piled up a lot of points for him in the first two rounds, and he
didn’t expect to get any favors from the Olympic judges, whom he had criticized
in the past. Mike Tyson would have to win big in order to be awarded the
victory. A knockout would assure it. Tyson moved out quickly in round three
and put immediate pressure on his taller opponent. He chased his man around the
ring for three full minutes but was unable to trap him. Henry Tillman’s extensive
ring savvy allowed him to escape from Tyson time after time. The difference in
experience between the two men was obvious to most observers. The smooth-
experience between the two men was obvious to most observers. The smooth-
working Tillman made the teenage Tyson look clumsy and undisciplined, while
Tillman himself appeared to be a skilled professional.

Mike Tyson had put on a strong showing, one that would have given him a
victory in a professional ring. His corner was quietly confident as the fight
ended. Mike had been the aggressor throughout, had landed the harder punches,
and had scored the only knockdown of the fight. Tillman, on the other hand, had
exhibited greater ring skills and a very effective jab. The judges had a difficult
decision to make. Cus, Kevin and Mike felt they had won the fight, but victory
did not come. Henry Tillman was awarded the decision while the Tyson corner
fumed. True to the feelings of all losers, Rooney bellowed, “We were robbed.
That’s all there is to it.” Perhaps he was right because the crowd loudly booed
the vote of the judges. D’Amato, a controversial character for over 30 years,
took the decision as a personal attack on himself. He felt it was a political
decision rendered by individuals who had an axe to grind with him.

Tyson stood in his corner weeping softly, his arms hanging limply by his side,
and his head on his chest, in a state of apparent shock. His dream of Olympic
gold had suddenly disappeared In the hazy blue light of the Texas auditorium. In
the dressing room Tyson bared his soul about the moment. “It’s a disaster. What
can I say? I feel terrible. I wanted so much to represent my country in the
Olympics. All the kids look up to the Olympic fighters. And I wanted to set a
good example for them.” Kevin Rooney had the last word on the subject. “We’ll
be back. There’s no question about it.” That statement, in itself, told a lot about
the philosophy of the Tyson camp. You can knock them down, but you can’t
beat them. They will always bounce back because they believe—they believe
they are the best, and the best will always be victorious in the end. Tyson and his
managers accepted the loss as an educational tool, a character builder. They lost
because they did something wrong, not because they met a better boxer. They
would retreat to the gym and regroup. They would study the films of the fight,
see their mistakes, and correct them. The next time, Henry Tillman would not
get away so lucky.9

Mike Tyson still had one more chance to represent the United States in the
Olympics. He was scheduled to fight Olin Alexander in a heavyweight
elimination bout in Colorado Springs on June 29. If he beat Alexander, he would
advance to the Olympic Box-offs in Las Vegas, Nevada, on July 6. As fate
would have it, he would meet Henry Tillman again. If Tyson could then defeat
Tillman, the two men would have to go at it for yet a third time the following
Tillman, the two men would have to go at it for yet a third time the following
day in order to determine the American heavyweight representative. Tyson’s
dream could still come true, but it was a long way off, and there were a lot of
mountains to climb before it could become a reality. Cus D’Amato had less than
three weeks to eliminate the specter of defeat from Tyson’s mind and prepare
him for the new battles ahead. Cus’s teachings had already laid the groundwork
for this eventuality. In the D’Amato book of knowledge, Tyson did not lose to
Tillman because he was an inferior fighter. He lost because he did not follow
D’Amato’s instructions. He made mistakes. It is easier to correct mistakes than it
is to rebuild a fighter’s shattered confidence. Mike Tyson was still confident that
he could go all the way to the Olympics. But he had to go back to the basics in
the gymnasium first. He had to work on his strategy and concentrate on Cus’s
instructions. He had to eliminate his mistakes.

The Tyson training camp moved to Colorado Springs three weeks before the
fight to get acclimated to the Colorado environment and to fine-tune Mike’s
conditioning program. Mike was scheduled to spar with super heavyweight
Tyrell Biggs in the three weeks prior to the Alexander match, but Biggs was a
no-show. He arrived only days before the fight, forcing Mike to condition
himself as best he could without any actual ring combat. He concentrated instead
on the other aspects of the physical fitness program, including calisthenics,
shadow boxing, and a lot of work on the bags—the heavy bag, the speed bag,
and the slip bag. His ring work was restricted to light workouts with a light
heavyweight fighter. But more importantly, Cus worked on Tyson’s emotional
state of mind and on his ring strategy. Mike had to become more proficient in
cutting off the ring on his opponent. He also had to keep busier in the ring and
not wait to get in one clean shot. When he trapped his man on the ropes, he had
to punch more, throw lots of punches, combinations of punches, and all of them
with bad intentions. Mainly he had to keep his emotions under control and not
get excited. It was difficult to ask a 17-year-old boy not to get worked up in the
heat of battle, but it was essential to his success. An excited fighter doesn’t think
clearly, doesn’t stick to his fight plan, and doesn’t see the opportunities when
they present themselves. In short, an excited fighter is, more often than not, a
losing fighter.

June 29 arrived soon enough, and Mike Tyson was ready, physically and
mentally. He glared across the ring at Olin Alexander during the introductions,
looking very much like a man in a trance, and determined to make the fight a
short one. Mike swarmed all over the California heavyweight immediately and
buried him under a deluge of punches that seemed to come from all directions.
buried him under a deluge of punches that seemed to come from all directions.
Alexander was no match for the enraged Tyson, and he meekly succumbed to
the fusillade of blows at 2:06 of the first round, sending Tyson on to Las Vegas
and a rematch with Henry Tillman. There would be no excuses this time. The
better man would win. On July 6, Caesars Palace was all aglitter. It was a festive
occasion in this city of tinsel and sequins, an Olympic Box-off, and the neon
capital of the west basked in the national spotlight. Boxing fans filled the Sports
Pavilion, decked out in their formal tuxedos and their finest gowns. ABC-TV
was on hand to transmit the account of the fight across the country, and every
celebrity in town made it a point to attend the gala event. It didn’t make any
difference if they knew a left hook from a right cross. Visibility was the
important thing. Celebrities need to be seen.

The dressing room was buzzing with activity an hour before the big fight, and
the Tyson group was brimming with confidence. “I’m gonna win the fight and
that’s all there is to it,” remarked a solemn Tyson. “I made some mistakes down
at Fort Worth, but I’ve learned from those mistakes. I’ve been workin’ hard out
here and I’m ready.” Trainer Kevin Rooney nodded in agreement.

We can’t let up the whole nine minutes. Mike really wants to make the
United States team and he’s come too far to let down now. He knows what
he did wrong against Tillman the first time, and we worked on it in
Colorado Springs. We’re ready. In order to make his punches count, Tyson
must neutralize Tillman’s constant movement. We have to cut the ring off.
The key to stopping Tillman’s movement will be the left jab. If Mike can
work that jab and keep movin’ to cut off the ring, I think he’ll be tough to
beat.

Cus D’Amato provided additional insight into their pre-fight strategy. “We had
that fight videotaped and we studied it for hours. We know that Tillman is gonna
try and run again, only this time Mike will be able to cut him off and land his
punches.”

The two fighters entered the ring amidst the bold intrusion of the television
cameras and the constant babble of the ringside announcers. Both men looked
ready for the battle as they bounced up and down in their corners. The
perspiration covering their bodies was a telltale sign that they had warmed up
vigorously in the dressing room before entering the pavilion. Perhaps Tyson left
his fight in the locker room. Perhaps the gold and glitter of Las Vegas
overwhelmed the young gladiator. Whatever the reason, Mike Tyson didn’t
follow his fight plan, while Henry Tillman did exactly as he had promised. The
follow his fight plan, while Henry Tillman did exactly as he had promised. The
tall, well-built Californian kept Tyson at bay with a constant barrage of stinging
left jabs. His standup style made the stylish six-footer appear to tower over his
smaller, crouching foe. Henry Tillman danced and jabbed. He moved quickly
side to side, ever circling, keeping away from Tyson’s amateurish charges. Mike
was unable to cut off the ring on the cagey veteran, and he never got close
enough to his man to throw many punches. As a result, it was a dull round, and it
was Tillman’s round thanks to his constant, irritating jab. Round two was a
carbon copy of round one. Despite the pleading of corner man Kevin Rooney,
Mike was unable to execute the maneuvers he had worked on during training
camp. Henry Tillman remained the elusive spirit, darting to and fro, laying
occasional soft jabs on the Tyson countenance, then floating away out of danger.
It was another slow round. It was also another round for Henry Tillman. As the
final round began, Mike Tyson needed a knockout to win. One minute into the
round, the Catskill Clubber caught Tillman with a sharp right hand, knocking the
graceful boxer into the ropes. Tillman had the presence of mind to slip off the
ropes, however, and escape further damage, though Tyson kept up his pursuit.
Late in the round, Tyson scored with another solid right that jarred his opponent,
but the bell sounded before he could press his advantage.

The controversial decision in favor of Tillman left Mike Tyson numb and
distressed in his corner, and brought 3,089 catcalls from the spectators who
thought Tyson had won the fight. Two judges awarded the decision to Tillman
by a 60–57 count. Two other judges voted for Tillman, 58–57. A lone dissenter
gave Tyson the nod, also by a 58–57 count. Tyson was dejected. “I knew I won
the fight. While we were waiting in the middle of the ring, one of the judges
even winked at me and said, ‘Great job.’ When I heard the decision, I was
stunned. I just couldn’t believe it.” Trainer Kevin Rooney was succinct and to
the point. “I’ll just let the fight speak for itself. Mike was robbed. That’s my
official statement.” Later in the dressing room, Rooney thought back on Mike’s
hard right hand in the third round. “It was a good punch,” he said, “but it just
missed the mark. If it had landed clean, the fight would have been over. When I
saw Mike land that second good right hand, I thought it was over. I didn’t see
how they could give the fight to Tillman. But I’ve been around boxing too long
to take anything for granted, and I had a gut feelin’ Mike wouldn’t get the
decision.” While Rooney was dealing with the press, his distraught fighter
slipped out of the arena, made his way across a field and hid behind a large tree,
where he screamed in anguish, venting his frustration and grief in bitter
solitude.10
July 6, 1984, was the low point of Mike’s career. He would not represent his
country in the Olympics. His crusade had ended in failure. He had faced the trial
and he was found wanting. It was not his skill or his courage that let him down.
It was his youth and his inexperience that caused his downfall. But he would
overcome those shortcomings in the months ahead. Mike Tyson did receive one
measure of consolation from the competition. He was selected as an alternate on
the Olympic team and, as such, he would train with the other Olympians in
Colorado Springs for the next three weeks and accompany the team to Los
Angeles in August. If Henry Tillman were to be injured or take ill prior to the
Olympics, Mike Tyson would become the American torchbearer in the
heavyweight division. And somewhere down the road, in the near future, Mike
Tyson would turn professional and take aim at the Mt. Everest of boxing, the
coveted heavyweight championship of the world. “I’m gonna turn pro. But I’m
not sure when. I might stay around for the World Amateur Championships in
November. I’d like one more chance to show everyone that I’m the best in the
world. I’ll have to talk to Cus of course. The final decision is up to him.”

Even though Mike Tyson had lost two fights to Henry Tillman within a space of
four weeks, he never doubted his superiority. He had lost because he had made
mistakes, not because Tillman was the better fighter. As Rooney reminded
everyone, “He’s an 18-year-old kid and people forget that. He’s only had 25
amateur fights and he almost made the Olympic Team. That’s a commendable
job any way you look at it.” From another point of view, the two losses to Henry
Tillman may have been more important to the advancement of Mike Tyson’s
career than any of his spectacular victories. Although Mike had made great
strides in controlling his emotions in the ring, thanks to the guidance of Cus
D’Amato, he was still unprepared for the professional ranks.

His string of easy knockouts in the amateurs made him arrogant and difficult to
control. He felt invincible and viewed his opponents with utter disdain, making
life difficult for D’Amato and Rooney in the gym. Tyson was often AWOL
during training sessions and, as a result, he was unable to stay in peak physical
condition, often coming into fights eight to ten pounds overweight. Teddy Atlas
was aware of these problems, and his attempt to correct them had led to his
falling-out with D’Amato. The two losses to Tillman helped snap Tyson out of
his sloppy training habits. He knew now that he was not unbeatable, and he
committed himself to perfecting his physical condition and his mental attitude.
He listened more closely to the instructions of his trainer and his mentor. His
work habits improved. He trained hard, day in and day out. Mike Tyson had
finally put himself on the Yellow Brick Road that led to the Emerald City and
finally put himself on the Yellow Brick Road that led to the Emerald City and
Larry Holmes’ championship belt. He would not lose another boxing match,
either amateur or professional, until he had won and unified the heavyweight
title.

In early August, the Olympics were in full swing and American boxers acquitted
themselves admirably. They brought home an impressive nine gold medals, even
without Mike Tyson. Mark Breland, the 147-pound sensation from Brooklyn
who had compiled an amazing 110–1 amateur record, dazzled his Asian
opponent, Young-Su, in the finals, to dance away with a 5–0 decision. Henry
Tillman proved his right to be the American representative by upsetting the
world amateur heavyweight champion, Willie DeWitt of Canada, thereby
reversing an April decision in the World Championships. Pernell Whitaker, a 20-
year-old lightweight from Norfolk, Virginia, KO’d Luis Ortiz at 2:15 of round
two. Paul Gonzalez won the 106-pound title in a walkover.

Mike Tyson watched from the wings, proud of his teammates but pensive as he
imagined himself standing on the podium, bending slightly from the waist as the
gold medal was hung around his neck. It would have been a dream come true,
but it never happened.

On Monday, August 13, Mike Tyson returned to Catskill, New York, to get on
with the rest of his life. He sat in the living room of the big white house
discussing his future with Cus D’Amato and his adopted mother, Camille Ewald.
The decision had been made. Mike would aim toward the National Amateur
Championships in August and then would compete in the European
Championships in October. Shortly thereafter, probably in late November, Mike
would take the big plunge and make his professional debut in Albany, New
York. The first step toward the Nationals was the Empire State Games in
Syracuse. Mike hadn’t done much boxing as an Olympic alternate but he did
keep in shape with a lot of running and was anxious to get started again. On
Friday, August 17, Mike stepped into the ring in the Carrier Dome to square off
against Ian Berkley in a semi-final match. Mike was obviously ring rusty. His
punches were often wild and his timing was off, but his aggressiveness carried
him to a decision. The next day, in the finals, Mike was opposed by Winston
Bent. During the pre-fight instructions, the two men had to be separated as open
warfare almost broke out before the first bell had sounded. Cus D’Amato, of
course, blamed Bent for the confrontation. “This fella began to stare at him in a
very aggressive way.” Once the real fight started, Mike moved forward
relentlessly. His bobbing and weaving tactics caused Bent to miss numerous
punches, frustrating the more experienced adversary. According to D’Amato,
Bent’s frustration reached the point where he actually bit Tyson in the second
round. Tyson was dominating the fight midway through round three when he
saw an opening and nailed Bent with a devastating right hand. Bent collapsed in
a heap on the floor and took the full count as Tyson jumped with joy. It was his
first knockout in almost two months. The king was back.11

The National Championships in Lake Placid, New York, were Mike Tyson’s
next stopover. “It leads to further experience,” D’Amato said. “Most other
fighters will have 60 to 200 fights. Tyson has about 25. Once he gets sufficient
experience, he’ll be turnin’ pro.” The Lake Placid Tournament brought together
the top 120 fighters from around the country. Missing, however, would be the
talented Olympic fighters, most of whom were entering the professional ranks.
As the dominating force in the heavyweight division, Mike Tyson drew a bye all
the way to the finals. In spite of his Olympic disappointment, Mike Tyson
reached the Lake Placid event with impressive credentials. He had won the 1983
U.S. Junior Championships. He had won the 1984 National Golden Gloves
Championship, and walked off with the tournament’s Most Outstanding Boxer
award as well. He was also the Silver Medalist in the 1984 Olympic Box-offs
and served as an alternate at the Olympic Games in Los Angeles. He was
definitely the force to be reckoned with in Lake Placid.

As it turned out, Tyson’s opponent in the finals was a big Texan, and another
adversary from the Junior Olympic days, Kelton Brown. Mike had faced Brown
in the finals of the 1982 competition in Colorado Springs. In that encounter,
Tyson had disposed of his adversary quickly in the first round. However, two
years had passed since that bout, and Brown’s progress was unknown to the
Tyson crew. Obviously, Brown had more than held his own against the
competition in the heavyweight ranks as evidenced by his appearance in the
National finals. Kelton Brown, remember, was a big heavyweight, 6'7' tall and a
bulky 300 pounds. Tyson did not spar during the week but worked out diligently
in the gym, and by fight time he was raring to go. The kid from Catskill moved
to the center of the ring quickly when the fight started, and scored with a left
hook to the body that left the Texan gasping for air. The referee immediately
made Brown take a standing eight count, while a patient Mike Tyson watched.
When the action resumed, Tyson jolted Brown with a jarring right hook to the
side of the head. The referee interrupted the fight to give the dazed fighter
another standing eight count. Before the fight resumed, a time-out was called to
repair a loose ring rope, giving an unsteady Brown an additional 20-second
respite. The extra rest didn’t help the young man from Dallas, however. Tyson
mounted another attack as soon as the referee turned him loose, and a rapid-fire
combination of punches brought an end to the fight. It had lasted only two
minutes and 33 seconds.12

It was evident that Mike Tyson’s amateur career was rapidly drawing to a close.
There were very few worlds left for him to conquer in the non-professional
arena. Not only did Tyson win another National Championship, but he also
walked away with the outstanding boxer award again. Such things were
becoming a habit with him. Mike’s trainer, Cus D’Amato, was justifiably happy
with his young fighter’s performance in Lake Placid. “Well, I was very
impressed,” said Cus. “He reminded me of a modern day Jack Dempsey. He’s
awesome. I think Mike is ready to turn pro. He probably will enter the European
Championships in Finland in October and then turn pro in December. I suspect
that all the countries that didn’t come to the Olympics will go to Finland. Mike
will be able to get good experience fighting the fighters from the Soviet-bloc
countries. They’re a strong group.”

After a week’s vacation, Tyson was back at work In Redman’s Hall, sparring
and working on the bags. His last preparatory program was beginning. Soon he
would be fighting for money. Cus D’Amato had the usual difficulty hiring
sparring partners for his precocious destroyer of men. “Because of his punching
power, it’s difficult to get people to spar with him.” Cus was fortunate to obtain
the services of a tough heavyweight named Muhammad Hussein for a week. The
27-year-old Hussein had been in the ring with the best, including champion
Larry Holmes, and his professional record totaled over 30 fights. Trainer Kevin
Rooney noted, however, that the main emphasis in the training camp was not on
Mike’s physical condition, but rather on his mental outlook. “Mike runs about
three miles every day but it doesn’t mean anything. We have to prepare his
mind. If he’s not ready to fight mentally, he can get in there with a lesser fighter
and he’ll get knocked out.” Mike certainly was not overwhelmed by the prospect
of traveling to Helsinki to fight the capable boxers from Russia and Hungary. “I
look at it as any other trip,” noted Tyson, Catskill’s phenomenal 18-year-old. “I
look forward to any trip but I don’t make one any more prestigious.”
Tyson sparring in the gym with Tom Patti and Matt Baranski observing the
proceedings from a distance (courtesy Paul V. Post).

One of the physical qualities that D’Amato worked on with his fighter was
Tyson’s movement. He wanted Mike to move more after he punched so he
wouldn’t have to take a punch in return. Punch, but don’t get hit yourself. That’s
the name of the game. D’Amato pushed his protégé to the limit, continually
forcing him to stretch his horizons in order to achieve new goals. Rooney
explained it this way. “Cus wants him to be perfect. Cus is a perfectionist.”
Kevin was right. Cus believed that everyone should strive for perfection because
it’s something that can never be attained and the individual will never get bored
in his pursuit. Mike Tyson, as a student of the Cus D’Amato school of pugilistic
excellence, pursued perfection. Like everyone before him, he would never
achieve his goal, but he would come a lot closer to it than most boxers, thanks to
the wisdom and dedication of his teacher.

The aging D’Amato realized that Tyson’s biggest need was actual ring
experience. Because of his awesome talent, Mike’s 25 or so amateur fights lasted
an average of only one round, hardly time enough for Mike to work up a sweat,
let alone accumulate any experience. So it was that sparring became a critical
part of his boxing development. The brawling Muhammad Hussein gave Mike a
good workout for several days, but even the former 1980 British National
Boxing Champion wilted under the relentless pressure put on by the energetic
young bull. After one four-round workout, Mike offered to spar another round
with the embattled Hussein, but Muhammad graciously declined the offer.
Before leaving Catskill to fulfill other commitments, Hussein provided the press
with his valued opinion of the New York titan. “Very strong. Very strong. He
just needs experience. There’s no doubt, he’s excellent for his age. He could
make it. At this point he’s very quick. I just hope he keeps up that speed when he
turns pro. Most amateurs slow down when they turn pro because the fights last
longer and they have to pace themselves.” D’Amato assured everyone that
Tyson would not lose any of his quickness when he turned pro. “The public
don’t realize his accomplishments. Some day in the future, the town of Catskill
will be put on the map.”13

September passed into history. October began and the training intensified, with
Tyson active in the gym six days a week. Sunday was a day of rest, relaxation,
and professional football. On October 8, Mike and Cus were glued to the TV set
as one of the celebrated milestones of pro football was surpassed. On this cool,
crisp, autumn afternoon, a small, stocky running back for the Chicago Bears
broke Jim Brown’s all-time NFL career rushing record of 12, 312 yards. The
ebullient Walter Payton ran over, under, and around the New Orleans Saints en
route to his historic achievement. Mike envied Walter Payton his skill, his fame,
and his wealth. Little did Mike know at the time, but his day would come. Some
time, in the not too distant future, another youngster would watch Mike Tyson
perform on television and would envy Tyson’s skill, his fame, and his wealth.
Life goes on relentlessly and, for a lucky few, today’s dreams and fantasies
become tomorrow’s realities.

Monday morning, it was work as usual, but the pace was more relaxed now as
the sparring sessions geared down with the departure of Hussein. Tyson did get
in one last tough five-round workout in the ring with Tyrone Armstrong of
Philadelphia. It was Mike’s last activity before the European Championships.
Armstrong, a typical tough kid from the City of Brotherly Love, was on his way
to the U.S. Senior National Boxing Championships, and he needed the workout
as much as Tyson did. Tyrone didn’t hold out much hope for the European
boxers that would be challenging Tyson’s ring talents. “He’s a very aggressive
fighter. He has tremendous power and excellent foot movement. His speed keeps
fighter. He has tremendous power and excellent foot movement. His speed keeps
opponents off guard, especially with the many faints he throws in. When he hits
them, that’ll be it.” Even Cus D’Amato was satisfied with his fighter’s progress.
He knew Mike was ready for Finland. “There’s not much to do now except
roadwork.”

Cus’s training regimen and the ring education of his protégé was essentially at
an end on the amateur level. D’Amato was not accompanying Mike and trainer
Kevin Rooney to Helsinki. The next time Cus would work with Tyson would be
in November, and the program would be directed toward Mike’s professional
debut. But first things first, and before Mike could turn professional, he had to
get through the tough European Championships. On October 12, a small group
of Tyson supporters, including Cus D’Amato, traveled to Kennedy International
Airport in New York City to see Mike off on his first international adventure.
Mike and Kevin Rooney arrived in Helsinki about mid-morning on the 13th and
spent the entire day relaxing around the hotel, shaking off the effects of the jet
lag. There was a six-hour time difference between New York and Finland, with
Helsinki being six hours later, and it usually took a day or two for a person to
adjust to his new eating and sleeping schedules. It was like learning to stay up all
night and going to bed at 5 a.m. rather than 11 p.m. quite a radical change for
someone with a boxer’s discipline and training habits.

Cus D’Amato, back in New York, was confident of Tyson’s success in Europe,
and he welcomed the competition. “Fighting the top Europeans, including those
from the Soviet-Bloc countries, has to be a challenge.” Cus had always provided
suitable challenges for his fighter, even in sparring. Tyson’s sparring partners
were instructed to do their best against him, to force the fight, and to approach
each session like a real bout. Unlike every other professional trainer, D’Amato
wouldn’t let his fighter wear protective headgear during the sparring sessions.
“Head gear gives you a false sense of security,” claimed Cus. “Whoever uses
headgear gets hit far, far too often.”14

As tournament time approached, Mike Tyson’s adrenaline started pumping

furiously, and he began to generate the nervous energy that was so important to
his success in the ring. But Mike still had not adjusted to the time difference
between the United States and Europe, to the unusual surroundings, and to the
Scandinavian food. After the tournament he would confess, “I didn’t fight up to
par mostly because I didn’t feel so well.” In any case, he approached the
tournament in a positive frame of mind. The participating countries included the
Soviet Union, Korea, Sweden, Hungary, Finland, Denmark, Czechoslovakia,
Soviet Union, Korea, Sweden, Hungary, Finland, Denmark, Czechoslovakia,
England, China, and Bulgaria. Most of the non–American fighters followed the
more classical approach to boxing, being standup fighters with the predictable
ring strategy of a John L. Sullivan. Tyson looked forward to the challenge of
competing against these fighters and matching his style and boxing philosophy
with theirs.

His first match, scheduled for Friday, October 19, was against a Finnish boxer,
but as he warmed up in his dressing room prior to the fight, he was informed that
his opponent was ill and had refused to fight. Mike Tyson only had to enter the
ring and walk across to his opponent’s corner when the bell sounded to be
awarded the victory. His next fight, a semi-final encounter, took place the
following day. Waiting for Mike in the ring was Istvan Szegora, a veteran
Hungarian fighter who was all business. His mind was focused on only one
thing, winning the match. It was obvious that Szegora would be a tough
opponent. And he was tough. Tyson pursued him relentlessly for three rounds,
and when he caught up with his man he was able to get in some punishing
blows. He hurt Szegora on several occasions but the big Hungarian took the
leather and stood his ground. He even returned some effective punches of his
own. Still, Mike was awarded a lopsided three-round decision. Trainer Kevin
Rooney admired the European’s toughness. “Szegora was a good fighter. The
guy took them like a seasoned pro. He took Michael’s best shots. That was good
to have a guy fight back. This guy stood there and took it, but Michael won
easy.” It had been a good match for Tyson. He had a vigorous workout and came
away victorious and unhurt. He was ready for Sunday’s final, his last step
toward winning the European Championship, the 7th International Tammer
Tournament as it was officially known.

On Sunday, Mike Tyson found himself in hostile territory. His opponent in the
finals was a big, blond Swedish Adonis, 6'5' Hakan Brock. Brock had pulled off
the upset of the tournament when he decisioned the favored Russian boxer in the
semi-finals. As a fellow Scandinavian, Brock was immediately adopted by the
Finnish fans as one of their own. The arena erupted in a wild display of emotion
when Brock came into view and made his way down the aisle to the ring.
Conversely, Tyson’s arrival was greeted with a smattering of applause and a few
isolated catcalls. The cool reception didn’t deter the Catskill heavyweight from
his self-appointed task, however. He had committed himself to bring home the
title and he was emotionally prepared for any contingency. During the referee’s
instructions, the tall Swede towered over his diminutive foe like Goliath espying
David. From the ringside seats the fight looked like a mismatch. How could the
tiny American possibly stand up to the power of the Scandinavian strongman?
The large crowd actually felt sorry for Mike Tyson, but the 18-year-old New
Yorker had a surprise in store for them. At the bell, Tyson moved forward like a
man on a mission. He quickly muscled the tall Swede back against the ropes and
unleashed a torrid body attack. The crowd gasped in disbelief as the short, squat
American pounded the midsection of the 6'5" Scandinavian giant with short,
powerful, devastating punches. Brock winced with each thunderous shot to the
rib cage. Bright red welts appeared on his milk-white skin. After what seemed an
eternity, Brock managed to move off the ropes and escape his tormenter’s
clutches. He backpedaled out of danger, trying to catch his breath at the same
time. Tyson stalked him again, but Hakan Brock had had enough of close
combat with the Catskill bomber. He had met Tyson toe-to-toe and he didn’t like
the results. For the rest of the fight, Mike Tyson chased and Hakan Brock ran.
Brock survived the fight, but lost the decision. Surviving was a hollow victory to
be sure, but one that the big Swede felt was preferable to being KO’d. His
performance reminded boxing scholars of another Swedish amateur boxer,
Ingemar Johansson, who had humiliated his country and himself in the 1952
Olympics by being disqualified for not fighting. Kevin Rooney shook his head in
disgust at Brock’s effort. “The guy didn’t want to fight. But again, Michael
closed the show nice. All in all, it was a nice experience.”15

Mike and Kevin relaxed in Helsinki for a couple of days to savor their satisfying
victory and to recover from the mental and physical strain of the previous week.
While they rested, they took a bus tour of the ancient city, founded by King
Gustavus I in 1550 AD. They were fascinated by the 400-year-old buildings, the
tiny winding streets, and the picturesque waterfront area. As they stared out at
the cold, dark blue waters of the Gulf of Finland, they may or may not have
realized that less than 50 miles away, across the vast watery wasteland, lay the
country of Russia, perennial adversary of their homeland.

Mike Tyson was welcomed back to Catskill with open arms by his vast legion of
friends. Foremost among the crowd was Cus D’Amato, his manager, trainer,
companion, and adopted father. Cus was beaming with pride as he squeezed the
boy in a giant bear hug. No words were exchanged, but the looks that passed
between the two men spoke volumes. The love and respect they had for each
other was evident in their eyes. Mike had a few more days of rest before he had
to go back to work in the gym. He enjoyed the break from the rigors of training.
And he made the most of his time off to see all his friends and have a good time.
He spent one day traveling to Brooklyn to visit some of his childhood buddies.
Cus chauffeured him to the nearby town of Hudson where he boarded the
Amtrak train for the “Big Apple.” A short subway ride beneath the concrete
facade of the city subsequently delivered him to Brownsville, where he had
wasted several years of his youth in indolence. He and some of his old friends
sat in one of the local fast food joints eating burgers, guzzling Cokes, and
bringing each other up to date on what had transpired since their last get-
together. A few hours in that depressing environment, however, was more than
the Brooklyn escapee could take, and he was happy to get back to his new home
in Catskill and to his new friends. For the next three days he pigged out on the
good life. He and his buddies traveled to Crossgates Mall in Guilderland to see
the latest Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, The Terminator and to frequent
McDonald’s, Burger Chef, Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream, and other fast food joints
that operated within the shopping complex. One of their favorite pastime
activities was hanging around the indoor complex and trying to pick up girls. It
was a lot of fun staring at all the pretty bodies that wiggled their way through the
mall, and it gave the boys a macho feeling to make sly comments as the teeny
boppers passed. But it was not a good way to pick up girls. That had to be
accomplished more individually and with considerably more finesse. Still it was
fun, and it was a regular activity for the teenage crowd. Saturday and Sunday
were usually mall days. Mike Tyson was a good-looking guy and he had his
share of dates. But he was playing it cool as far as a permanent relationship was
concerned, preferring, at 18, to keep things loose for the time being. He
discovered that it was easy to get dates and, as his boxing success grew, he
found it easier and easier. At times his extracurricular activities interfered with
his training regimen. When that happened, Cus D’Amato would sit Mike down
and remind him of his primary objective, winning the professional heavyweight
boxing title. Mike understood his mission and he was dedicated to it, so he
always followed Cus’s advice. Girls and socializing would have to be secondary
for the present. The title quest came first.

On October 30, the world was shocked by the news that Prime Minister Indira
Gandhi of India had been assassinated. The respected leader of 500 million
people had been shot eight times in the chest and stomach as she strolled in the
garden of her New Delhi residence. The assassins, members of her own security
guard, were apprehended immediately. Cus and Camille read the sad news over
morning coffee and shook their heads in disbelief over the insanities of man. The
next day was an important one for Cus D’Amato and his precocious protégé. The
CBS television sports team came to town to film a special program on the
Catskill Boxing Club. Television meant exposure, exposure meant more
Catskill Boxing Club. Television meant exposure, exposure meant more
recognition, and recognition meant more money for a young, aspiring
professional boxer. Cus knew all the angles, as did his partner, Jim Jacobs. Cus
knew how to prepare his fighter to be successful in the ring, and Jim Jacobs
knew how to get publicity and market fighters to make the most money. Cus
imparted some of his philosophy to the enthralled CBS reporters. “I owned and
operated a gym in New York City for many years. One day Floyd Patterson
walked through my doors and I started training him. I have all my fighters right
from the start. If they can fight, I keep them. If they can’t, I tell them to retire.
Ninety percent of juvenile problems are caused by ten percent of the people. By
providing a positive occupation, I develop boxing careers as well as help to keep
Catskill’s youth in line.”

Early in November, the Tyson strategy committee sat down to map out their
future plans. Cus D’Amato traveled to New York City to meet with Jim Jacobs
and Bill Cayton. It was evident that Mike Tyson would have to turn pro now.
Mike had run roughshod through the amateur ranks and, except for the
disappointment of the Olympic Trials, he had crushed everyone in his path. He
had racked up a total of five National titles, including the 1984 National Golden
Gloves Championship, and he had added the 1984 European Championship as
well. In effect, Mike Tyson was the world’s reigning amateur heavyweight king.
Now it was time to move on to bigger and better things. Mike’s overall amateur
record was certainly impressive. He compiled a win-loss record of 38–6 with 31
knockouts, 21 KO’s coming in the first round. The question his managers asked
themselves was, “How far can Mike Tyson go in the pros?” Mike appeared to
have all the talent necessary to win the heavyweight championship. He was a
solidly built 215 pounds compacted onto a 5'10" frame. Of the 30 heavyweight
champions, only four of them weighed more than Mike Tyson. They were Jess
Willard, Primo Carnera, George Foreman, and John Tate. Mike’s lack of height
and reach was a subject of concern for his management team. At 5'10", he was
shorter than most heavyweight champions. Only John L. Sullivan, Bob
Fitzsimmons, Tommy Burns, and Rocky Marciano stood less than six feet, and
only Burns at 5'7" was shorter than Mike Tyson.

Still, Mike Tyson had the talent, and he had the desire and discipline as well,
qualifications far more important than the physical limitations of his height and
reach. Cus D’Amato would have liked Tyson to remain an amateur for another
year in order to accumulate more experience, but the well was dry. There were
no amateur fighters left for him to challenge. After days of discussion, days of
weighing the pros and cons of all the alternatives, it was finally decided. Mike
Tyson would become a professional boxer. Cus, Jacobs, and Cayton called a
press conference for November 29 to make the grand announcement. Cus
explained the reason for the decision. “We’re turnin’ pro now because there’s
nowhere else to go in the amateurs. We just can’t get Mike any fights. There
isn’t anyone around who will fight him. I’ve tried to get people up here and I’ve
offered to travel, but there just aren’t any opponents. It’s not gonna be easy in
the pros because he’s had only a handful of fights and he’s goin’ in with boxers
who have had years and years of experience.”16

Trainer Kevin Rooney had witnessed Mike Tyson’s growth first-hand. He had
watched Mike spar with Carlos De Leon in Catskill the previous day and he felt
confident about Mike’s attack on the professional ranks. “Mike has been looking
real sharp against a very talented boxer. I think he’s ready for the pros. I think
we’ll try to get Mike about five four-rounders, and then a few six-rounders,
before he moves up to the main events.” Cus, although confident, was still
cautious about predicting ultimate success for his charge. “It’s hard to gauge
how a career is gonna turn out, but Mike has all the tools to become a champion.
If he fights the way he’s capable of, and handles the emotional pressure of bein’
a professional boxer, he will become the youngest heavyweight champion in
history.” The big day, Mike’s professional debut, was scheduled for December 7
against John Singleton. Mike was working feverishly in the gym, determined to
make his debut a speedy and successful one. Rooney liked what he saw during
the workouts. “From the very first day he’s been here, we’ve trained him as a
professional. His brawlin’, hard punchin’ style is much more suited to the pros,
and perhaps that cost him a couple of fights in the amateurs. He’s excited and
he’s anxious to turn professional. He wants to get his career started.”

Boxing in New York State received a welcome shot in the arm about this same
time. Governor Mario Cuomo appointed former Light Heavyweight Champion,
and D’Amato protégé, Jose Torres to be the new chairman of the New York
State Athletic commission. The post, carrying a $49,500 salary, was responsible
for overseeing all boxing and wrestling regulations within the state. D’Amato
was ecstatic at the news. “Now people in boxin’ will have to be qualified and toe
the line. We never had a man who understands the background of the boxin’
business.” D’Amato’s joy was short-lived, however. On Wednesday, November
29, Tyson bruised his left hand in the gym. It was the same hand he had injured
during the European Championships, and the damage was apparently from the
same incident. It was not a new injury. This caused some consternation in the
Tyson camp and resulted in a quick appointment to see a specialist in New York
Tyson camp and resulted in a quick appointment to see a specialist in New York
City.

Cus accompanied the worried Tyson to the doctor’s office. “It’s only a slight
bruise, but we don’t want to take any chances so we’re having it looked at by a
specialist. I should know the test results by Thursday or Friday.” The results of
the examination were not as optimistic as Cus had hoped. Mike had apparently
suffered a torn ligament in Helsinki and had aggravated the problem five weeks
later in Catskill. Cus immediately postponed Mike’s professional debut to allow
the injury to heal properly. He announced his decision to a small press
conference in Catskill. “Mike has a very painfully torn ligament in the knuckle
of the first finger of his left hand. He has the finger in a plastic cast which he
will wear for about five weeks. We’re a little disappointed because the first fight
is always the toughest, and for psychological reasons you want to get that first
one out of the way as soon as possible.”17

Even torn ligaments couldn’t keep Mike out of the gym for long, however. He
was restricted to doing only roadwork for two weeks, but as soon as he received
a go-ahead from his doctor, he was right back at work in Redman’s Hall. He
went through all the normal routines, but as a one-armed fighter with no left
hand. Soon he was even working out on the body bag with two hands, a heavy
tape wrapper protecting the plastic cast. He continued to spar against top
competition, using only his right hand. One of his sparring partners was
undefeated heavyweight Jimmy Clark. Another, Marvin Stenison, was an
outstanding prospect who had once received $5,000 a week to help train Larry
Holmes. Even wounded, the precocious pugilist was progressing on schedule.
Trainer-manager Cus D’Amato beamed with pride as he assessed his young
fighter’s capabilities. “He doesn’t have the edge in one area. He has the edge in
all areas.”

As the year 1984 drew to a close, the eyes of the sporting world were on the
hockey arenas in the United States and Canada. A young phenomenon named
Wayne Gretzky was tearing the National Hockey League apart, goal by goal. On
December 19, the 23-year-old superstar from Brantford, Ontario, sent two goals
whistling into the strings and assisted on four other goals, shattering the magic
1000-point barrier. Gretzky, now in his sixth year in the NHL, led the league in
scoring in each of the past four years and became the youngest player to score
1000 points, accomplishing the feat in just 424 games, 296 games sooner than
the previous fastest player, Guy Lafleur of the Montreal Canadians.
On December 28, Mike Tyson made another visit to the orthopedic specialist in
New York City. “His hand is much better,” reported Rooney. “He’s been
workin’ in the gym with his right hand.” Cus D’Amato nodded in agreement.
“He’s always in excellent shape. He trains with a great deal of enthusiasm.” The
doctor asked to see Mike one more time, on January 3. Then, if all was well, the
doctor promised to turn him loose to continue his pursuit of fame, fortune, and
the heavyweight title.18

The year 1984 had been a big year for Mike Tyson, and a very successful year.
Mike had compiled an enviable record of 15 wins against only two losses, and
had dispatched 11 of his foes via knockout, with seven of those coming
impressively within the first three minutes. In Mike’s mind, however, the year
had been a failure. He had failed to win a gold medal in the Olympics. In fact, he
didn’t even make the Olympic team, a shattering disappointment to him. But in
time, the Catskill boxer would realize the year had been a success. Even the two
losses to Henry Tillman were valuable learning experiences and would stand
him in good stead in the years to come. Time is the great healer. It provides the
salve to heal the open wounds of fractured egos and broken dreams. And Mike
Tyson would recover quickly from his suffering. He was on the brink of turning
professional. This was no time to dwell on the past. It was time to look ahead
and to begin his assault on Mount Olympus, where the god, Larry Holmes, was
comfortably ensconced.

In 1985, Mike Tyson would come face to face with his destiny.
 7

Assault on the Professional Ranks—1985

New Year’s Day dawned cold and raw. The sun remained hidden behind gloomy
gray clouds the entire day, and the persistent early morning flurries changed to a
chilling rain as the temperature slipped above the 32-degree mark. It was a good
day to stay inside, and that’s exactly what most members of the Ewald clan did.
Many of them slept late in the morning, particularly the late-night revelers who
had attended New Year’s Eve celebrations in the local pubs and didn’t arrive
home until the sun was coming up. By noontime, however, everyone was up and
around and moving freely. One by one they fixed their own breakfast and
gravitated toward the library where the television was documenting the day’s
events. Cus and Camille were already engrossed in the spectacular Parade of the
Roses from Pasadena, California, that glittery Hollywood extravaganza that
precedes the prestigious Rose Bowl football game. New Year’s Day was, after
all, a day of parades and football games. From the first note struck by the first
marching band in the first parade of the day to the final whistle blown by the
referee to end the Orange Bowl in Miami late in the evening, the television set
would blare its collegiate message for 14 straight hours. Strangely enough, many
people across the country would sit hypnotized in front of their TV set the entire
day.

Cus and Camille were joined in the library by Tom Patti, Frankie Minicelli, and
Mike Tyson. The boys maneuvered for position in front of the small screen,
trying to find the best vantage point without obstructing the view of the elders.
Many of the boys settled in for a long day of football, but Tyson was
preoccupied with other things. He seemed agitated and was unable to get
interested in the festive celebrations on TV. He spent most of the afternoon
wandering aimlessly from one room to another. After viewing a few minutes of
the Rose Bowl parade, he ambled upstairs to his bedroom and shot pool for 15 or
20 minutes, trying to get his thoughts off his problems. He was particularly
worried about his injured left hand. He detested the inactivity brought on by his
injury and longed for the action of the boxing ring once again, not the
injury and longed for the action of the boxing ring once again, not the
monotonous non-contact sessions against smaller, faster boxers, but full-scale,
no-holds-barred brawls against fighters of his own caliber. His hand felt good,
and it held up well when he worked the heavy bag, but he hadn’t yet put it to the
ultimate test. He hadn’t used his left hand in actual combat in almost six weeks,
and he was apprehensive about its condition.

Cus tried to relax his wounded warrior by getting him involved in the exciting
Cotton Bowl game from Dallas, Texas. Mike eased down on the floor next to his
mentor as the Boston College Eagles and their miniature quarterback, Doug
Flutie, took the field to face the Houston Cougars before a chilled crowd of
56,522 screaming fans. The game could not hold Mike’s attention, however, and
soon the youngster got up and quietly exited the room. He wandered out into the
front yard, preferring to be alone with his thoughts for awhile. As he strolled the
river bank in somber meditation, a familiar honking sound caught his attention.
Looking up, he was fascinated by a gaggle of Canadian geese soaring high above
the house in a typical V-shaped flying formation. They were obvious latecomers
to the southward migration, and were heading for their winter quarters in the
deep south. The sight of these innocent creatures made the sensitive Tyson yearn
for his pigeons. Mike had wanted to build a pigeon coop in the front yard several
years ago, but Cus nixed the idea, fearing it would distract his protégé from his
primary task. Now, seeing the geese overhead, Mike was once again reminded of
his “street rats” from the old tenement days. He decided to ask Cus if he could
build the coop now that he was turning pro. Spring would be soon enough to
broach the subject.

When he returned to the library, the Rose Bowl was just under way in Pasadena.
Mike learned that Boston College had routed Houston 45–28 in the Cotton
Bowl, in spite of the fact that Flutie had an off day. Now he joined the rest of the
family as they watched USC battle Ohio State, but his mind was a million light
years away. Dinner was catch-as-catch-can as the boys of Ewald House, still
hungering for more football, protected their positions in front of the TV set to
watch the third-ranked Washington Huskies edge the second-ranked Oklahoma
Sooners by a 28–17 score in the Orange Bowl.

On January 3, Cus D’Amato and Mike Tyson journeyed to New York City to
have Mike’s huge left hand examined by several orthopedic surgeons. To
everyone’s relief, Mike passed the tests with flying colors. He received a clean
bill of health and was given permission to resume a full training regimen.
Needless to say, Mike was overjoyed at the news, as were his two trainers, and
the three of them were anxious to return to Catskill to put Mike’s career back on
track. While they were in New York City, Cus arranged to visit his good friend,
Dr. John Halpin, whose office was nearby at West 72nd Street, across from
Central Park. Dr. Halpin and Cus put Mike through one of their hypnosis
sessions to get him in the right mental frame of mind for his pro debut. The
procedure was pretty much the same each time they sat down together. Dr.
Halpin would hypnotize Mike and then Cus would take over, quickly pointing
out Mike’s weaknesses, and explaining to the boy how he could turn those
weaknesses into strengths. Hypnosis, when used properly, can be an effective
tool in helping a person overcome weaknesses and bad habits. In order for the
procedure to work, however, the subject must be willing and receptive. In Mike
Tyson, the doctor had an ideal subject. Mike wanted to win the heavyweight
championship of the world so badly he was willing to try almost anything, even
hypnosis, in order to achieve his objective.1

The next day at the Catskill Boxing Club, Mike Tyson was turned loose on the
boxing world once again, causing the Tyson triumvirate of D’Amato, Jacobs,
and Cayton to convene an emergency meeting of the management committee in
New York. It was time to review the final strategy in Mike’s development
program, the steps that would be necessary to propel him to the world
championship in the shortest possible time. The first step was to remove Mike
from Catskill High School and hand him over to a personal tutor. This allowed
him to schedule his training program more efficiently and conveniently. It turned
out to be an easy decision. Mike had never been able to adjust completely to the
small-town school environment, nor was he able to overcome his feeling of
inadequacy when it came to his reading and writing skills. He was still taunted
by the school bullies who took advantage of the fact that Mike was a boxer and,
as such, would not fight back, even though he was twice their size.

The decision to withdraw him from school was a timely one since Mike had just
been involved in another classroom disturbance. Some of the tough guys in
Mike’s class, the five percenters as Mr. Stickles called them, took pleasure in
provoking Mike with a variety of insults, and on this day they followed him up
and down the corridors verbally comparing him to “Mighty Joe Young.” When
Mike had taken as much abuse as he could stand, he went on the offensive,
chasing one troublemaker right through the main office and into the office of the
assistant principal, John Turek. Mike might have lost control of himself
completely if Mr. Turek had not jumped in between the boys. As it was, Mike
tripped and fell as Turek grabbed him, giving the assistant principal the
distinction of being the only person in Catskill who ever knocked Tyson down.
As Mike became famous, Mr. Turek not only admitted having committed the
act, but also embellished the story to his own advantage. During a closed door
meeting between D’Amato, Rooney, school principal Dick Stickles, and Turek,
it was the unanimous opinion that Mike Tyson’s interests could best be served
by allowing him to leave school to pursue his pugilistic endeavors. The parting
of the ways was entirely friendly, however, as Mike Tyson had a good rapport
with both of the top administrators. In fact, as Mike’s professional career
blossomed, he returned to school regularly to visit with the teachers and to talk
to the students.2

Mike’s training was in high gear by mid-month, and Cus had his scouts beating
the bushes for a new batch of sparring partners. As soon as likely candidates
were found, they were herded back to Catskill en masse at a cost of $60 a day.
Cus found it necessary to recruit opponents in bunches, because they seldom
lasted more than two weeks with the hard-hitting Tyson. His thundering body
shots quickly took their toll on his less talented opponents. January turned into
February and the Tyson express moved inexorably ahead. Tyson, an intense
student of the fight game, trained with complete dedication, often jogging the
three miles from his home near Athens to Redman’s Hall prior to his daily two-
hour workout. Sparring partners came and went like a 50-cent lunch. Some of
them hardly stayed long enough to earn travel money home, and none of them
were able to stand up to Tyson’s sledgehammer blows for long. Their names
appeared like blurs in the gymnasium register—Nate Robinson, Kenny Davis,
Ernie Barr, and Jimmy Young. Some of these men were very capable fighters.
They were just overmatched when they stepped into the ring with the
Adirondack strongman, as almost any fighter would have been. Even Jimmy
Young, a former champion, was no match for the young assassin. And the aging
Young cost D’Amato $600 for a week’s work.

Cus did obtain the services of one world class boxer for a few days when WBC
cruiserweight champion Carlos De Leon returned to Catskill. Six minutes in the
ring with the classy De Leon made Mike realize what it was like to fight a real
pro. De Leon took young Tyson to school so to speak, but Mike learned his
lessons quickly. He marveled at De Leon’s ring savvy and relished the mental
exercise of trying to out-think his crafty foe. Mike made his share of amateurish
mistakes, but he was never guilty of the same mistake twice. Cus D’Amato, his
astute trainer, was in his usual position on the ring apron, studying his young
phenom very carefully and yelling occasional instructions to him in an attempt to
eliminate his bad habits. “Don’t be stationary. Keep moving your head. And
eliminate his bad habits. “Don’t be stationary. Keep moving your head. And
keep your hands up.”

Another capable sparring partner followed De Leon into town. Tyrone

Armstrong, the Philadelphia strongboy, returned after completing a sparring
session with Pinklon Thomas. Armstrong boxed three rounds with Tyson and
came away highly impressed. “The boy hits real hard, harder than Thomas. He
has great balance and leverage, that’s why his punches hurt so much. I haven’t
seen anybody in the division that can beat him.” Jacobs and D’Amato continued
to search for a capable opponent for Mike’s professional debut, without success.
They did locate a promoter, however, Tri-State Promotions, under the guidance
of Lorraine Miller. Mrs. Miller immediately scheduled a press conference in
Latham, New York, to introduce Mike Tyson to the Albany media
representatives and announce the details of his first fight.

We have worked hard to put on good shows in the Albany area, and we are
proud to be able to promote Mike Tyson’s professional debut. The fight
will be held In the Albany Convention Center at 8 p.m. on the night of
March 6 against an opponent to be named later. Believe it or not, it’s very
hard to get an opponent for Mike. Most managers have heard about Mike’s
success in the amateurs and they don’t want any part of him. We’re hopeful
we can get the proper opponent, but we’ll be thankful to get an opponent
period.

Mike Tyson, who sat quietly during the proceedings, was matter-of-fact about
his ring potential. “I have all the confidence in the world in my managers. I fight
whoever they tell me. If they know I can beat the man, then I know I can beat the
man too.” Assistant trainer Kevin Rooney assured the press that his charge was
ready for a tough struggle. “Cus D’Amato is a great manager. He wants an
opponent for Mike who will come to fight. Mike needs strong opponents in order
to develop. If his opponent is a bum, everyone gets cheated, and Mike gets
cheated. We are looking forward to a tough match.”3

Within a week, a suitable opponent had been signed to a contract. He was a 19-
year-old Puerto Rican named Hector Mercedes, another recent entrant into the
professional ranks. Mercedes, whose 0–2–1 record seemed made to order for the
ambitious Tyson, had the reputation of being a tough kid. He had compiled an
impressive amateur record around his hometown of Rio Piedra, but he had never
fought anyone of Tyson’s caliber. Cus knew the kid was a mixer, but he was
bothered by Mercedes’ lack of height. Although Hector weighed a solid 204
bothered by Mercedes’ lack of height. Although Hector weighed a solid 204
pounds, he stood only 5'7' tall, and Mike would tower over him in the ring. Cus
realized that, if Mike beat Mercedes badly, the crowd would think of him as a
bully picking on little guys. Cus tried to rationalize the selection of Mercedes for
his own piece of mind.

Just the fact that Art Romalla [Mercedes’ manager] even lets him get into
the ring with Mike shows that he isn’t gonna be a pushover. I like that. It
wouldn’t do Mike any good to fight a bum. Newspapers make a big thing
out of height and reach, but that stuff really isn’t relevant. Timing is the
factor. We’ve taught Mike from the start to get away from punches. He’s
quick with the fists too. Mike’s elusive yet powerful. And if he delivers that
exceptional punching power with either hand, he’s unstoppable. In many
ways, Mike reminds me of Jack Dempsey, the “tiger of the ring.” He has
Dempsey’s ferocious attack. But he’s also more of an individual with a
style and punch all his own.4

Lorraine Miller promoted 15 Tyson fights, including his pro debut. Before the
Mercedes match, Miller showed some posters to D’Amato, who growled,
“Tyson’s picture’s too small,” so Miller immediately ordered new posters and
used her stack of 300 original posters to kindle firewood. In later years, she
received calls from memorabilia buffs offering up to $1,000 per poster. “You
live and learn,” she sighed.5

Back in the gym again, Tyson put the finishing touches on his conditioning
program. He sparred with a young fighter named Charles Thurman, an amateur
who was training for the finals of the New York State Golden Gloves
Tournament. Thurman caved in quickly under Tyson’s constant barrage,
however, calling it quits midway through the second round. Even as his career
became a major focal point in his life, Mike Tyson still found time to work out
with the younger members of the Catskill Boxing Club. He could often be found
instructing kids like Frank Houghtaling in the proper use of the heavy bag.
Houghtaling, an 11-year-old miniature bulldog, was just about ready to embark
upon his own amateur adventure. He idolized Mike as did most of the other
street urchins who frequented the dingy gym over the police station. Mike
responded to their attention by becoming a role model for them. He wanted to
give something back to the gym that spawned him and to the kids who would
follow him.

Suddenly it was March 6, and the moment of truth had arrived. The final
countdown began at approximately 5:30 p.m. as the light-colored station wagon
countdown began at approximately 5:30 p.m. as the light-colored station wagon
pulled away from the old homestead, its headlights searching for a path through
the late winter darkness. The rapid acceleration of rear wheel against gravel road
sent clouds of brown dirt billowing skyward as Don Shanagher pulled out onto
Route 385 with his entourage of Cus D’Amato, Mike Tyson, and Kevin Rooney.
Within minutes they were on the New York Thruway headed north for Albany,
for the Convention Center, and for Tyson’s appointment with destiny. Mike
walked through the front door of the Albany Convention Center unnoticed at
about 6:30 wearing an old, beat-up brown leather jacket and carrying a cloth
gym bag. He immediately headed to the locker room to get himself mentally
prepared for the conflict ahead. That in itself was a major feat because the locker
room in the Convention Center was also the men’s lavatory. The small, cramped
room had been outfitted with temporary lockers and benches to accommodate
the boxers, but it was still open to the public, so the fighters constantly had to
sidestep onrushing male patrons in need of the facilities.

Outside the arena, several hundred early arrivals, unaware that they were about
to witness history in the making, milled about drinking beer and scarfing down
hot dogs. Some of them tried to kill time by watching the inept performances in
the ring. These preliminary fighters were, in general, a sad and often tragic lot.
They sweated and bled and risked their health for pennies. The four-round
prelim boys made about $250, out of which they had to pay their expenses, such
as equipment, trainer’s fees, and manager’s fees. If they ended up with $50 for
themselves, they were lucky. Six-round fighters pulled in $350, and eight-round
boys drew the exorbitant sum of $750. Ninety-nine percent of these club fighters
would wind up broke, many of them punchy. Most club fighters never even
knew the names of the men who taped their hands before the fight. Fewer than
one percent of them escaped from the hellholes of the small, smoke-filled arenas
and went on to a successful career in the ring. Mike Tyson would be one of the
lucky ones.

The old man stood in the dressing room and watched his kid warm up,
watched him wheel around the room in time with the music. Lovergirl,
Square Biz, the pop-soul sound of Teena Marie was little more than white
noise in the old man’s head, which was teeming with other themes. At 6
feet and 212 pounds, the kid was an impressive physical specimen. Plus, as
the veteran pugs liked to say, he carried a cure for insomnia in either hand.6

Cus talked to him incessantly, reminding him about the need to control his fear,
remain calm, and be aggressive. “Remember what I taught you. If you do
remain calm, and be aggressive. “Remember what I taught you. If you do
everything you learned in the gym, you will win.” Mike dropped down on the
hard wooden bench and began lacing up his shoes as fight time drew near. At
7:40, assistant trainer Matt Baranski came over to help Mike adjust his
protective belt, and a few minutes later Cus eased down on the bench next to his
edgy fighter and began wrapping his valuable hands with gauze, 18 feet of soft,
white gauze. Cus then applied a few strips of tape to each hand, being careful not
to let the tape get over Mike’s knuckles, a practice that was frowned upon by the
State Boxing Commission. When the taping process was completed, Mike
clenched his hands into fists, making sure they felt comfortable and were well
protected. Now the young warrior was ready to go. He rose slowly from the
bench and flexed his muscles, then returned to his shadow boxing to keep warm.
He was attired in white trunks and black shoes, no socks, no robe, no flashy
accouterments, just the bare essentials. Tyson said it made him feel more like a
gladiator to be dressed like this, remembering that the combatants in ancient
Roman gladiatorial battles entered the Coliseum clothed only in loin cloths and
sandals.

It was now only minutes to fight time, and the locker room reverberated with the
blare of rock music as Tyson increased the intensity of his warm-up routine in an
effort to get himself well loosened up before heading for the ring. He was
bobbing and weaving, slipping imaginary punches, and occasionally shooting
out sharp jabs with his left hand to the face of an invisible foe. Sometimes the
jab was followed by more bobbing and weaving. Other times it was a prelude to
a two-fisted attack. Perspiration dripped freely from the shoulders and neck of
the Catskill warrior, and his bronze physique shimmered like a Greek statue in
the smoky haze of the locker room/lavatory. Suddenly the door opened and a
wizened head peered in, a cigarette butt protruding from between two rows of
rotten teeth. “They’re ready for you now.” Cus cast a concerned glance at his
restless fighter and gently patted him on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s go, Mike.”
The parade left the locker room and headed for the ring, assistant trainer Matt
Baranski in the lead, followed by Tyson and Cus D’Amato. Jimmy Jacobs,
D’Amato’s partner and co-manager, lagged behind to view the proceedings from
the top of the steps, wondering what the fates had in store for his boy. Jacobs felt
good about things in general. The preparation had been intense and thorough.
Mike Tyson had been preparing for this night for five years, and he would be a
power to be reckoned with in the heavyweight division, if Jacobs and D’Amato
were any judges of people. Tyson was an impressive talent, and Jacobs was
getting positive vibes about the entire venture. He was confident that the venture
would be successful.
would be successful.

Baranski lifted the second strand of rope and Mike Tyson slipped deftly into the
ring to a loud round of applause. Even though this was Mike’s first pro fight, he
was well known around the Albany area thanks to his exciting amateur career.
His popularity was such that the Convention Center was almost filled with over
2,500 Tyson fans in attendance, all of them thirsting for blood. Hector Mercedes,
attired in red trunks with a white stripe, waited in the ring. He eyed Tyson
curiously, wondering why everyone was making such a fuss over a big kid with
no pro fights under his belt. Mike Tyson had come a long way in the past four
years, both technically and emotionally. He was no longer the excitable kid who
rolled around the ring ecstatically in Colorado Springs after a winning effort. He
had matured considerably, but he was, after all, still only 18 years old and just a
boy, albeit a boy in a man’s body. Mike could feel the butterflies squirming deep
within, and his stomach muscles were knotted up with the tension of the
moment. He stood in his corner anxiously waiting for the start of festivities.

As the fighters moved to the center of the ring to receive the referee’s
instructions, Channel 10 News in Albany, New York, was there to record the
historic event. Mercedes’ 5'7" stature made him seem much shorter than the
solidly built Tyson. The two men shook hands and returned to their respective
corners to await the bell. Tyson was edgy and impatient. At the sound of the bell,
he sprang straight at Mercedes, driving the little man to the ropes. He flailed
away viciously with both hands, reminiscent of his first “smoker” four years
before. The unexpected activity in the ring brought oohs and aahs from the
crowd. Two men who were catching a few winks in the front row suddenly
bolted upright and directed their attention to the ferocity above them. Several
stragglers, on their way to the concession stand, turned back to watch the action.
Tyson was a good student and had mastered his lessons well. He remembered
D’Amato’s instructions—the floating rib on the left side and the liver on the
right side. A sharp left crashed against Mercedes’ liver, and two pulverizing
rights found the targeted rib cage. Mercedes winced in obvious discomfort and
tried to cover up. Tyson backed off momentarily and then came back with a right
uppercut that straightened the Puerto Rican up like a pole. One last left hook dug
deep into Mercedes’ side. All the air seemed to leave his body with a hiss as he
sank to one knee in the corner. The referee stopped the fight at 1:47 of round
one. It was an electrifying start to Mike Tyson’s career, and it brought the crowd
to their feet, cheering and screaming. Mike Tyson would give them more of the
same in the months to come, much more. But for now, the battle was over and
the young gladiator basked in the glory of his first professional victory. When
asked about his strategy for the fight, Tyson replied, “I just wanted to throw a lot
asked about his strategy for the fight, Tyson replied, “I just wanted to throw a lot
of punches to confuse him.” Obviously the strategy worked.

Cus was pleased with his boy’s initial showing and couldn’t resist gloating a
little bit. “He looked good, didn’t he?” The old man’s eyes twinkled as he
thought about it. Jim Jacobs was also impressed by what he saw in the ring. “The
other fellow fought back. He threw good punches. If Mike wasn’t so elusive, he
would have got hit. Prior to this fight I thought Mike was a spectacular fighter.
Nothing that happened tonight altered my feeling. Mike is an irresistible force.”
Cus nodded in agreement. “Mike was at a disadvantage in the amateurs. For
example, if he knocked someone down in the amateurs, the opponent would take
a nine count, then could get even in the scoring by landing a punch, though not
nearly so damaging. The professional ranks are marvelous for Mike. They score
for aggressiveness. I expect Mike to break Patterson’s record.” Tyson echoed his
manager’s optimism. “I fought all the best fighters in the world as an amateur. I
fought the better fighters at a younger age. I have reason to be confident.”7

Another D’Amato boxer fought on the same card. Former junior welterweight
contender Kevin Rooney decisioned Garland Wright over the eight-round
distance. Rooney had been a fighter on the way up until 1981, when he lost a
nationally televised fight to Davey Moore. One year later, Rooney was
decisively knocked out in the second round by Alexis Arguello, again on
national TV. Now 29 years old, he was no longer a contender although his 20–3–
1 record was still an impressive credential. If he wanted to, Rooney could
probably have prolonged his pugilistic career for another half-dozen years,
although he most likely would have been an “opponent,” a stepping stone, rather
than a contender. At Cus D’Amato’s urging, Kevin Rooney chose another path
to the top of the fight game. He was learning to be a boxing trainer and, with
D’Amato to teach him, he had the greatest instructor in the world.

That Cus D’Amato was the ultimate trainer was no secret. His discovery of a
new heavyweight sensation had been discussed in boxing circles for several
years. No fighter in the country could entice 2,500 people to witness his pro
debut with ringside tickets selling for $12.50 a pop. No fighter in the country
could command $500 as a four-round neophyte with no pro record. Mike Tyson
could. And Cus D’Amato was the reason. Even the news media was aware of the
monumental story that was unfolding in the tiny hamlet of Catskill, New York.
People Weekly magazine was the first of the popular pulps to jump on the
bandwagon. They sent a reporter to D’Amato’s home town to spend several days
with him and his young protégé prior to the Mercedes fight, to document the
resurrection of the grizzled old manager, and to introduce his new heavyweight
contender to Mr. and Mrs. America. Fortunately for everyone concerned, the
public’s first glimpse of Mike Tyson was an awesome one. He left Hector
Mercedes in a bloody heap in less than two minutes. The Ewald household
celebrated Mike’s victory with a lot of noise and raucous laughter into the wee
hours of the morning. It was a moment to cherish and remember on the banks of
the Hudson. Cus D’Amato, however, was more restrained than the rest of the
family. He realized that Mike was still essentially an undeveloped raw talent. A
tremendous amount of work remained if Mike Tyson was to become a world-
class fighter capable of winning the championship before he was 22 years old.

The next morning at breakfast, the cagey old trainer brought his charge back to
the real world. Tyson was still on cloud nine after his short and explosive night’s
work. His decisive victory made him feel invincible, but Cus soon made him
face the reality of the situation.

Feelin’ pretty cocky, huh? Think you’re tough, don’t ya? Unbeatable. Well
let me tell you, you’re not. Oh, you did good all right, and you deserved the
quick knockout, but you made a lotta mistakes too. If you had fought an
experienced fighter last night, he woulda killed you. You were too
excitable, too wild. You fought out of control. A good fighter would have
laid back and picked you apart. You’ve got to stay calm so you can think
out there. Champions are always calm. And that’s what you’ve gotta learn.
You did a good job in your first fight, but now we’ve got to go back to the
gym and work on your ring discipline.

These morning-after-the-night-before discussions were to become a regular part

of Mike Tyson’s boxing regimen, and a part that he always dreaded. No matter
how good he would do in a fight, Cus would always find some mistakes he had
made. Cus wanted to drill into Mike’s mind the fact that he would never be
perfect, could never be perfect. He wanted Mike to realize that no one is perfect.
No one should ever get cocky and think they are invincible. There is always
something more that can be learned. When a person stops learning and begins to
believe that he is unbeatable, that’s when he becomes vulnerable. Cus wanted to
perpetuate the drive and the desire in Mike Tyson. He wanted Mike to be
constantly stretching for that unobtainable goal—perfection. In that way, and
only in that way, could Mike maintain his equilibrium in the face of success.
And only by striving for higher and higher goals could he hope to win the
championship and, having won it, hope to hold it over a long period of time
championship and, having won it, hope to hold it over a long period of time
against younger and hungrier fighters.

After a couple of days of rest and relaxation, it was back to the gym once more,
back to Cus D’Amato’s school of mental alertness and pugilistic excellence.
Now that Mike had one pro bout under his belt, Cus was ready to unveil his
newest stratagem. He would make Mike Tyson the busiest fighter in the United
States, with a scheduled match every two weeks. Cus believed that the old
fighters had the right idea; you had to fight often to stay on top of your game.
The more you fought, the better you got. The great fighters of yesteryear, men
like “Sugar Ray” Robinson, Archie Moore, and Willie Pep, all had over 200
professional fights before they hung up the gloves for good. Cus had a dream, to
make Mike Tyson the youngest heavyweight champion in history, and to
accomplish that feat, he decided to spoon-feed the young lion with a non-stop
diet of boxing matches in order to force his protégé to develop his almost
unlimited talents faster than anyone ever had before.

Tyson acquired a new sparring partner in mid–March, Delen Parsley of New

York City. Parsley was another street kid who had the heart of a lion. Tyson was
a very aggressive fighter, but he found out soon enough that Parsley was also an
aggressive fighter who kept coming in all the time, taking two punches and
giving two in return. Or trying to. Cus emphasized defense, and he taught Mike
all the cute moves. “Keep movin’ all the time. Don’t stand in front of him. Move
to the side. You can hit him from the side but he can’t hit you. It’s the perfect
place to be. You gotta be elusive.” Cus was thrilled to have Parsley working with
Mike. “He’s givin’ Mike exactly what he needs. He’s tough. He takes a good
punch and keeps comin’. I wish he had been working with us for months.”
Unfortunately, Parsley ran out of gas in a hurry. He had the heart, but Tyson had
the ammunition. Mike was just too strong for him and, after taking a few
thousand blows to the liver and kidneys, Parsley was forced to throw up the
white flag and go back to the city.

Mike’s second fight arrived in the blink of an eye, only 35 days after his first
fight. It was once again held in the Convention Center in Albany, the second of
three fights contracted for with Tri-State Promotions. The opponent was a tall
black man named Trent Singleton, and if you bent down to tie your shoelace
after the fight started, you might not have seen Singleton in action at all. When
the bell sounded for round one, Singleton threw a feeble left in Tyson’s
direction, but Mike slipped it easily. That was it as far as Singleton’s offense was
concerned. Mike countered with a hard left that put Singleton on the seat of his
pants with a surprised look on his face. A flurry of rights and lefts by the excited
pants with a surprised look on his face. A flurry of rights and lefts by the excited
Catskill bomber dropped Singleton twice more in less than a whisper,
automatically stopping the fight. It had lasted only 57 seconds, hardly time
enough for Tyson to work up a sweat. He had a tougher workout in the locker
room before coming to the ring. During the interview session after the fight, one
of the reporters congratulated D’Amato. “Well Cus, you’re a success.” That
statement caused the old trainer to deliver a little more D’Amato philosophy.

I’m not a success yet. And neither is Mike. When these kids reach the point
where they become champion, everybody thinks they’re successful, they
reached the top. They think I’m successful because I managed the champ.
But I’m not. I don’t succeed unless I make that man completely
independent. How do I do that? Well, when he gets the feelin’ that he
doesn’t need me anymore, which is terrible for fight managers, then he’ll
leave me. They don’t need you anymore. They don’t wanna pay, but you
see I don’t think I’m successful unless I’m able to do this. When I make
him completely independent of me, then I have succeeded. Now if he
succeeds before I do this, then he’s successful but I’m not.8

Five days after Tyson’s second victory, one of the great middleweight fights of
all time took place in Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada, before a sellout
crowd of 15,008. “Marvelous” Marvin Hagler, a future ring immortal, defended
his title against Thomas “The Hit Man” Hearns, one of the hardest punchers in
the game. The action was fast and furious from the outset as Hearns was
determined to establish his dominance over the champion. The effort might have
been successful against a lesser man, but not against a brawler of Hagler’s
magnitude. The two fighters stood toe to toe for three full minutes, taking turns
knocking each other’s head off. Hagler staggered Hearns just before the end of
round one, turning “The Hit Man’s” legs to jelly. The champion, in return, had
received a vicious gash over his right eye, and it bled profusely for the rest of the
fight. At one point in round three, it looked as if referee Richard Steele might
stop the fight because of the cut and award the decision to Hearns. The fight was
interrupted briefly to allow the ring doctor to examine the wound and, when he
motioned the fight to continue, it spelled the beginning of the end for Hearns.
Hagler attacked with a purpose, and within 45 seconds he landed a right hand
that sent Hearns spinning backwards against the ropes. Hagler was on him like a
big cat, and a barrage of punches sent “The Hit Man” to the floor for a full
count. The battle, which will go down in history as one of the epics of the ring,
lasted 8:01. Mike Tyson watched the fight on closed circuit television with
considerable interest. Mike was an avid student of the sport, and he studied
considerable interest. Mike was an avid student of the sport, and he studied
every match carefully, always analyzing, always learning. He learned a lot about
heart during that fight, from both corners.

As Mike’s professional career was launched, his personal life started to settle
down and gain stability. He felt more comfortable now around Cus and Camille,
and he began to consider them family rather than acquaintances. The time spent
with Cus grew into a true father-son relationship instead of a trainer-fighter
relationship. Camille became someone that Mike could go to with his problems
and with his doubts, someone from whom he could receive the solace that he so
desperately needed. Ewald House had grown into a home for Mike Tyson during
the spring of 1985. It was no longer just a place to live.

The boredom and drudgery of Cus D’Amato’s intense training program

continued through April, and more sparring partners fell by the wayside. By the
end of the year, Mike Tyson would destroy 40 sparring partners in just 52 weeks.
No one could be found who could stand up to his devastating punishment for
more than a week or two. Otis Bates of Denver, Colorado, was a typical Tyson
opponent. Bates contracted to spar with Tyson for a week, and he arrived in
Catskill in mid–April, full of determination and enthusiasm. He had sparred with
the likes of Carl “The Truth” Williams and Larry Holmes, and he was looking
forward to tangling with New York’s bad boy. It was a mistake that he quickly
paid for. Mike punished him so thoroughly in only two days that he called it
quits and headed home. Cus just shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.
“Mike’s opponents are not bums. He hits them quickly and they go. I can’t even
get him opponents for regular fights. Once a month is not enough. I’d fight him
every week if I could find someone to take him on.”

At one point, Tyson was forced to go five weeks without sparring due to a lack
of willing volunteers. Finally, on the same day that Tyson learned the identity of
his next opponent, a new sparring partner arrived on the scene. His name was
Tom Sullivan, a native of Indiana and a veteran of 29 professional fights. It
would be Sullivan’s job to get Mike ready to mix it up with Don Halpin, a
journeyman fighter from Massachusetts. Halpin, with an undistinguished record
of 9–17, had the reputation of being a survivor, a gutty kid who could give an
opponent a hard time and take a fight to its completion. Kevin Rooney was
familiar with Halpin’s record. “He’s been around. He’s an old war-horse. He
looks to be an experienced fighter.” It was obvious that Rooney was anticipating
a tough struggle for his boy, one that Tyson badly needed. You don’t learn much
from fighting pushovers. Don Halpin had been in the ring with some proven
from fighting pushovers. Don Halpin had been in the ring with some proven
adversaries. In 1981, he had lost an eight-round decision to Tony Tubbs, and in
1983 he was beaten by Jimmy Young. He was considered to be the type of
fighter who lived by his wits and his toughness. You had to beat Halpin. He
wouldn’t quit on you.

As the weeks passed, Mike Tyson seemed to have taken on a new, calmer
approach to the ring wars. Cus credited this change in attitude to his sparring
partner, Tom Sullivan. “Sullivan fought back and didn’t crumble when Mike hit
him, so Mike was forced to settle down and figure out what he wanted to do. He
couldn’t just go in swingin’ without a battle plan.” Cus was so impressed with
Sullivan’s contribution to Tyson’s preparedness that he gave the fighter a
sizeable bonus, hoping to entice him back another time. May started off in grand
fashion around the Catskill Boxing Club. On the tenth of the month, Cus
D’Amato was honored by his peers in the boxing world. During the World
Boxer Day celebration in Madison Square Garden, Cus was presented with the
Joe Louis Award for his contributions to the sport. It was only fitting that the
award should be presented in the Garden, since this had been the stronghold of
Cus’s enemies in the infamous IBC and its mastermind, James D. Norris, Jr.

Ten days later, on May 20, heavyweight champion Larry Holmes pulled out a
close decision over Carl “The Truth” Williams in Reno, Nevada, to retain his
IBF crown. As it turned out, the fight was decided strictly on heart. It was a
perfect demonstration of how to separate the men from the boys. After ten
grueling rounds, Williams was comfortably ahead on all scorecards and was well
on his way to dethroning the pride of Easton, Pennsylvania. It was obvious in the
corners between rounds ten and 11 that both fighters were suffering from
extreme exhaustion. Tragically, Carl Williams was not able to rise to the
occasion. Even with the title in his grasp, the younger fighter could not draw on
the necessary reserves to put out a maximum effort during the final five rounds.
Larry Holmes, on the other hand, realizing what was required to win the fight,
picked himself up by his bootstraps and outpunched his younger foe in rounds
11 through 15. On this night, Larry Holmes showed the boxing world what it
takes to be a champion. His gritty performance did not go unnoticed in the
Tyson camp. Mike quickly made a mental note of the achievement, particularly
since it verified one of Cus’s favorite doctrines: “When you’re watchin’ a fight,
you’re watchin’ more a contest of will than of skill, with the skill prevailing only
when the will is not tested.”

The day before the Halpin fight, another local press conference was held to
stimulate interest in the event. During the question and answer period, one of the
Channel 10 reporters noted that Halpin hadn’t fought in over 13 months, but
Halpin shrugged off any inference that the inactivity might affect his
performance. “I haven’t been the most active fighter in terms of bouts per year,
but the time off has never hurt before. I’ve always come back strong.” Tyson
was more relaxed at the press conference this time, and he exuded an air of
increased confidence now that he had two pro fights under his belt. “I’m sure of
a victory. If it goes six rounds, I’ll beat him in six rounds and look good doing it.
Whatever it takes is what I try to do. I’m sure the fans will enjoy the fight. I feel
real good.” One of the reporters cautioned Mike about what a tough guy his new
opponent was. Mike just shrugged and in typical D’Amato style mumbled,
“Yeah? I’m a tough fighter too. And I move my head and he doesn’t.” When
Mike Tyson’s quotes appeared in print, he often sounded like a braggart, but he
wasn’t. He was quiet and polite, but he was confident—very, very confident.9

Tyson and Halpin with Cus D’Amato at the weigh-in for their May 5, 1985,
match (courtesy Paul V. Post).
Tyson arrived at the Convention Center on the night of the fight still unnoticed
by the general public, but that comfortable situation was destined to change
quickly. Within a few months his face would become familiar to most boxing
fans thanks to a massive publicity campaign masterminded by his managers. But
in May of 1985 he could still walk the streets without being recognized. He had
increased the number of people in his unofficial retinue since his last visit to
Albany however. Not only was he accompanied into the arena by his three
trainers, but he was also followed in by two admiring blondes. After his usual
warm-up period in the locker room, Mike headed to the ring decked out in white
trunks and white shoes. Halpin was waiting for him, anxious to get it on. The
Catskill teenager was also anxious, but he fought under more control in this fight
than he did in the first two. He seemed to be maturing a little bit more with each
passing month.

As round one got under way, it was apparent that Mike respected Halpin’s ring
experience and his reputation as a scrapper. He didn’t rush across the ring to
meet his foe as he had in his previous two fights. This time he approached his
man cautiously and tried to follow Cus’s pre-fight plan. Cus wanted Mike to
work his man inside with an intense body attack in order to open him up so he
could get a clean shot at his chin. Mike followed Cus’s instructions to the letter.
In round two, he kept boring in, punishing Halpin to the body. In round three he
suddenly switched his attack to the head and brought the crowd to its feet with a
sharp left to the side of Halpin’s face followed by a sizzling right to the
cheekbone. These punches signaled the beginning of the end for the
Massachusetts fighter. Although Halpin survived the round, the success that
Mike had in getting through his guard only served to increase his confidence
level. If there was one thing that Mike didn’t need, it was more confidence. He
rushed out of his corner in round four, looking for the knockout. A flurry of
punches put Halpin in immediate trouble, and a dynamite left hand sent him to
the canvas for an eight count. As soon as the referee waved the two fighters
together, Tyson was back on the attack. In center ring, the Catskill Clubber
caught his man with a right cross, staggering him. A left broke through Halpin’s
guard once again, and a follow-up left sent the Irishman reeling backward across
the ring. Mike ran after his man and landed a paralyzing right uppercut that
snapped Halpin’s head back violently as he collapsed into the ropes. The Boston
fighter bounced off the ropes, landing face-first on the floor, where he lay
motionless for five minutes. The referee finished the count of ten at precisely
1:06, but he might just as well have counted to a thousand. Halpin didn’t hear a
1:06, but he might just as well have counted to a thousand. Halpin didn’t hear a
thing.

Tyson knocked out Don Halpin at 1:04 of round 4 (courtesy Paul V. Post).

Mike Tyson was an enigma in the violent world of boxing. He was one of the
most vicious punchers in the ring, yet he also had a gentle side to his nature.
After every knockout, he was more concerned with the welfare of his opponent
than he was with the victory. Mike couldn’t relax in his corner until he saw
Halpin assisted to a stool that had been brought to center ring. Mike was at his
side immediately, giving his opponent a loving hug and whispering words of
consolation in his ear. It is doubtful that the bewildered Halpin heard Mike’s
words of sympathy. He was still dazed when his handlers led him back to the
locker room and laid him on the examining table. The doctor immediately set
about to restore his broken features, no mean feat when you realize it took 29
stitches to close the cuts on his face and a splint to straighten out his broken
nose. Forty-five minutes after being knocked senseless, the battered Irishman
nose. Forty-five minutes after being knocked senseless, the battered Irishman
dragged himself off the table, packed his bag, and went home. He would live to
fight another day, but he chose not to. Don Halpin retired from the ring that very
night.

It was too late for an 18-year-old to go out on the town to celebrate his victory,
so Mike Tyson accompanied his trainers back to Catskill and enjoyed a quiet
snack with Cus and Camille. The next night was different, however. Mike and
his buddies peeled rubber up the New York Thruway to Crossgates Mall, a large,
enclosed promenade five miles west of Albany. Over 150 concerns filled the two
square mile complex, including a fine selection of clothing stores, jewelry stores,
and restaurants (both quality and fast food), plus 12 movie theatres. The first
stop of the night for the Tyson band was Ben & Jerry’s, where the boys gorged
themselves on homemade ice cream. After a boisterous 30 or 40 minutes reliving
the glory of the night before and checking out all the girls in tight jeans, Mike
and his crew jumped the escalator for the third floor where their favorite actor,
Eddie Murphy, was cavorting across the screen in a wacky comedy, Beverly
Hills Cop. By the time the movie ended, the gang was ready to eat again, so they
fought their way down the ”up” escalator to McDonald’s on the floor below.
Mike happily pigged out on Big Macs, fries, and Sprites. He was in heaven
knowing that he could eat anything he wanted for two whole days, but he also
realized that come Tuesday morning, he would pay dearly for it. Cus would
make him toe the mark then, and would make him work twice as hard to take off
the extra weight that resulted from his gluttony. But that was two days away. For
now, it was just eat, drink, and be merry.10

Tom Sullivan was back in Catskill to work with Tyson once again. It was brutal
work but the hours were good and the pay was excellent. The happy Hoosier had
considerable experience sparring with Jerry Cooney and Carl Williams amongst
others, but he had never been in the ring with anything like the kid from Catskill.
“He’s a much harder puncher than any of the other heavyweights. And he’s
relentless. There’s no stopping him.” After one of the sparring sessions, Mike
took Sullivan back to Ewald House and introduced him to Camille. “I want you
to meet my mother.” Camille laughs at the memory. “I thought that kid’s eyes
would pop from his head when he saw my white skin.”11 From Mike’s
standpoint, it was just one more sign that he had finally settled into his new life
and had accepted Cus and Camille as his family. Several weeks later, the former
juvenile delinquent surprised his adopted mother with her first Mother’s Day
card. Mike wrote on it, “For someone I love, and wish you was my mother.
Happy Mother’s Day and I love you. By Michael, your black son.” Not only was
Mike becoming part of the family now, but he was also becoming financially
independent, thanks to his earnings in the ring. After watching this situation
develop for several months, Cus decided that Mike had earned the right to more
individual freedom and responsibility.12

The Catskill teenager had wanted to build a pigeon coop in the front yard of the
Ewald house for several years. Now, with Cus’s blessing and Camille’s
permission, the youngster was given the go-ahead. He quickly recruited several
of his buddies and, with their help and an ample supply of plywood and chicken
wire, he constructed a small wooden structure along the banks of the Hudson. As
soon as he had hammered in the final nail, the boyish Tyson set out to stock the
coop with a large family of his cherished “street rats.” It was a happy day for
him when he placed the first pigeon in its new plywood home. At long last, he
had everything he wanted. He was part of a loving family. He was being given
the responsibility due an adult. And he had a new family of “babies” to take care
of, his first flock in over five years. It was a great feeling just to be alive. The
same week, the “new” Tyson stopped at Bob Meo’s barber shop and had his hair
redesigned. Mike always wore his hair close-cropped but, on this occasion, he
took it one step further and shaved it clean all around about two inches above the
ears, giving the impression that someone had covered his head with a soup bowl
and then took a razor to it.

As the days passed, Mike was forced to step up his pace in the gym. With his
next fight less than a month away, June 20 to be exact, he had to get in peak
condition quickly and stay there. His new schedule consisted of a five-mile,
early morning run, two hours of gym work, and four or five rounds of sparring.
And it was relentless, every day, seven days a week. There was no relief in sight
for a young man who was aiming for the stars. Cus, Jacobs, and Cayton met in
New York City in late May and decided to make a change in promoters. Tri-
State Promotions had been unable to provide the kind of publicity that Tyson’s
management committee felt was necessary in order to properly promote their
“product.” Therefore, Bob Arum, one of the top promoters in the country, was
brought into the picture and took over the arrangements for Tyson’s upcoming
fight. He immediately scheduled it for the Resorts International Hotel in Atlantic
City, on the undercard of the nationally televised Jesse Ferguson-Tony Anthony
bout. It was even possible that Mike could get some television exposure if the
main event ended in a quick KO. Some people in the Tyson camp were not too
thrilled to learn that Bob Arum would be the promoter. His reputation was not
exactly untarnished around the boxing world. Arum, a 52-year-old New Yorker,
exactly untarnished around the boxing world. Arum, a 52-year-old New Yorker,
had been schooled as a lawyer at Harvard University, but a subsequent business
project for the Internal Revenue Service soon convinced him that an enterprising
young man could make big money promoting prize fights.

Bob Arum was a workaholic and for several years spent every waking hour
negotiating with a multitude of managers and fighters to promote their bouts. His
big break came in 1962 when he became acquainted with Muhammad Ali—then
Cassius Clay—and started to promote Ali’s fights. After Ali was stripped of his
title for refusing to fight in Vietnam, Arum arranged a deal with the WBA and
ABC-TV to promote an elimination series to find a worthy successor to Ali.
Over the years Bob Arum’s power has grown, but many people in boxing’s inner
circle have come to despise him. He has been labeled as a liar, a cheat, and a
double-crosser, yet fight managers still deal with him. That’s the way it is in
boxing, even today. The man with the best deal gets the match. Period.

As the days wound down, concern grew in the Tyson camp over the condition of
Mike’s left hand, the same hand he injured in Finland. The hand throbbed
constantly, and Cus was afraid that Mike had incurred more ligament damage.
After a thorough medical examination, however, the considered opinion of the
doctors was that nothing could be done to restore Tyson’s hand to normal. They
said it was one of the hazards of boxing, a condition that he would have to live
with as long as he put on the gloves. Cus began covering the last two knuckles of
Mike’s hand with a sponge during the sparring sessions to protect it as best he
could, but on fight night the sponge would come off and Tyson would have to
endure the pain in silence. Sunday, June 16, was a special day in the life of Cus
D’Amato. It was Father’s Day and, on that day, Mike Tyson presented him with
a Father’s Day card, the first time that Mike had ever done that. Cus was truly
touched, and it was something that he would always remember with misty eyes.
Cus never married, but on this day he became a father.

Two days later, Kevin Rooney packed the station wagon with the necessary
boxing gear, and the four-man crew set out for Atlantic City, a five-hour drive.
They found things in turmoil when they arrived at the seaside resort. Mike’s
opponent had run out on the bout and with the fight less than 48 hours away,
they needed an opponent quickly. The unlucky volunteer turned out to be
Ricardo Spain, small for a heavyweight at 184 pounds, but aggressive and
hungry, and better still—available. Cus was once again concerned about the
small size of Mike’s opponent, but Spain was very strong in the upper body. His
thin legs accounted for most of the lack of weight, and Cus figured that Spain
thin legs accounted for most of the lack of weight, and Cus figured that Spain
would come into the ring and run in order to survive a few rounds. How wrong
he was.

The Tyson-Spain fight was the first bout on the card. Spain surprised everyone
by coming right at Tyson, who met him in center ring. The tiny heavyweight
threw the first punch, a left hook, but Tyson moved his head ever so slightly and
slipped it easily. Then the Catskill Clubber began his own offensive. A
thundering overhand right found its mark on the side of Spain’s head, stunning
the smaller fighter. He fell forward into Tyson, then collapsed backwards to the
floor. Although dazed and hurt, the gutsy little fighter dragged himself to his
feet, barely beating the ten count. Tyson was right back on the attack, backing
his man into a corner where he unleashed a barrage of short, powerful, punches.
The kid from Catskill threw a left, blocked a right, and then countered with a
thundering right hand that snapped Spain’s head back. A pawing left, another
hard right, and still another right crashed against Ricky Spain’s face. The referee
jumped in as Spain’s knees sagged, and he caught the stricken fighter before he
could fall. It was Mike’s quickest knockout yet, with only 38 ticks off the clock.

The Tyson team was very upbeat after the fight, as you would expect. Cus
D’Amato was beginning to beat the drum for his rapidly improving fighter. “He
has great potential. Outside of Larry Holmes, the heavyweight contenders are a
mediocre lot. Pinklon Thomas is probably the best of the lot, but the best fighters
are the ones who are up and coming—Tyson, Henry Tillman, Tyrell Biggs.”
Rooney was so excited about the quickness of the knockout that he could hardly
contain himself. “He’s ready to step out. He’s beginning to do things
instinctively. We’re going to fight again down here.” When Tyson was asked
how he liked fighting in Atlantic City, he just shrugged his shoulders. “No big
deal. I feel more at home fightin’ out of town. I fought all over the world in the
amateurs. When I fought in Albany that was the first time I ever fought in my
own area.” Bob Arum crashed the scene and moved around the locker room
yelling, “He looked awesome, awesome!” But it was left for former
middleweight champion, Jake LaMotta, to get in the last word. When he
encountered Cus D’Amato, the “Bronx Bull” congratulated him and said, “Cus,
it looks like you have another world champion in that boy.”13

Mike Tyson’s Atlantic City debut was a smashing success. Even though the fight
was not shown on television, the ESPN cable network was determined to
televise Mike’s next fight. The live crowd at Resorts International took the
young slugger to their hearts immediately, and the hotel was anxious to get him
back soon. Everybody associated with the fight card was talking about the
back soon. Everybody associated with the fight card was talking about the
unknown sensation from New York. Mike Tyson was a hit. Bob Arum, taking
advantage of Tyson’s sudden impact on the Atlantic City scene, scheduled
another bout only three weeks later. This time his opponent was a tall, white
boxer named John Alderson, and the bout was televised live by ESPN from the
Trump Casino Hotel. This fight marked the actual beginning of “star buildup”
for the Catskill phenomenon. Between Jim Jacobs, Bob Arum, and ESPN, they
set out to make Mike’s next fight an “event.” The fight would also mark Mike
Tyson’s first experience at fending off media representatives while trying to
concentrate on his opponent.

An ESPN film crew arrived in Catskill, New York, on July 2 to do a special on

Mike and Cus D’Amato, a razzle-dazzle piece of film-making that would be
shown on the cable station just prior to the Alderson bout. The commentators
and camera crew spent the better part of the morning around the Ewald
residence, then journeyed to Redman’s Hall to catch Mike in the midst of his
training routine. Somehow training went on in as normal a manner as the
situation permitted. Cus tried to entice Tom Sullivan back to serve as Mike’s
sparring partner again, but he had a prior commitment. This left Tyson in a not-
so-unusual predicament, stuck in the gym without a sparring partner. Mike made
the best of it as usual and concentrated on the other aspects of his conditioning—
the bag exercises, the calisthenics, and the road work.

The big sports news in Catskill over the weekend was tennis, not boxing. It was
Wimbledon time again and merry old England was busy sipping tea and eating
strawberries soaked with whipped cream. On the courts, Martina Navratilova
and Chris Evert Lloyd battled for the women’s championship for the fifth time,
and for the fifth time Martina won. The scores were 4–6, 6–3, 6–2. On the men’s
side things were a little different. The top seeds, Ivan Lendl, John McEnroe, and
Jimmy Connors, were all gone, and the final came down to a battle between
eighth-seeded Kevin Curran and an unseeded 17-year-old West German player
named Boris Becker. Becker, in all his youthful exuberance, was all over the
court making acrobatic saves and subsequent winning volleys. When the smoke
cleared, the young German had scaled the heights. He was the first unseeded
player ever to win at Wimbledon. And he was the first German player ever to
win there.

Mike Tyson wasn’t a big tennis fan, but he could relate to Boris Becker’s
accomplishment. He himself was aiming to do a similar thing in the ring. After
watching Becker’s performance, he was more convinced than ever that he too
watching Becker’s performance, he was more convinced than ever that he too
could scale the heights. By fight night, Mike was beginning to feel the pressure.
He was fighting on the undercard but he was, in reality, the main attraction. He
was getting all the publicity and was being offered all the interviews. It was a lot
for an 18-year-old kid to cope with, but he handled it with unusual maturity.
John Alderson, all 6'5" of him, hailed from Cabin Creek, West Virginia, and he
came into the fight with the same professional record as Mike Tyson, 4–0.
Alderson had turned pro after compiling a tremendous 154–12 record in the
amateurs, but as he entered the ring, he looked a little soft around the middle, a
dangerous condition for a Tyson opponent to be in.

The fight got off the mark slowly. Alderson looked like a guy who just wanted to
last six rounds, not win the fight, and he kept back-pedaling just out of Tyson’s
reach. Mike pursued him but refrained from throwing wild punches. He was
intent on looking for a good opening. A Tyson jab bloodied Alderson’s nose
near the end of the round, and a left-right combination coming out of a clinch did
more damage. In round two, the opening came. At the 1:42 mark, Tyson finally
caught Alderson with a stinging left, opening a small cut over the West
Virginian’s eye. Another left dazed the big heavyweight, and a follow-up right
hand dropped him for an eight count. Back on his feet again, he was fair game
for the pride of Catskill, who moved in for the kill. A one-two, left-right
combination did the damage. After absorbing the two vicious blows, Alderson
pitched forward and Tyson obligingly stepped aside, allowing him to fall to the
canvas. He rolled over into a sitting position and stayed there until the bell
sounded, ending the round. Between rounds, referee Frank Cappuccino and the
ring physician examined the battered fighter, and Cappuccino gave the young
man some sage advice. “John, church is out. The fight is over. Come back and
fight another day.” Tyson’s record now stood at 5–0 with five quick KO’s. At
the post-fight interview, Mike admitted that the pre-fight hype had bothered him
slightly. “I felt a little funny because of the star buildup. It felt a little
intimidating.”14

The Tyson star was in its ascendency now, and the management team of Jacobs,
et al, was determined to keep it there. Jacobs’ crew of experts sat down to map
out the publicity campaign that would make Mike Tyson’s name a household
word from coast to coast. Publicist Mike Cohen, a short, 30-year-old
organization type with close-cropped black hair, mustache and beard, was
assigned to keep Mike’s name in all the major newspapers and on all the large
television networks. To augment that plan, video cassettes containing the
complete footage of all Mike’s professional fights were mailed to every
sportswriter and top TV personality in the country. Electrifying knockouts were
viewed in hundreds of press rooms and TV stations from Bangor to Burbank. As
Wallace Mathews of Newsday said, “It really brought Mike Tyson to the
attention of a lot of people who hadn’t seen him, myself included.” Bill Cayton,
the advertising genius of the group, with over 30 years experience in the field,
knew how to sell a product. “It’s said the press can either make you or break
you, but if you’re Mike Tyson, its value is priceless. The press’ attention is
really basic to the success of a fighter in terms of the money that fighter can
make. The bigger the press, the more prominent the fighter becomes, the greater
purses he commands, the more interest he generates.”15

The following Saturday, July 19, Mike made his sixth pro appearance in the ring,
this time in Poughkeepsie, New York. The program in the Mid-Hudson Civic
Center featured the Catskill Clubber and Larry Sims, a chubby black boxer from
Cleveland. Sims, a 30-year-old club fighter with a 10–10 record, approached
Tyson very cautiously and stayed out of harm’s way for the first two rounds. At
the beginning of round three, Mike trapped his man in the corner and delivered a
series of crushing body shots. As soon as Sims dropped his hands to protect his
ribs, Tyson caught him with a clean right hook and put him in Never-Never-
Land for a full ten minutes. Cus was duly impressed with Mike’s quick ending.
“A fighter, once he hurts his man, takes him apart. He opens up with everything.
The ability to finish a man is what makes Mike Tyson exciting to the crowds.
But he still needs more experience. He needs to go to the body more.” Cus never
let Tyson get complacent. He always found an area where Mike needed more
work, and he always commented on it to let Mike know that he wasn’t perfect,
that he still had to work hard in order to improve his skills further. Cus always
had complete faith in the ability of his protégé, and the Sims fight only served to
reinforce that faith.

I’m a sculptor. I can picture the ultimate fighter and I keep chipping away
until I have created that fighter. I don’t know how long it will take Mike
Tyson to become the champion, but if he maintains his discipline and
dedication, he can become champion before he’s 22. Mike believes in
himself so much, his actions in the ring become intuitive. And once they’re
intuitive, nobody can beat him. He can take anybody out. If he hits Holmes,
then Holmes will go down too.16

Mike Tyson’s bank account was beginning to grow substantially now, but he
was very frugal with his money. He did afford himself one luxury, however.
was very frugal with his money. He did afford himself one luxury, however.
When he got back to Catskill, he rushed out and bought a used car, a snappy-
looking Cadillac El Dorado, white with a blue top. At 18 years old, Mike was
already a seasoned professional boxer, but as one of his boxing buddies at the
gym recalled, his driving expertise did not match his ring prowess. When he first
took the Caddy out for a road demo, the car salesman sat frozen in the front seat
as Tyson bounced over the curbstone and careened down the highway,
seemingly out of control. Mike thrilled to the ride, but the salesman was
traumatized. After several minutes of sheer terror, he insisted on driving the car
back to the lot himself. In spite of the man’s lack of confidence in Mike’s
driving capabilities, the teenager was noticeably impressed with the performance
of the vehicle and purchased it for his very own. It was his first sizable
acquisition. The fancy car made a big hit with his buddies around Catskill, but it
was obvious from the outset that Mike Tyson was not the world’s greatest driver.
In fact, his misadventures on the road scared the hell out of his manager, who
was sure that Mike would kill himself someday. Not only that, but Mike himself
didn’t enjoy driving that much, so it was just a matter of time before the
experiment died under its own weight. Mike had also accumulated four driving
violations in a relatively short period of time and was grounded by the New
York State Registry of Motor Vehicles. It was one of the happiest moments in
Cus’s life when Mike told him that he was selling the car. Cus slept easier after
the car was gone.

Being a celebrity, even a small one, meant impositions on one’s time by a

variety of people out to sell a cause. One cause that Mike was happy to be
associated with, however, was the athletic program at the Greene County
Correctional Facility. Don Shanagher brought Kevin Rooney and Kevin Breen,
the director of the facility, together one day and before long Rooney had
organized an active boxing program at the prison. Whenever he could, he
recruited Mike Tyson to accompany him inside the walls to talk to the inmates
and demonstrate some of the finer points of the sport to them. Mike was
delighted to go, and he was a good influence on the inmates, having been where
they were, and having survived the incarceration to begin a new and productive
life. When he spoke to them, it was the real thing. “I was a bum, too. I was an
inmate. I spent my time in the joint, and look at me.” Don Shanagher used Mike
as an example, reminding the inmates, “Mike was destined to sit in an electric
chair some place, but he got his breaks here.”17

Two newsworthy events occurred in the baseball world in early August, both on
the fourth of the month. Tom Seaver, one of baseball’s finest pitchers, achieved
the fourth of the month. Tom Seaver, one of baseball’s finest pitchers, achieved
his 300th victory in his 19th major league season, beating the New York
Yankees, 4–1. To make the honor even sweeter, Seaver accomplished the feat in
front of his favorite fans, the people of New York. On the same day, 3,000 miles
away, another 19-year veteran of the Bigs smacked out his 3,000th major league
hit. Rod Carew went one-for-five in the Angels’ 6–5 win over the Minnesota
Twins.

Seaver and Carew were relaxing in the soft glow of recognition that followed an
illustrious career in sports. Mike Tyson’s life, on the other hand, in the infancy
of his professional career, was becoming a blur since the initiation of the new
publicity campaign. His fights seemed to come one after another in rapid-fire
succession. The days and weeks between the fights were filled with business
obligations as well as his rigorous training responsibilities. Newspaper reporters
by the dozen sought him out, and his manager, Jim Jacobs, was most obliging.
Anybody who could get Mike’s name in the newspapers was welcomed in
Catskill with open arms.

But when all was said and done, the fight was the thing, and the fight must go on
at all costs. After sparring with Carlos DeLeon in Catskill for a couple of days,
Mike was matched against another old pro in the gym. James Broad, rated
number four by the IBC, brought his 16–4 professional record to Redman’s Hall.
Broad, who had been in with the likes of “Terrible Tim” Witherspoon and
Marvis Frazier, stopped over for seven days to stretch Tyson’s skills a little
further. After Broad departed, the Tyson group broke camp and made the long
trek down to Atlantic City, this time to take on Lorenzo Canady at Resorts
International. People questioned Canady’s credentials as an opponent, but as Cus
explained, “We don’t ask about records anymore. We just thank God we have an
opponent. I know the fans would like to see him fight top contenders, but that
doesn’t make any sense yet. We can’t make any money doin’ that. First Mike
needs to establish a reputation and then we’ll take on the top fighters, maybe in a
year. In the meantime, we can get the experience fightin’ them in the gym.”

The Canady fight was short and merciful. Twenty seconds after the bell sounded,
a Tyson left put the tall, lean Ohio fighter down on one knee in his corner,
wondering how he had ever gotten into such a mess. Fifteen seconds later, the
two adversaries met in center ring. They both missed haymaker rights
simultaneously, but Tyson followed up with a left that found Canady’s jaw,
buckling his knees. The Detroit fighter seemed to hang motionless in space for
an eternity and then slumped to his knees and fell over on his side for the full
count. It was another electrifying knockout for Mike Tyson, the entire
count. It was another electrifying knockout for Mike Tyson, the entire
proceedings lasting only 58 seconds. In his first seven professional fights, the kid
from Catskill had labored in the ring for only 25 minutes and 27 seconds,
slightly more than one round per fight.

The truth was that Mike was getting more competition in the gym than in his
official fights. In addition to Carlos DeLeon, James Broad, Tyrone Armstrong,
and Tom Sullivan, Mike had traded blows with the likes of Carl “The Truth”
Williams, Tyrell Biggs, Jimmy Young and Frank Bruno. Needless to say, it was
a picnic when Mike stepped into the ring against his nondescript opponents, if
and when he could even find a nondescript opponent. His next scheduled fight,
on August 20, was cancelled when five possible candidates pulled out rather
than step into the ring with the Catskill Cruncher. Finally, Michael “Jack”
Johnson, a cruiserweight who had been inactive for over two years, volunteered
to face the Catskill assassin. He should have stayed inactive. As WTEN CH-10
News in Albany reported, Tyson attacked the body immediately, and a left hook
to the liver area put Johnson down for the first time. As soon as he arose, Tyson
was after him. Rooney was yelling from the corner, “The 8–2, Michael, the 8–
2.” Tyson got the message. The 8–2 maneuver, a right hook to the rib cage
followed immediately by a right uppercut to the jaw, was executed with pinpoint
precision, and Jack Johnson was history, another victim of the New York “Hit
Man.” Total elapsed time, 39 seconds. And the loser was on his way to the
hospital for observation.

On Friday, September 13, Cus D’Amato travelled to Albany, New York, to

address a sales meeting at a local investment company. The subject of the talk
was positive thinking, something that many people think was invented by Cus
during his years in the Grammercy Gym. The talk eventually got around to his
young ward, Mike Tyson, a subject that Cus loved to talk about.

Now I have presently a young fighter, a fella by the name of Tyson. You
must have heard of him already in this area. Tyson will be a champion of
the world, and the only thing that will stop him is if he allows anything to
interfere with his objective and dedication. Now what could interfere? Well,
when boys are young and, at that age very healthy, his interest in girls may
be so that it becomes a distraction. Now interest in girls is a healthy thing, it
isn’t a problem. But it can become a problem. When you’re trying to
achieve an objective everything can become a problem when the problem
causes your objective to be secondary rather than primary. Everybody
knows it, yet when we live it, we somehow don’t observe it. Now what do I
 knows it, yet when we live it, we somehow don’t observe it. Now what do I
do? I put ’em on a track. And as he goes along on the track, he goes off. All
I do is put him back on the track. Now I could do it in such a way where I
can be right on him, and have my hands on his shoulders so to speak, with
complete confidence, until he reaches his objective, but in the end he’ll
have confidence in me, not confidence in himself, because he can feel my
hand on his shoulder. He’s got to be able to do it himself. And I know how
I do it at least. I start him on the track and when he goes off, I just put him
back on the track. Let him continue. Follow behind him, but without
touching him. Let him continue doing it until he reaches his objective. If a
person believes he’s gonna win, he will win. And he will generate the
qualities necessary to win, the competitive spirit, the determination, the will
to win, just like this young Tyson. He’s beaten fellas that have four, five
times, even ten times more experience than he has. He’ll make mistakes a
great deal more, but he’ll overcome them because of this quality that he was
able to generate. Mike Tyson has meant everything to me. If it weren’t for
him, I probably wouldn’t be living today. He’s got my adrenaline flowin’
again.

Cus’s voice was raspy during the talk, causing him to clear his throat frequently.
It was the first symptom of the insidious illness that would take his life less than
two months later. Cus’s final battle with death was another vivid reminder that
boxing was, after all, only a sport and not a microcosm of life. But Cus believed
he had done his job well. He believed he had prepared Mike Tyson for every
eventuality, including his impending death. Cus had put Mike Tyson on the track
to the championship, and he believed that Mike had developed the necessary
independence to continue on his own after his adopted father was gone.18

Real life, and its associated tragedies, were being painfully experienced on
September 19 by countless thousands of people a continent away in Mexico
City, where a devastating earthquake wreaked death and destruction over 20
percent of the mountain metropolis. Earth tremors measuring 7.8 on the Richter
scale struck the Mexican capital early Thursday morning, flattening entire
neighborhoods and destroying large sections of the business district. Fortunately
the quake struck before the workday began, minimizing the number of casualties
but, even so, estimates of the dead were put at a staggering 20,000!

Back in Catskill, New York, the Mexican tragedy was just an item in the
newspaper, a catastrophe that seemed almost unreal, certainly incomprehensible
to a young man whose whole life was concentrated in a 324-square-foot padded
enclosure surrounded by ropes. As Tyson’s regimen continued, the heavyweight
championship was changing hands. On September 21, Michael Spinks, an
inflated light heavyweight, took the title away from an over-the-hill Larry
Holmes. It was a dull, 15-round affair. Spinks wouldn’t fight, and Holmes was
too tired to fight. When Mike saw the debacle, he told the Daily Mail, “I’ll fight
him right now. That fight disgraced the heavyweights. Spinks is only a light
heavyweight. It’s unbelievable. He should give me a title shot right now.” Cus
was a little more cautious. “Tyson has five more fights scheduled and then we’ll
see.” With visions of heavyweight championship belts dancing in his head, Mike
Tyson took a new oath of dedication to his profession. “I want respect. That’s
what it’s all about, to get the respect of everybody. No more girls. No more night
life. I’m gonna show everybody.”

Once again, however, Tyson’s career was slowed by a lack of qualified

adversaries. A scheduled bout in the Felt Forum was called off when the
opponent took a powder after concluding that the $700 payday wasn’t worth the
pain and suffering he would experience in the ring. Subsequently, Tyson’s next
fight was moved to Atlantic City where the larger $1,500 purse would entice
more opponents out of the woodwork. After several frustrating weeks, an
opponent and a date were finalized. Mike’s adversary was to be Donnie Long,
who had replaced Tony Anthony, who had replaced Dion Simpson. And the
merry-go-round continued. It was impossible to tell Tyson’s many prospective
opponents without a scorecard. It was easy to keep track of his sparring partners.
There were none. As a result, Tyson was forced to take out his frustrations in the
ring by pounding away at Kevin Rooney’s big catcher’s mitts, and by working
over his body bag. He also jogged his usual five miles a day. Even at this early
stage in his career, Mike spent much of his free time promoting his home town,
getting involved in various anti-drug campaigns, and generally trying to be a
model citizen. He had already learned to handle the media politely, no matter
how aggressive or insensitive they might be. “I can always afford to be a
gentleman. I think everybody should. I’m a good guy basically. And I wanna
help other kids go straight. Kids shouldn’t be involved with drugs. They should
be involved with academics, school, sports.”

On October 9, Donnie Long brought a respectable 15–3 record and ten KO’s into
the ring at the Trump Hotel and Casino. Although both fighters tipped the scales
at 215 pounds, Long’s 6'2" height made him look bigger than his stockier foe.
Tyson, attired in white shoes and trunks, had not yet assumed the intimidating
all-black dress that would become his trademark as a top-rated contender, but his
all-black dress that would become his trademark as a top-rated contender, but his
approach to the fight was just as black and just as simple—seek and destroy. The
fight as usual was short-lived and took longer to write about than it did to
experience. Tyson stalked his foe from the outset, and before a minute had
passed he took command. As he maneuvered his man back toward the ropes,
Mike faked a right hand, then leaped in with a thundering left hook to the jaw
that bounced Long off the bottom strand of ropes and onto the seat of his pants.
The courageous kid from Youngstown, Ohio, bounced up in a flash, but he was
unable to stop the Tyson onslaught. The Catskill assassin came right at him as
soon as referee Cappuccino satisfied himself that Long was able to continue.
Tyson moved in quickly, his face a study in concentration. In center ring, he
unleashed a right-left combo that put Long in full retreat. A roundhouse left
staggered the taller fighter, and another bounced him off the ropes. Rights and
lefts rained all over Long’s head, two uppercuts snapped his head upright, and a
crushing left hook put him down on one knee.

The battered Long still insisted on continuing. It was a bad decision. Tyson,
beginning to show his youth and immaturity now, met Long in center ring and
prepared for the final assault. The excited 19-year-old, trying unsuccessfully to
control his emotions, threw a wild left hand that sailed two feet over Long’s
head. The two men wrestled momentarily, then a rapid-fire left-left combination
by Tyson found Long’s unprotected right cheekbone. The Ohio boxer wobbled
for a split second, then his body went limp and he fell backwards to the canvas.
Still determined, he tried to sit up, but his glassy-eyed stare was proof that he
could no longer function, and he collapsed on his right side, a beaten fighter. The
referee rushed over immediately, waved off a count, bent down and removed
Long’s mouth guard. Mike Tyson was still beaming at the post-fight press
conference. “Everything was timed. I was very calm and relaxed. I put in so
much trainin’ and effort. As you can see, I’m a master at evadin’ punches at
me.” Rooney was equally happy. “Michael passed his test with flyin’ colors.”19

The beginning of the end finally arrived for Mike Tyson’s manager, trainer,
adopted father, and confidante in early October. Cus D’Amato was admitted into
Mt. Sinai Hospital suffering from a painful upper respiratory problem. He never
left the hospital again as his condition gradually deteriorated, and his 77-year-old
body was unable to fight off the ravages of the disease. Tyson spent as much
time as possible at Cus’s bedside while at the same time preparing for his next
test, another Atlantic City bout, this one with Robert Colay. Like the nine men
before him, Colay was greatly overmatched.
Tyson was adorned in blue as he entered the ring on the night of October 25. His
adversary, a hometown kid who grew up within a stone’s throw of the famous
boardwalk, appeared nondescript in white shoes and blue and white trunks.
When the fight started, the two combatants advanced to the center of the ring.
Colay threw the first punch, a left hook that Tyson adroitly bobbed under. A
Tyson return left grazed Colay’s cheekbone. Tyson moved forward again,
bobbing and weaving, working his way inside, while Colay tried to keep him at
bay with a series of weak left jabs. Another harmless jab by Colay was
countered by a stiff Tyson left. Suddenly the determined New Yorker unloaded
his Sunday punch, an electrifying left hook thrown with perfect leverage and
with all the animal ferocity that he could muster. It exploded against Colay’s
chin like a .357 Magnum, driving the New Jersey fighter backward to the
canvas. The referee tolled the fatal ten count as the stunned Colay struggled
vainly to regain his feet. It was a 37-second fight.

The Tyson express rolled on, without pause or reflection. Fight number 11 was
confirmed for the Latham Coliseum for the night of November 1. The opponent
was Sterling Benjamin, a chubby club fighter from Trinidad who had a
misleading 11–4 win-loss record. Benjamin was chosen, as were all Tyson’s
opponents, because D’Amato and Jacobs felt that he could provide their protégé
with a further learning experience, but had virtually no chance to win the fight.
Sterling Benjamin’s main claim to fame was that he had once gone the distance
with the Olympic gold medal winner, Willie De Witt of Canada, and had
survived into the seventh round with another gold medalist, Tyrell Biggs.
Promoter Lorraine Miller of TriCity Promotions lamented the lack of adequate
facilities in the Albany area to showcase the increasingly popular local
heavyweight. Mike Tyson was rapidly outgrowing the cramped upstate New
York boxing arenas. The Latham Coliseum seated only 3,000 people, and it was
sold out within days of the Benjamin fight announcement, even with ticket
prices ranging up to $20 for a ringside view of the spectacle.

Lorraine Miller was looking ahead to future Tyson matches. Possible sites that
might still be large enough to house the growing number of Tyson fans included
the 8,000-seat Renssalaer Polytechnic Institute (RPI) Fieldhouse, the Glens Falls
Civic Center, and the Syracuse Carrier Dome. Once Mike outgrew those sites,
his fights would have to be moved to the “big time” locations like Madison
Square Garden, Las Vegas, and Atlantic City. In addition to larger arenas, larger
purses also became a reality for Mike Tyson fights. The asking price for Tyson
opponents rose dramatically and now stood at $3,000 for an eight-round bout.
The main event boys were asking $10,000 and up. It was strange to talk about
The main event boys were asking $10,000 and up. It was strange to talk about
eight-and ten-round fights when discussing the Catskill Clubber, however, since
most of his fights were over before the first round was history.

The Benjamin match was no different. Tyson chased his man from the start. The
Trinidad heavyweight tried to protect himself from Tyson’s power by keeping
his chin tucked tightly behind his gloves and holding his elbows close to the
body. But it was to no avail. Two left jabs and a right to the head started
Benjamin’s downfall. A solid left hook toppled the big heavyweight at the 30-
second mark. Benjamin managed to drag himself to his feet and immediately
went into the famous Ali rope-a-dope in an effort to discourage his energetic
assailant. But Tyson was unmoved. He continued to pummel his man with a
torrent of body punches, leaving the battered Benjamin gasping for air. A
crushing left to the liver, a similar right hand to the rib cage, then a crunching
right uppercut, three lightning-fast rights in succession, and one last left hook
that dug deep into the fat in Benjamin’s side, and the chubby one collapsed to
the canvas, a knockout victim at 54 seconds of round one.

The Latham Coliseum was in an uproar as 3,000 fans jumped to their feet
whistling and screaming in celebration of another Tyson massacre. Cries of “We
want Spinks, we want Spinks” reverberated through the tiny arena. A legend was
being born. Sterling Benjamin shook his head in disbelief after his battle with the
Catskill teenager. “Tyson hits like a sledgehammer, man. That’s the hardest I’ve
ever been hit.”20 Tyson and Rooney were both pleased with Mike’s
performance, particularly Rooney. “He’s a corner man’s dream. I don’t have to
do any work. The work is done in the dressing room. I think Mike is tryin’ extra
hard the last coupla fights in order to please Cus.” The violent side of the sport
was reflected in Tyson’s final comments. “It was just a left hand to the right side
of the body. I heard the crunching sound like click, click, click. I thought it was
his ribs breakin’.” The fight marked the beginning of Mike Tyson as a bona fide
celebrity. Everyone in the sold-out arena was straining to pat him on the back, to
wish him well with “way to go champ,” and to get his autograph for posterity. A
trailer belonging to a national television network was parked next to the
Coliseum during the fight, and the TV crew recorded every second of the
exciting event. After the final curtain, Mike was led outside the arena, still
saturated with the sweat of his brief encounter. Inside the trailer he was brought
to a small interview room where he patiently answered every question thrown at
him by an inquisitive interviewer.21

In spite of his thrilling victory, Mike’s first thoughts were of his mentor and
In spite of his thrilling victory, Mike’s first thoughts were of his mentor and
friend, Cus D’Amato. Early the next morning, Mike traveled to Mt. Sinai
Hospital in New York to update his teacher on his most recent fight. Cus was
growing increasingly weak now, and it was becoming obvious that this might be
the final round for the cagey old boxing manager. Cus, at 77, had many famous
battles under his belt, including the one with the IBC, and he had always come
out a winner. But now it looked like he might finally lose one. Mike tried to
comfort his adopted father while Cus, on the other hand, constantly talked to his
young protégé, to prepare him for the inevitable. Cus had brought Mike Tyson a
long way along the road of life. He had taken a young hoodlum from Brooklyn
and had transformed him into a model young man. Along the way he probably
also created a heavyweight boxing champion but, strangely enough, that was less
important to Cus than developing a good human being. “If somethin’ should
happen to me, Mike, if the time comes when I’m not here, you’ll be all right.
I’ve taught you to be independent, and now you’re ready to be on your own. Just
remember all the things we talked about and, someday, you’ll be the
heavyweight champion of the world. As long as you don’t allow anything to
distract you, you will be a success.”
Sterling Benjamin was another first-round knockout victim (courtesy Paul
V. Post).

Cus’s parting remarks to his young charge were wishful thinking on his part. It is
possible that, at this juncture in his life, Mike Tyson was indeed working hard to
be the model citizen that Cus wanted him to be, but the base on which his
character was molded was like quicksand. His public comments before and after
fights and during press conferences in 1985, his anti-drug efforts, and his public
persona all depicted him as a polite young man and a good role model for the
younger generation. If that were true, then it unfortunately all fell apart when he
came under the influence of the slick con man, Don King, whose permissive
attitude and lack of direction created the post-D’Amato Mike Tyson whose
antics in and out of the ring demonized him and cost him his fortune and his
reputation after a decade of hedonism and violence.

Mike usually left Cus’s bedside in tears, trying to cope with the possibility that
the old man would soon be gone. Kevin Rooney, another successful D’Amato
project, was also trying to cope. “Michael and myself included are holding up
well. There was one day I think it was botherin’ him. Cus believed in mind over
matter. I think he’s been fightin’ this for a long time. Now he’s critical. It’s a
rare case of pneumonia affecting, not only his lungs, but the tubes leadin’ to the
lungs.” As the days passed, Cus gradually slipped into a coma, leaving his
fighter desolate and depressed. November 4, 1985, was the saddest day in the
life of Mike Tyson. His “strong backbone,” Cus D’Amato, passed away at
precisely 4:30 p.m. from the ravaging effects of interstitial pulmonary fibrosis.
Mike and Camille were alone in their grief, and they tried to find solace in each
other’s arms. The tears flowed uncontrollably in the Ewald house during the
week-long vigil for the departed head of the family, but relief was a long time
coming. The old woman and the young boxer particularly would feel the
emptiness of the old Victorian mansion for many long months.22

Cus’s family, friends, and associates, along with dozens of scruffy street kids,
converged on Catskill, New York, to pay their last respects to the venerable
trainer. Following a service of Christian burial at St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic
Church, Cus’s remains were interred in St. Patrick’s Cemetery, escorted to the
graveside by eight somber bearers, including Tyson, Jay Bright, Floyd Patterson,
Jose Torres, Jim Jacobs, Kevin Rooney, Tom Patti, and Cus’s brother Jerry.
Former light heavyweight champion Jose Torres gave the eulogy for his friend
and mentor. “While some people were obsessed with money, power, or fame,
Cus’s obsessions were decency, integrity, and compassion. He treated his boxers
like his own children, and I was one of them. Cus left us with a valuable legacy,
not the obvious and superficial world championships, but rather he taught us to
be better people. He taught us to become teachers. He was a fighter to the end,
and he retired a champion.”23

Once Cus was laid to rest, Tyson’s quest for the championship resumed, just as
the old man would have wished. A major challenge loomed immediately on the
horizon. During the second week of November, the Tyson entourage traveled
south to Houston, Texas, where his next stumbling block, Eddie Richardson, lay
in wait like an old-time desperado. Richardson was attempting to re-establish his
once promising career. He, like Tyson, had started out impressively in the pro
ranks, winning his first 12 bouts, but in 1985 the bottom fell out. He suffered
two consecutive defeats, including a nationally televised knockout at the hands
of flashy newcomer Tyrell Biggs. Now it was the moment of truth for the 6'6"
Texan. This fight would determine whether he could pull himself together and
become a logical heavyweight contender again or would become just another
“opponent” for young fighters on the way up. It was also a tough situation for
the teenage Tyson to be thrown into. He was facing a determined opponent who
was intent on regaining his lost promise, and he himself was in no condition
emotionally to participate in an event of this magnitude, having buried his
mentor and friend only six days previous.

Mike Tyson sat alone in his hotel room on the day of the fight. He had brought a
photo of Cus to Houston with him, and he sat fondling it, tears running down his
cheeks, as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand and to remember all the
things that Cus had taught him, all the things he would have to do in order to
win. He clutched the photo tightly, hoping it would somehow give him strength.
When evening came, he carried Cus’s picture to the dressing room with him,
again looking for some magical transfer of power from Cus’s image. He sat
hunched over on the bench for what seemed an eternity, his head in his hands,
and he squeezed the photo one last time as he contemplated the challenge ahead.

Whatever the reason, the long meditation seemed to work. Both fighters
appeared nervous as they entered the ring, but Mike Tyson, with Cus behind
him, was calm and determined by fight time. Kid Dynamite, as Cus had called
him, wanted to win this fight for his mentor, and he was driven by an
unstoppable force. Eddie Richardson never had a chance. He would have had to
unstoppable force. Eddie Richardson never had a chance. He would have had to
bring the Texas judges into the ring to hold Tyson while he hit him, in order to
win the fight.

Wearing black trunks and shoes for the first time, perhaps in mourning for Cus,
Mike Tyson looked like death and destruction as he stood in his corner waiting
for the bell. The fierce look on his face, a look that would become a Tyson
trademark, sent shivers up the backs of ringside patrons. Perhaps Richardson too
was intimidated. In any event, only nine seconds into the fight, a Tyson right
hand sent the tall Texan to the canvas. Tyson was bent on mayhem. He
continued to stalk his man when the fight resumed, eventually backing the Texan
into a corner. Tyson unleashed a right that grazed Richardson’s temple. Then he
went into a crouch and came right up with a torrid left hook that caught
Richardson flush on the chin, felling him like a tree. John Tate never fell better.
Referee Barry Yeats hovered over the prone Richardson and tolled the fatal
count, “8–9–10.” Mike Tyson rushed over to the fallen fighter as the count
reached ten and helped his battered adversary to his feet. The timekeeper’s clock
read 1:17. It was a great win for the Catskill teenager, his first step on the road to
independence and self-sufficiency. Cus D’Amato was gone but his legacy lived
on. Eddie Richardson attested to the fact that Mike Tyson had lost none of his
power during his long ordeal. When asked if he had ever been hit that hard
before, Richardson replied, “Yeah. About a year ago, I was hit by a truck.”24

Manager Jim Jacobs continued to be amazed by the prowess of his juvenile giant
slayer. Dressed like a country gentleman in a tweed jacket and English cap,
Jacobs confided to the press, “I’ve never been exposed to a fighter like Tyson in
my life. He can beat seven of the top ten heavyweights right now.” Mike Tyson
felt satisfied with his performance, but he still felt alone in the world.
Surrounded by dozens of well-wishers, the youngster from upstate New York
yearned for a confidante, a father figure that he could cling to in time of need or
success.

People don’t think I’m emotional because of the way I am in the ring, but
I’m emotional when it comes to family. Now I’m alone. There’s no Cus to
tell me how I did. There’s no mother to show my clippings to. No matter
how I did, Cus would always find something wrong, something I needed to
work on. He never let me get cocky. With Cus gone, I have to take my job
more serious now out of respect for him. When I was 17 or 18 I was very
cocky. I thought I was so good I didn’t have to train, but Cus tried to keep
 me on track. I used to go into fights five or ten pounds overweight and still
win. I had a bad attitude then, but Cus straightened me out. Now I have
more discipline. I know that when two guys get into the ring together,
anything can happen.25

Mike Tyson was beginning to grow up. He was maturing rapidly inside the ring
and out. Soon he would be ready to tackle the rated fighters in the division. In
just three months he would meet ESPN champion Jesse Ferguson. Then his star
would soar heavenward in a hell-bent-for-election rush to glory. The Catskill
man-child hardly had time to take a deep breath before his next fight was on
him. Nine days after the Richardson bout, only 18 days after Cus’s death, on
November 22, Tyson climbed through the ropes at the Latham Coliseum to trade
punches with a tall Jamaican fighter, Conroy Nelson, the number two Canadian
heavyweight behind Willie DeWitt. Nelson expressed confidence that he could
derail the Tyson express. “A shorter man always has a lot of problems getting in
on a taller man. A tall man who can box and who can use his reach to good
advantage will give the smaller man trouble.” Tyson, as usual, sounded almost
blasé about the upcoming battle. “I’m gonna go out there and put the pressure
right on and see how he reacts from the first round on. If he’s still around after
four rounds, maybe we’ll change our strategy, but probably not. Most likely, the
pressure’s gonna be on for the full eight rounds. I never anticipate a knockout. I
always expect the fight to go the distance. Knockouts just seem to come.”26

The tenor of the fight was established early in round one. Mike Tyson was on the
attack, stalking his man from the outset. Conroy Nelson, on the other hand,
wanted to feel Tyson out, to see how hard the youngster could punch. The big
Jamaican didn’t want to get involved in a slugging match early in the fight. He
maintained good lateral movement throughout the round, staying just out of
Tyson’s reach. His hands were held high against his cheekbones and his elbows
were tucked against his body, protecting his rib cage. He offered little in the way
of an offense in round one, content to just get through the round. As round two
began, Tyson was out of his corner like a big cat. He feinted with a left and then
shot a straight right that broke through Nelson’s guard, catching the taller man
on the chin. Hurt now, Nelson forgot his fight plan and went on the offensive.
He threw a left that missed its mark, and in the process he left himself wide
open. Tyson immediately capitalized on the mistake, delivering the coup de
grace, an explosive left hook to the point of the chin that sent Nelson sprawling
backwards to the canvas for the full count. The fight had gone only 30 seconds
into round two. This was Mike Tyson’s first fight in the Albany area without
Cus D’Amato, and he missed the old manager deeply, particularly at this time
Cus D’Amato, and he missed the old manager deeply, particularly at this time
and in this town. After a quick shower, Mike left the Coliseum with some of his
buddies and headed for the local pizza joint for some refreshment and relaxation.
Mike stayed out on the town all night, making the rounds of his favorite Albany
haunts, seemingly searching for something that wasn’t there.

The youngster arrived back in Catskill as the sun was coming up, and he went
directly to Camille’s room for comfort. He sat on the edge of her bed and the
tears were rolling down his face. “I did good in the fight, Camille, but I was
lonely. Cus wasn’t there. Everybody tells me I do good, but nobody tells me if I
do bad. It wouldn’t make any difference how good I did, Cus would always find
somethin’ I did wrong. I’m tryna get Cus’s death outta my mind, but it’s
difficult. I used to talk to him before every fight. Now when I start to get nervous
or scared, I have to deal with it myself.”27

Mike returned to the gym two days after the Nelson fight to work on some of his
weaknesses. He had only two weeks before he was scheduled to fight Sammy
Scaff in New York’s Felt Forum, so he was force-fed Kevin Rooney’s
condensed course in boxing strategy. To help Mike master his new lessons,
another experienced heavyweight was brought to Catskill for five days of
sparring. David “Big Foot” Johnson, out of Baltimore, had been in with some of
the top names in the division—Witherspoon, Snipes, Tubbs, and Cooney. Mike
and his team practically lived in the Catskill gym for one solid week, then
packed their bags and set out for New York City to finish their training in
Gleason’s Gym, in the shadow of Madison Square Garden.

Located on a dirty, cluttered street just east of 30th Street and 8th Avenue, the
two-story building sat unobtrusively next to a drab industrial structure. A plain
white sign over the door beckoned to would-be boxing champions to come in
and take the first step on their yellow brick road to fame and fortune. Gleason’s
was one of the few gyms left in New York, along with The Ringside and the
Times Square Boxing Club, and for only $25 a month a guy could get a locker
and use all the facilities. Gleason’s was not one of those new, freshly painted
gyms like Joe Frazier’s in Philadelphia or the Boxing of the Americas Gym in
Miami Beach. Gleason’s was a throwback to the old days when dingy, dimly lit
athletic clubs were the focal points of urban America. It was a typical, smoke-
filled school for pugs where the sweat and pungent odor of liniment permeated
the atmosphere. Two rings dominated the room, and a quick look around at the
15 or so fighters who were busy working on their trade identified them as
primarily Hispanics and African Americans, the usual street kids who were
primarily Hispanics and African Americans, the usual street kids who were
attempting to punch their way out of the big city ghetto. A wide assortment of
punching bags occupied the perimeter of the room and, in the back, behind all
the boxing paraphernalia, stood a lone shower, a hundred shabby lockers, and a
single toilet stall.

The gym had a seedy, patriotic aura to it. Everything seemed to be painted or
manufactured in red, white, or blue. The concrete floor, which had been given a
glorious coat of red paint in the distant past, was now well worn by the shuffling
and skipping feet of untold numbers of boxing hopefuls. The two 16-foot rings
were gaily decorated with powder blue mats, surrounded by ropes of red, white,
and blue. We’ve all seen Gleason’s Gym, or others just like it, in dozens of
Hollywood movies, from The Champion to Rocky. It has atmosphere. It also has
slum kids looking for a way out, punch-drunk pugs mopping the floors and
emptying the spit buckets, and the ever-present mobsters smoking cheap cigars
and looking for talented but ignorant fighters to exploit. Ira Becker, the owner of
Gleason’s, ran a clean operation, but boxing is boxing, and the wolves are
always on the prowl. Becker had even provided Gleason’s with a status symbol.
There was a balcony level overlooking the gym that served as a private dressing
area for VIPs of the boxing world. It wasn’t fancy by Gloria Vanderbilt
standards, but it was a place to which all the apprentices aspired. It contained a
maze of thin metal lockers, a shower stall, and a toilet. The shower, like the rest
of the gym, was showing signs of age. The ceiling was falling down, the white
tile walls were chipped and broken, and the sheet metal floor was coming up
around the edges. It wasn’t much to look at, but every kid in the joint would
have given his eye teeth to be able to dress there.

Mike Tyson prepared for his match with Sammy Scaff under the dim fluorescent
lights of Gleason’s. James Broad was there to make sure that Mike stuck to his
guns and concentrated on the basics. Kevin Rooney was draped over the top
strand of ropes à la Cus D’Amato, yelling instructions to his fighter. “Work on
the jab. Cover up. Protect yourself. Faster. Use combinations. Don’t throw just
one punch at a time. That’s good. Keep punchin’, Now practice the jab, straight
and sharp.” The sweat poured off Tyson’s body like a September downpour, but
his breathing was imperceptible, a sure sign that Mike was in tip-top shape.
After completing five fast rounds of sparring, Tyson moved on to the heavy bag
to improve his stamina and his punching leverage. Mike worked hard to control
the big bag, much like he would work to control an opponent in the ring. He
punched. He punched hard and often, circling, bobbing and weaving, using his
weight and his balance to maneuver the bag into an advantageous position, then
weight and his balance to maneuver the bag into an advantageous position, then
feinting and lashing out with a barrage of hard combinations to exact the
maximum punishment from a foe. Mike Tyson was in good form, and he
pursued his trade with enthusiasm. Come Friday night, December 6, 1985, he
would be ready for war, and Sammy Scaff had better be at his rough, tough best.
For the Tyson camp, Scaff was just one more stepping stone to boxing
immortality.

The scene of the fight was the Felt Forum, the smaller sister arena to Madison
Square Garden, located in the heart of metropolitan New York. Prestigious galas
were staged in the Garden, while the Forum was used for the run-of-the-mill
boxing cards. The Forum, seating 4,500 people, was the site of most New York
City bouts now, primarily the popular but poorly attended club fights. The
Garden had fallen into disfavor with the boxing entrepreneurs who usually opted
for Las Vegas to stage the championship bouts. Over the last ten years, Vegas
and Atlantic City had replaced New York as America’s boxing mecca. But on
this night, the Felt Forum was Mike Tyson’s stage, and his already burgeoning
reputation filled the arena to capacity. Sammy Scaff was the first one in the ring.
Dressed in black trunks and blue shoes, the balding, 6'4", 250-pound Kentuckian
looked old, fat, and out of shape. His hairy body, blubbery build, and mustache
gave him the appearance of a lethargic walrus. When Tyson entered the ring, he
was all business as usual, and the embodiment of a lean, well-muscled, and well-
conditioned gladiator. He eyed his large, fleshy opponent with a look of disdain.

Scaff, just coming off a brutal beating at the hands of Tim Witherspoon on
national television, looked awkward and inept as he tried to keep the determined
Tyson at bay. Tyson advanced on the brawny Kentuckian quickly, driving him
into a corner. A straight right hand smashed against Scaff’s nose, spewing blood
over his milky-white body. Fighting for survival now, the chubby heavyweight
threw a wild left in Tyson’s direction. The kid from Catskill weaved effortlessly
to the left and the punch passed harmlessly over his shoulder. A return right by
Tyson caught the top of Scaff’s head, and a follow-up left uppercut snapped the
big man’s head back. Scaff backed off and threw out a stiff left that missed the
mark. Tyson missed a left. Both fighters missed with uppercuts. Scaff missed yet
another left hook. Tyson ducked under it and came back with two left hooks of
his own that landed with full force against Scaff’s jaw. Scaff’s arms immediately
dropped to his sides, his head slumped down on his chest, and he pitched
forward on his face in a neutral corner. Doggedly, he pulled himself upright at
the count of nine, but the vacant look in his eyes told everyone that the match
was over. The referee wrapped his arms around the beaten fighter and called a
halt at 1:19 of the first round. A concerned Mike Tyson rushed to Scaff’s side to
thank him for a valiant effort. As Sammy Scaff recovered on the table in the
dressing room, he told the press, “I’ve gone four rounds with Tim Witherspoon
and I’ve been in the ring with Greg Page, but I’ve never been hit that hard in my
life.”28 Tyson, for his part, was matter-of-fact about it. “I was tryna connect with
a good shot to the body, but he was a bit awkward, and after I hit him in the
nose, he was wary of my punchin’ power. It was difficult to get to him because
of his height.” When asked what he liked most in life, Tyson replied truthfully,
“Bein’ alone.” Being alone was something that Mike Tyson would find harder
and harder to do as his celebrity increased. He was quickly changing from a
private person to a public figure, a personality whose life would never again be
his own.

Within a period of one week in December, Mike Tyson was featured in several
articles in such acclaimed journals as Ring Magazine and the New York Times.
His boyish face adorned the cover of the prestigious Sports Illustrated, and even
the popular television show, Today, escorted the young fighter to their studios
where he was interviewed by Bryant Gumbel.

He’s a 19-year-old heavyweight who’s had 14 fights, won all 14 of them by

knockout, ten of those in the first round. In a world of hard punchers.
Tyson’s punch is devastating. It’s been likened to a blackjack and a
sledgehammer by opponents who have found it impossible either to avoid
or withstand. Though he has been a pro fighter for less than a year, he has
the experts raving, comparing him to all-time greats and saying he’d knock
out men with bigger reputations but smaller hearts, like Gerry Cooney, in
just one round.

The interview centered around Mike Tyson’s drive for the heavyweight
championship of the world and his life without his mentor and confidant, Cus
D’Amato. The American public was exposed to Tyson, the person, for the first
time. He came across on television as a typical 19-year-old kid, shy and
unassuming. Life was beginning to move at a dizzying pace for the teenage
slugger from upstate New York. His schedule was completely filled every day. If
he wasn’t fighting or training, he was suffering through interviews or photo
sessions, or appearing on local or network TV shows.29

On December 27, Mike Tyson climbed through the ropes in the Latham
Coliseum to take on foe number 15, Mark Young, from Charlotte, North
Carolina. Young, unlike Scaff, was a competent young boxer in tip-top physical
Carolina. Young, unlike Scaff, was a competent young boxer in tip-top physical
condition, a fighter capable of giving Tyson a run for his money. But as usual,
the Catskill Clubber was ready. What was expected to be a long, tough fight
turned out to be a short sojourn in the ring. Tyson came out of his corner with a
look of intensity in his eyes. The two fighters exchanged punches in the center of
the ring until a Tyson right cross jarred the Carolina fighter and sent him flying
backwards across the ring. He bounced off the ropes onto his face like a rag doll
and lay motionless for several minutes. The fight had lasted exactly 50 seconds.
The look of intensity was still on Mike Tyson’s face as his gloves were removed
and the gauze was cut away from his hands. According to Tyson, the fight had
no special meaning. “Boxin’ is just a business to me. It’s a job. I don’t enjoy it.
It’s just a job.” If it was just a job, it was a helluva job, and Mike Tyson was
doing one helluva job at it. His record showed a total of 15 fights in 1985, 15
victories, all KO’s, 11 in the first round. In his 15 pro fights, Mike had labored in
the ring for a total of only 37 minutes and 21 seconds, an average of 2:29, or less
than one round, per fight.

Anyway you look at it, 1985 was a resounding success for Mike Tyson. His
professional debut was electrifying, and his relentless advance up through the
professional ranks was unmatched in boxing history. The promoting of Mike
Tyson was also unparalleled in the annals of the sport. Maneuvered adroitly by
his co-managers and marketing geniuses Cus D’Amato, Jim Jacobs, and Bill
Cayton, Mike Tyson’s boyish face appeared to be everywhere. CBS Evening
News did a feature on him. So did NBC Nightly News. And Good Morning
America sent a limousine to Catskill at dawn one day to escort the young slugger
back to Manhattan for a 7:30 interview with host David Hartman. Mike obliged
everyone, but he was already beginning to yearn for his rapidly disappearing
privacy. “I don’t like the intrusion. I like bein’ alone. Talking to the press is not
important to me at all. I’m still 19. I’d like to hang out with my friends and have
a kid’s life, be a little wild now and then. I can’t even talk to a girl without
everyone knowin’.”30

Mike was beginning to pay the price for fame. But if he thought 1985 was
hectic, he would have been amazed and perhaps terrified at what lay in store for
him in 1986. His career would continue at breakneck speed onward and upward
toward the summit. The year 1986 was destined to be “The Year of the Kid.”
 8

The Road to the Championship—1986

The year 1986 was to be Mike Tyson’s road to the title, the year when he would
challenge the top pretenders to the throne and dismantle them, one by one. That
was the plan. But before Mike would be turned loose on the top-ranked fighters,
his managers had one other goal for him to reach first: Rocky Marciano’s
knockout record. Marciano had KO’d his first 16 opponents in the professional
ranks, and Tyson’s record now stood at 15. Jim Jacobs wanted to break that
record before turning Mike loose to make a run for the gold. Opponent number
16, the man who would allow Mike Tyson to tie Marciano’s record, was Dave
Jaco, a tall, frail-looking white boxer fighting out of Bay City, Michigan. Jaco, at
6'5" tall, carried a deceptive 215 pounds on his lanky frame. Although he
brought a respectable 19–5 record into the fight, the Michigan fighter was
considered no more than another stepping stone for the new heavyweight
sensation. The Empire State Plaza in Albany, New York, was jammed to the
rafters on the night of January 11. A standing room only crowd of 3,000
screaming Tyson fans were on hand to witness his attempt at the KO record.
Ticket prices were scaled from $15 for general admission to $40 for ringside, an
unheard-of price for a relatively obscure boxing card, but the Tyson mystique in
upstate New York gave the match an almost championship atmosphere.

Mike entered the arena carrying his usual small canvas gym bag long before the
crowd arrived, and was followed to the dressing room by three pigtailed blonde
admirers. Dave Jaco, another of Tyson’s journeymen opponents, was not
concentrating on a victory on this night. His objective was only to go the route
with the new heavyweight sensation. Even that would be difficult according to
Jaco: “It will take sheer will to keep me up for ten rounds.” The main event was
45 minutes late starting, and the impatient crowd began their usual rhythmic
hand clapping and foot stomping. They were understandably anxious to see the
dynamic heavyweight in action and to participate in a small segment of ring
history. When Jaco finally made an appearance and headed down the aisle to the
ring, he was greeted with a generous round of applause from the congregation.
ring, he was greeted with a generous round of applause from the congregation.
Moments later, however, the building shook with tumultuous cheering as the
crowd caught sight of the burly Tyson leaving the dressing room. The kid from
Catskill forced his way down the crowded steps accompanied only by his trainer,
Kevin Rooney, and his cut man, Matt Baranski. Every person in the arena was
on his feet, screaming and whistling, some standing on their chairs to get a better
view. The noise was deafening. As Tyson climbed through the ropes, his face
was solemn. His eyes were fixed in a dark stare as he prepared himself for his
next hurdle. He was unclothed as usual, save for his white boxing shoes and
white trunks. He wore no socks. He wore no robe. He was once again the
gladiator entering the arena to do battle to the death.

Tyson knocked down Dave Jaco three times in round 1 for a TKO win at
2:16 (courtesy Paul V. Post).

Jaco was visibly agitated at the sight of his muscular adversary. He tried to keep
Tyson at a distance once the fight started, but he was not strong enough to
prevent the aggressive 19-year-old from bulling his way inside. Jaco appeared to
be wary of his notorious opponent, and he punched ineffectively off his rear foot
while backpedaling away from the advancing Tyson. Jaco stuck a jab in the kid’s
face to keep him at bay, but Tyson walked right through it. Jaco missed with a
right. Tyson had him in a corner now and dropped the outgunned Michigan
heavyweight to his hands and knees with a stinging left hook. As soon as Jaco
regained his feet, Tyson backed him into another corner, and another left hook
buckled his legs. He crumpled to the canvas in a heap as Tyson watched and
waited. Although Jaco’s talent was non-existent compared with Tyson’s, his
heart was big, and he once again struggled to his feet. The game Midwesterner
tried to stay out of harm’s way but that was impossible. He managed to avoid
one Tyson left, but a follow-up clubbing right hand to the top of his head sent
him sprawling again, face-first to the canvas. The referee jumped in and stopped
the fight immediately, invoking the mandatory three knockdown rule. It was
over, mercifully in the first round, and Mike Tyson had equaled the record of the
legendary Rocky Marciano by KO’ing his 16th straight opponent. Tyson was
low-keyed and all business at the post-fight interview. “It’s just a business. Jaco
is a professional. He lost because of the three knockdown rule, but if there was
no rule and I didn’t catch him right, he would have kept gettin’ up and I would
have had to knock him down 10 or 15 more times.”1

In January 1986, Tyson’s celebrity grew significantly larger. After tying

Marciano’s knockout record, he began attracting the media like honey attracts
bees. The January issue of Sports Illustrated carried a cover photo of Mike with
the caption, “Kid Dynamite.” The accompanying article called him the next
great heavyweight. That was just the beginning of the hype. It would grow to
unbelievable proportions by year end. The final test of Mike Tyson would not be
how great a fighter he was, but how well Cus D’Amato had prepared him for the
pressures and the demands of stardom. The major concern of Tyson’s managers
was not whether the young slugger could reach the top, but rather how he
handled it once he got there. The major TV networks were beating a steady track
to the Manhattan offices of Big Fights, Inc. to talk to Bill Cayton and Jim Jacobs
about their fighter. Everyone wanted a piece of him. ABC-TV was the first
network to cough up the big bucks, putting the teenager under contract for four
exclusive fights in 1986 at a cost of $850,000. Mike Tyson was well on his way
to making his first million.

Late in the month, a national tragedy took the nation’s focus off the sports pages.
On January 28, the space shuttle Challenger, the 25th flight in a frenzied NASA
program designed to establish a permanent space station high above Earth, had
lifted off from Launch Pad 39-B at precisely 11:38 a.m. with a seven-person
crew including a New Hampshire school teacher. Seventy-two seconds into the
flight, the Challenger exploded, sending the cabin section plummeting into the
Atlantic Ocean, shattering on impact and killing all seven occupants.

January also saw the changing of the guard in one of the heavyweight groups,
although the result was tainted and unpalatable. “Terrible Tim” Witherspoon
decisioned WBA champion Tony Tubbs in a drab title fight but, more
importantly, traces of marijuana were found in Witherspoon’s urine during a
post-fight examination. After a hasty meeting of WBA officials, it was decided
that Witherspoon would be allowed to retain the title, but he would also have to
give Tubbs a rematch within six months. He was also fined $25,000. The
incident was just another example of the sorry state of affairs the heavyweight
division was in. The heavyweights needed a champion who could set a good
example for the youth of the country and serve as a positive role model for the
inner city blacks. Mike Tyson was making his move and was as concerned about
his image as he was about winning the title, telling Roy S. Johnson of
Penthouse, “I want to work on being a good person. Some athletes have trouble
when they retire because after awhile they start to believe what people think they
are, and forget who they really are.”2

Less than two weeks after the Jaco fight, “Kid Dynamite” was back in the ring,
this time in Atlantic City. Mike’s opponent was Irish Mike Jameson, a 31-year-
old pro from Cupertino, California. Tyson’s manager, Jim Jacobs, was not happy
when he learned that Jameson was substituting for Phil Brown, who had to
withdraw with an injury. Brown was a superbly muscled fighter, but one well
suited to Tyson’s brawling style. Jameson, on the other hand, was known as a
survivor, a tough Irish kid who had carried several rated fighters into the later
rounds. The statistics on the two fighters gave Tyson a decided advantage. The
kid from Catskill was younger, stronger, and faster than his more experienced
adversary. Physically he was as solid as a rock, built like a finely chiseled Greek
statue. Jameson, carrying 236 pounds on his 6'4' frame, had a height, weight, and
reach advantage, but the California heavyweight was soft around the middle and
had little foot speed, two attributes made to order for a young bull like Tyson.

On fight night, the Trump Hotel and Casino, one of the many high-rise hotels
that decorated the Atlantic City Boardwalk, was crowded with boxing buffs
anxious to get their first look at the new heavyweight sensation. The match,
anxious to get their first look at the new heavyweight sensation. The match,
promoted by the Houston Boxing Association, was scheduled for eight rounds
and was televised live by ESPN. Irish Mike Jameson, true to his heritage,
entered the ring decked out in kelly green trunks with a white shamrock. Tyson
made his appearance dressed in black once again. That color would be his
trademark from now on. Tyson’s managers thought black was an intimidating
color, and along with Mike’s menacing sneer, the image that he presented would
strike fear into the hearts of many opponents. Jacobs and Tyson were convinced
that the dark visage of the heavyweight executioner would win many fights
before the first bell had rung. And they were right. Jameson paced nervously
around the 20-foot ring as he awaited the pre-fight festivities. Tyson was more
composed, standing quietly in his corner receiving last-minute instructions from
Rooney. Referee Joe Cortez waved the two fighters to center ring to get their
final instructions. A mustachioed Mike Jameson brought his 17–9 record with
eight KO’s with him. He was soon joined by the man the media was now calling
“Iron Mike,” perfect at 16–0. Tyson’s face was expressionless as he listened to
Cortez, like a man deep in concentration. He didn’t even acknowledge the cheers
of the crowd. He was mentally preparing himself for the task at hand, that of
destroying Mike Jameson.

After the ritualistic handshake, the two antagonists returned to their respective
corners to await the bell. Ringside commentators Ken Wilson and Murray
Sutherland were previewing the fight, particularly as it reflected on the overall
future of the heavyweight division. Sutherland added to the Tyson mystique with
his glowing commentary. “Mike is a ray of sunshine coming to the heavyweight
division—a division sadly lacking exciting opponents. There is a need for
someone with Mike’s explosive power to bring back the days of George
Foreman, Joe Frazier, and Sonny Liston.” Time would tell if Mike was the man.

The bell sounded and the Catskill strongboy advanced to the center of the ring to
meet the journeyman from sunny California. An early right by Jameson caught
Tyson on the side of the head, but the youngster responded with a sharp right
uppercut of his own. Tyson stalked his man like a sleek jungle cat, weaving and
bobbing, moving forward, always forward. Mike unleashed a short flurry on the
ropes but Jameson escaped serious difficulty. The constant diet of body punches
was already bringing the big guy’s hands down. Tyson scored with a good
uppercut and ended the round with a furious two-pronged attack to the head and
body. Two hard rights to the head, one on top of the head that brought a grimace
to his face, hurt Jameson, and he later said, “It felt like my neck went down to
my belly button.”
my belly button.”

In round two, Jameson, the 1972 California Golden Gloves champion, landed a
solid right to the side of Tyson’s head, but it didn’t seem to bother Mike at all.
The Catskill Clubber came back with a fierce body attack, always moving
forward. He didn’t take a backward step the entire fight. A sharp uppercut
opened a deep gash over Jameson’s left eye, causing blood to flow freely down
the side of his face. Jameson’s lumbering style made him a sitting duck for the
swift Tyson. He was unable to escape from Mike’s withering attack, and he was
frequently trapped on the ropes where the young New Yorker could bang away
at will before Jameson could tie him up.

The scenario remained unchanged in round three. Tyson backed Jameson to the
ropes at every opportunity and worked his body with dozens of rights and lefts,
all of them thrown with bad intentions, a Tyson trademark. The big heavyweight
from Cupertino began to hold more often now as he realized his chances of
survival were becoming slimmer with each Tyson attack. Mysteriously, the bell
sounded to end the round at the 2:01 mark—a two-minute round. Mike Jameson
probably appreciated the thoughtfulness of the timekeeper.

In round four, Mike Tyson continued to follow his fight plan. Jameson was
warned for butting a couple of times early in the round, but that didn’t slow
Tyson down either. The pride of Catskill quickly pinned the Irishman on the
ropes, as had been his practice throughout the fight. A crushing left hook
followed by two lightning left uppercuts dropped the Californian to the canvas in
his own corner at 1:08. The speed with which Mike put together three-, four-,
and five-punch combinations was unheard-of in the heavyweight division. He
had the speed of a lightweight combined with the power of a heavyweight, a
frightening combination for an opponent to ponder. Floyd Patterson had been
credited with having the fastest hands in heavyweight history, but Mike Tyson
was faster, according to the man who should know, Cus D’Amato. Jameson was
on his feet quickly, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, but Tyson gave him
no relief. As soon as the referee waved the two fighters together, the determined
Tyson rushed in for the kill. Jameson tried to tie up the rambunctious New
Yorker with but moderate success. The Cupertino heavyweight proved his
toughness in this round by surviving an all-out onslaught by the frenzied
teenager.
Mike Jameson was the first opponent to last more than four rounds with
Tyson (photograph by the author).

Tyson was out quickly in round five and immediately maneuvered his man into a
neutral corner. A hard combination followed by an overhand right put Jameson
down on one knee. Referee Joe Cortez asked Jameson if he wanted to continue
as he wiped off the big guy’s gloves. Receiving no positive response after his
third query, he stopped the fight. Mike Tyson was declared the winner on a TKO
at 46 seconds of round five, his 17th successive knockout. Jameson appeared to
be frantic and distraught when Cortez called it off, but boxing insiders claimed
that Jameson’s tantrum was all a charade. According to those in the know,
Cortez put the question to Jameson three times. “Are you all right? Do you want
to continue?” Having received no answer from Jameson, the referee had no
choice but to stop the fight, at which point Jameson finally responded, “I’m all
right. I’m all right.” As all boxers know, the referee can’t think for them. It is the
boxer’s responsibility to let the referee know if he wants to continue or not.
Jameson obviously did not want to take any more punishment from “Kid
Dynamite.”3

With Rocky Marciano’s knockout record tucked safely in his back pocket, Mike
Tyson could now begin to move up in class. From now on, his managers would
schedule world class boxers. The final phase of his long, arduous, and frenetic
campaign toward the heavyweight championship was about to begin. From that
day long ago, in September of 1980, when a scared 14-year-old street kid from
Brownsville arrived at the Ewald house on the banks of the Hudson, the major
effort of Cus D’Amato, Jim Jacobs, and Bill Cayton was directed toward placing
the young boy on the heavyweight throne sometime before March of 1988, a
timetable that would make him the youngest heavyweight champion in history.
D’Amato’s boxing expertise, Jacobs’ management skills, and Cayton’s
promotional talents were carefully orchestrated to produce the best world class
fighter in the world, a fighter who was known around the globe, and a fighter
whose image could demand multi-million dollar purses whenever he fought.

The countdown had begun, and Jesse “Thunder” Ferguson was first on the list.
Ferguson was the ESPN champion. Rated number 16 in the world, he carried a
record of 16–1 with 10 KO’s into the ring. His only loss was a tenth-round
knockout at the hands of Carl “The Truth” Williams, and he had Williams on the
canvas twice before his luck ran out. The fight would be a major hurdle for the
canvas twice before his luck ran out. The fight would be a major hurdle for the
youthful Tyson and would determine if he was ready to handle the top
contenders.

Outside the ring, Mike Tyson was getting a taste of what it was like to be a
celebrity. He completed his first television commercial in January, a 30-second
slot for an Albany, New York, electronics store. Tyson was shown throwing
punches at the air while an unseen voice said, “Heavyweight Mike Tyson is
tough on the competition.” At the end of the pitch from the electronics firm,
Tyson pointed to the camera and said, “We knock out competition.” At least it
was a start. Also outside the ring, the boxing community was formulating a plan
to unify the heavyweight title for the first time in more than six years. Early in
1986 there were three men who all claimed to be the true champion. First there
was Michael Spinks, probably the closest thing to a true champions there was.
Spinks was recognized as the title holder by the International Boxing Federation.
Then there was Pinklon Thomas, the WBC champion, and Tim Witherspoon, the
WBA king, in truth nothing more than pretenders to the throne.

Boxing promoters Don King and Butch Lewis, under an umbrella called the
“Dynamic Duo,” after months of difficult negotiations with Home Box Office
(HBO) cable TV, announced the details of an elimination tournament to crown a
unified champion. The scenario had Witherspoon fighting Englishman Frank
Bruno in March, Michael Spinks defending his newly won IBF crown against
former titleholder Larry Holmes, and Pinklon Thomas putting his WBA belt on
the line against Trevor Berbick. The WBA and WBC winners would then unify
two-thirds of the title with a box-off in November, while the IBF champ
defended his title against the European champion, Steffen Tangstad, on the same
card. Finally, early in 1987, the two champions would meet in the final
unification bout to crown the one true heavyweight champion.

Many talented heavyweights were excluded from the tournament, including

Gerry Cooney, Carl Williams, and Mike Weaver, and their managers were
screaming “foul” and talking about collusion and “deals” in all the national
“rags.” Mike Tyson was also ignored when the tournament was engineered, but
that was as it should have been. Mike was coming on strong, but he still did not
have the credentials to qualify as a serious contender. He was close, however, as
witnessed by the fact that the HBO Vice President for Sports, Ross Greenberg,
made the trip from Manhattan to Troy to study the new heavyweight sensation
first-hand. Although Mike’s mentor, Cus D’Amato, was no longer around to
choreograph his career, his co-managers, Jim Jacobs and Bill Cayton, were still
grooming him very carefully. His opponents were still hand-picked, and his rate
grooming him very carefully. His opponents were still hand-picked, and his rate
of progress was monitored meticulously. His schedule would not be accelerated
just to satisfy the whims of the Don Kings and HBO. When his time came, Mike
Tyson would be ready. As Jacobs told HBO, “Our chief responsibility over the
past year has been to select the right opponents for Mike Tyson. Nothing else
has been more important. When people watch Mike Tyson fight, we want them
to leave the arena saying, ‘When can we see him again?’ And that’s where Bill
and I are scrupulously careful in determining who he fights and the style of the
fighter.”

February 16 arrived, surprisingly sunny and pleasant for a winter day in upstate
New York, and the city of Troy was buzzing with excitement. The author was on
site to record all the sights and sounds of the big day as well as to report on the
fight itself. The RPI Field House stood silent and peaceful as dawn broke over
the blue collar community, and the people began to prepare themselves for
another typical Sunday respite—church services, the Sunday newspaper, and pro
basketball on TV. Those sports fans who were lucky enough to get tickets to the
fight would head for the Field House about noontime, but the rest of the locals
would have to be satisfied with the basketball game since the fight was blacked
out for a 50-mile radius around Troy. As midday approached, the quiet serenity
of the neighborhood was transformed into a three-ring circus as almost 8,000
rabid Tyson fans descended on the tiny area, media people by the dozens
jockeyed for position in and around the Field House, and blue-uniformed
lawmen struggled to maintain peace and order in the environs.

The crowd started to trickle into the arena as soon as the doors were opened at
1:00 p.m. one hour before the first fight would start and two-and-a-half hours
before the hometown hero would enter the ring. A lonely 16-foot, eight-inch ring
stood in the center of the gymnasium floor, visited periodically by various
handlers from both the Tyson and Ferguson camps who were methodically
checking the structure for defects. They tested the tightness of the ropes, the
consistency of the canvas, and even the location of the television platforms to
make sure that the scaffolds would not be a serious distraction to their fighter.
ABC Sports was on hand to televise the fight, the first in their million dollar
package with the Tyson group. The scaffolding had been erected in several
locations around the ring to support the permanent TV camera installations that
would provide a variety of camera angles of the event. In addition to the fixed
units, a number of portable cameras would be present at ringside to portray the
action “up close and personal.” Sportscasters Jim Lampley and Alex Wallau
were early arrivals to the arena to survey their territory, to assess the strengths
were early arrivals to the arena to survey their territory, to assess the strengths
and weaknesses of the Field House itself, to confirm the strategic positions of the
permanent cameras, and to run through their pre-fight comments and analysis.

The $20 grandstand seats filled rapidly once the doors were opened as local
boxing fanatics filtered into the arena jabbering and gesticulating, anxious to see
everything that was being offered. They generally armed themselves with hot
dogs and cold beer, then settled comfortably into their seats to witness the entire
card, from the first four-round prelim to the final match of the day sometime
around six o’clock. Beer and “dogs” were consumed voraciously in these seats.
The $50 ringside seats filled less rapidly, some of them remaining empty until
just before the 3:30 scheduled time for the Tyson-Ferguson main event. Many
ringsiders were celebrity attendees, less interested in the bouts themselves than
in being seen at a television event. Others were there on business—members of
the New York Boxing Commission, promoters, managers, employees of HBO,
and local and state politicians. They too were less enthusiastic than the
grandstanders.

Mike Tyson, adorned in his favorite leather jacket and carrying a small gym bag,
slipped into the arena unnoticed at about 2:30 and made his way to the dressing
room. His usual entourage of three pigtailed blondes trailed obediently behind
like puppy dogs. As one preliminary fight after another went the distance, the
crowd became larger and more raucous. When the hands of the clock passed the
3:30 mark, the anxious crowd began to hoot and clap their hands. Within
minutes, Jesse “Thunder” Ferguson finally came into view and was welcomed
into the ring with but a smattering of applause from the pro–Tyson crowd.
Ferguson climbed through the ropes with a confident smile on his face. He
looked well warmed up and ready to go, and his pre-fight comments to ABC
were brought to mind once again. “I think I can beat Mike Tyson. I’m gonna
stand there and fight him. I won’t run. I think my experience and my punching
power will win the fight for me.” Perhaps he was right, but there were 7,600
people in attendance who were of the opinion that, if Ferguson stood toe to toe
with the Catskill assassin, he would leave the ring on his shield.

The buzzing that filled the arena during the minutes immediately preceding the
fight suddenly erupted into a deafening roar as the pride of New York emerged
from the dressing room. He was not yet in full sight of the crowd but already the
rafters reverberated with thunder as 7,600 frenzied fans screamed, whistled,
stamped their feet, and began the rhythmic chant, “Ty-son, Ty-son, Ty-son.” If
the roof had separated from the building as a result of the tumultuous welcome
the roof had separated from the building as a result of the tumultuous welcome
for their hometown hero, not one person in the building would have been
surprised. Ross Greenberg, Vice President of Sports for HBO, at ringside,
looked around incredulously at the wild scene. He said he had never in his life
witnessed such an enthusiastic welcome for an athlete. Although the noise
continued unabated for a full three minutes, Mike Tyson was oblivious to it. He
was stone-faced and impassive as he strolled down the aisle to the ring, the
omnipresent black shoes and black trunks his only attire, his moist bronze body
glistening threateningly in the glare of the Field House lights. Once inside the
ring, Mike stood quietly in his corner while his trainer laced on the eight-ounce
thumbless gloves that are mandatory in the state of New York. Rooney then
spread liberal amounts of Vaseline around his fighter’s eyebrows and
cheekbones, as a normal precaution against cuts. The lubricant reduces the
friction on a fighter’s face, allowing an opponent’s glove to slide off his face
harmlessly instead of grabbing the skin and opening a nasty wound in the
process. It doesn’t prevent all cuts, but it does minimize those caused by friction.

When Tyson was formally introduced to the crowd, another wild demonstration
was ignited. A group of enthusiastic Tyson fans at ringside stood and waved
placards to the crowd glorifying their hero’s professional achievements. One
man held a card aloft reading “Fight 1–KO,” another “Fight 2–KO,” another
“Fight 3–KO,” and so on all the way up to Fight 17. The group vigorously urged
Mike to continue the string and make Ferguson knockout victim number 18.
Mike did not acknowledge the roar of the crowd, although later he remarked, “It
was great, but I like to hear my name announced, you know.”4 As referee Luis
Rivera gave the fighters their final instructions, Alex Wallau at ringside
summarized the importance of the fight for television viewers. “Tyson is
stepping up from fighting journeymen fighters to fighting a quality opponent.
The heavyweight division right now is in chaos with three champions. If Mike
Tyson is for real, he could be the star that this division and this sport need very
badly.”

Tyson’s emotions appeared to be under control as fight time approached. He

calmly bounced up and down in his corner, pounding his gloves together in
anticipation. At the bell, his placid countenance suddenly changed. A cloud
came over his face and his expression turned dark and sinister. He was once
again the gladiator, and it was killed or be killed in the arena, with no quarter
asked or given. Tyson was a man on a mission, and his mission on this day was
to club Jesse Ferguson into submission as quickly as possible. Tyson met the
ESPN champion in center ring and immediately maneuvered him into a neutral
corner where he exploded six vicious body punches to the ribs and liver area.
corner where he exploded six vicious body punches to the ribs and liver area.
Five more body shots were delivered with bad intentions. Ferguson tried to fight
back but his single punch was drowned out by a Tyson avalanche. Two
thundering rights dug deep into Ferguson’s side. The round was only a minute
old and already Ferguson had taken enough body shots to last an entire fight.
Two dynamite left uppercuts straightened the lanky Ferguson up and forced him
to respond with four or five punches of his own in sheer desperation. Tyson
brought three more crushing lefts up from the floor to crash against Jesse’s liver
area. Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! Lesser opponents would already have called it
a night against Tyson’s onslaught, but Jesse Ferguson was no average fighter. He
was a cut above Tyson’s previous opponents. Tyson’s attack became more
varied now, as he shifted from body punches to occasional lefts and rights to the
head that stunned Ferguson. The round was less than half over when two
tremendous left hooks found the side of Ferguson’s face. Tyson had already
thrown 40 or 50 punches in this fight, and every one of them was designed to
maim or kill. Ferguson landed his first good punch of the fight, a short right
uppercut that snapped Tyson’s head back. The action continued at a rapid-fire
rate for the rest of the round with Ferguson fighting back but Tyson still landing
the more telling blows.
Jesse Ferguson lost to Tyson by disqualification in round 6 when he refused
to break from a clinch when ordered by the referee (courtesy Paul V. Post).

Rounds two and three were fought on the ropes with Tyson maneuvering for
position and Ferguson trying to keep the Catskill strongboy at bay. A crushing
right uppercut thrown by Ferguson found Tyson’s chin, but Mike’s only
response was a counterattack of his own. In round four, Ferguson was able to
keep Tyson at arm’s length. As a result, most of the action took place in the
center of the ring. Tyson became more tentative in this round, perhaps beginning
to pace himself for a possible ten-round match, perhaps just looking for the one
big opening. There was a minor fracas at the end of the round when Tyson
landed a hard right hand to Ferguson’s body after the bell. The infraction
inflamed Jesse and caused his handlers to leap into the ring, but order was
quickly restored before things got out of hand.

As round five started, Ferguson came out boxing and jabbing more than at any
time in the fight. Tyson didn’t throw a punch for almost a minute, choosing
instead to stalk his man, biding his time and waiting for a clean shot. Several
times Tyson had the ESPN champion backed into a neutral corner without
throwing a punch. Once again, he pushed Ferguson’s body against the ropes.
This time a flurry of body punches brought Ferguson’s guard down, which is
exactly what the kid from Catskill was looking for. A Tyson left uppercut
connected, but with not much on it. That was followed by a hard right to the rib
cage, then a lightning right uppercut that broke Ferguson’s nose, snapping his
head back and driving him back against the ropes. The big man’s knees buckled,
his body crumpled, and he pitched forward to the canvas. He rolled over on his
back and lay motionless, his hands held high as if shielding his eyes from the
lights. His smashed nose spurted blood. Tyson was an eerie sight as he turned
away from his fallen foe and walked slowly to a neutral corner. His hands were
straight down by his sides, and a strange, almost evil leer covered his face. Mike
explained the reason for his reaction to Paul Post of the Daily Mail after the
fight. “I was laughing because when you know somethin’s gonna happen, it’s
amusing.”

Jesse Ferguson survived that punch and escaped another 30-second pummeling
by Mike Tyson to end the round. But the former Marine from Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania, was still not fully recovered when round six started. He tried to
give himself time to clear the cobwebs by holding whenever Tyson moved in
close, a tactic that brought several warnings from the referee. Rivera had
difficulty separating the two fighters on several occasions, and when Ferguson
continued to grab and hold in defiance of his directives, Rivera had no choice
but to stop the fight, disqualifying Ferguson and awarding Tyson a technical
knockout at 1:19 of the round.5

In interviews after the fight, Tyson insisted that Ferguson’s tactics did not
discourage him. “They can’t beat me by hittin’ and holdin’,” he said. “It’s a ten
round fight and sooner or later I’m gonna get him.” Asked why he changed his
tactics after the first three rounds, Tyson volunteered, “In the fourth round I was
watchin’ his shoulders and watchin’ the punches he was throwin’ so I could
counter them. At the end of the fourth round, I saw an opening and I knew I was
gonna hit him with an uppercut and finish him.” Alex Wallau noted that Tyson
didn’t appear to be winded at all after his six-round battle, and he also noted that
Mike had taken some good shots from Ferguson without any noticeable ill
effects, two areas that the critics were leery about. Tyson just shrugged off their
doubts. “I can’t change any opinions. Perhaps some people still have doubts
about me, but as I continue to win and to meet all the contenders in the near
future, then I will quiet all doubts.” Trainer Kevin Rooney rated Mike’s
performance a “B.” “He’ll never get an A+, but I expect to give him a lot of
straight A’s. We mark on perfection.”6 All in all, it was a stunning start to Mike
Tyson’s charge to the top of the heavyweight ranks. One national boxing
magazine called it “electrifying.” And electrifying it was. His performance was
dominating, his demeanor terrifying. Perhaps it was time for Rocky Balboa and
Apollo Creed to step aside. The real “Master of Disaster” had arrived on the
scene. And his name was Mike Tyson.

Ross Greenberg was another who considered Tyson’s achievement to be

monumental. He hurried back to his HBO offices greatly impressed with the new
heavyweight challenger. He immediately informed his staff that it was almost
certain that Mike Tyson would have to be included in the heavyweight
unification tournament before it reached its final resolution. Negotiations were
ordered to begin at once with Big Fights, Inc. After weeks of discussions
between the two parties, Jim Jacobs made the momentous announcement. Big
Fights, Inc. had just concluded a package deal with HBO that would put one
million dollars in Mike Tyson’s pockets for appearing exclusively on HBO in
four fights during the upcoming year. Coupled with the ABC offer, Mike was
assured of earning almost two million dollars for eight matches in 1986. The
assured of earning almost two million dollars for eight matches in 1986. The
date was March 19. The Tyson camp still had not committed their valuable
property to the heavyweight elimination tournament, but they had made
assurances to the HBO-Don King group that they would continue to negotiate
through the summer and would make a final decision by Labor Day.

During this period, Mike began driving automobiles again, his license having
been returned by the Registry of Motor Vehicles. Mike had spent the previous
year being escorted around in a bright new chauffeured limousine, placed at his
disposal by his manager, Jim Jacobs. Now he could chauffeur himself around
again. He didn’t rush out and buy a new car this time, however. Remembering
his previous experience, he was more cautious the second time around. One of
the Catskill city administrators owned a yellow Cadillac convertible, and he put
the car at Mike’s disposal from time to time. Mike got a lot of use out of that
yellow Caddy during the summer of 1986. He was spotted driving all over the
north country, from Albany, New York, to Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Many days
he drove the Caddy up to Catskill High School to visit Mr. Stickles, Mr. Turek,
and some of his favorite teachers. Occasionally he took a bunch of the high
school kids out for a joy ride. Mike was a hero to most of the teenagers in
Catskill, and he delighted in the adulation and the responsibility. He was still a
big kid himself, and he loved to impress the youngsters. It was hard to believe,
but he was only a year or two older than some of them.7

Being a celebrity was not all fun and games for the teenage idol, however. There
were always people searching for the dark side of a public figure’s life. An
article in the Boston Globe accused Mike of using lewd and obscene language to
female patrons in an Albany department store. A security guard at the mall also
stated that Mike and several of his friends were asked to leave the local cinema
for cursing at customers. True or not, it created reams of adverse publicity in the
sports pages of the nation’s newspapers. Articles like this one made Mike
painfully aware of the tremendous impact his actions could have on his life. He
was no longer just a private citizen. He was now a public figure, and as such
would spend the rest of his life in the journalistic fishbowl. The eye of every
reporter and the ear of every freelance journalist would be on him continually
from now on. His smallest transgression would be noticed, and it would be
magnified and twisted beyond recognition by the purveyors of sensationalism,
and elaborately displayed to the world on the cover of one of the weekly scandal
sheets.

Mike had only three weeks to prepare for his next opponent, journeyman Steve
Mike had only three weeks to prepare for his next opponent, journeyman Steve
Zouski, a scheduled “breather” strategically slotted between two name
opponents, Ferguson and James “Quick” Tillis. But Mike Tyson was still
experiencing growing pains at this time, still maturing emotionally. His mind
continued to play games with him, telling him that he could coast through certain
matches without giving a full effort and without preparing for the fight properly.
Such was the case with the Zouski match. Mike did not train with his usual zest,
occasionally skipping a day completely and, on other days, engaging in half-
hearted sparring sessions with Charles “Tombstone” Smith. In Mike’s juvenile
mind, Zouski was a stiff who didn’t have to be taken seriously. He confided to a
friend, “He’s nothin’. I can beat him easily.” As a result of his confused
thinking, fight day found Mike Tyson mentally unprepared for battle. To make
matters worse, he fell off his pigeon coop in the morning, damaging the cartilage
in his ear and laying the foundation for a full-scale infection. To Mike’s dismay,
the Zouski bout was a lackluster affair from start to finish. Mike exhibited few of
the skills that had vaulted him into the top ten in the WBC’s latest ratings. He
seemed to be fighting in a daze, throwing far too few punches and getting hit too
often in return.
Tyson thought he looked like a tank in this photograph (courtesy Paul V.
Post).

The 6,000 Tyson fans that crowded into Long Island’s Nassau Coliseum began
to wonder what was wrong with the Catskill assassin. True, Steve Zouski had
gone ten rounds with current IBF cruiserweight champ Lee Roy Murphy, and his
25–10 record included 14 knockouts, but the Brockton, Massachusetts, native
was not around to see the sixth round against either Marvis Frazier or Tony
Tubbs. His fleshy midsection was ample proof that his conditioning program left
something to be desired. Tyson contented himself with working Zouski’s soft
middle during round one, leaving a series of bright pink welts wherever his
thumbless gloves made contact. Mike landed several telling uppercuts in round
two but took a number of hard shots in return, uncharacteristic of a mentally
prepared Tyson. As round three got underway, Kevin Rooney grew impatient
with his charge, at one point yelling, “If you don’t start punchin’, this bum will
with his charge, at one point yelling, “If you don’t start punchin’, this bum will
go ten rounds with you.” Perhaps Tyson heard his trainer’s admonition, perhaps
not. In any case, he suddenly unloaded the big artillery. A left hand followed by
two whistling rights staggered his courageous foe. Another right hurt Zouski,
and one final powerful left hook that smashed against the right side of Zouski’s
head sent the challenger to the canvas face-first for the full count. Referee Arthur
Mercante counted the dazed Zouski out at precisely 2:49.

According to Rooney, Tyson rated a C+ for his effort, but based on the questions
and answers at the post-fight press conference, most journalists, and even Tyson
himself, gave the Catskill boxer a much lower score. Mike admitted that it was
his worst performance ever, saying that he was suffering from a cold and that he
had “a lot of personal problems.” Within three days of the Zouski fight, Mike
Tyson was back in the gym sparring with Marc Machain and “Tombstone”
Smith, readying himself for the Tillis fight, only 16 days hence. Mike was forced
to don the unaccustomed headgear in order to protect his injured ear, which was
becoming more irritated with each passing day.8

The following week, Mike was the recipient of a prestigious honor, official
recognition by the New York State Legislature. Mike and his trainer, Kevin
Rooney, traveled to the state capital at Albany on Tuesday, March 19, to receive
the honor. Assemblyman C. D. “Larry” Lane introduced Tyson to the legislature,
and Assembly Speaker Stanley Fink presented the young boxer with the framed
resolution. It read, in part, “It is the sense of this legislative body to publicly
recognize and commend … [Mike Tyson] … an individual of singular and truly
compelling distinction … for his outstanding professional career.” With all the
adverse publicity that Mike Tyson had received in recent weeks, it was
questionable whether or not he could live up to the accolades he had just
received. But fate entered the picture at this point and gave the New York
teenager a much-needed break in his grueling schedule. The ear infection that
had been developing since the Zouski fight suddenly hit Mike with full force,
sending him reeling to the hospital for ten days of rest and treatment. It forced a
postponement of the Tillis fight until May 3, and gave the beleaguered 19-year-
old time to reexamine his recent escapades and get his head back together. He
thoughtfully reviewed his behavior and his attitude over the past few months, his
recent frivolous nighttime activities with people who were supposed to be his
friends, but who in fact turned him away from his objective and caused
considerable consternation in the Ewald household and in the offices of Big
Fights, Inc. Headlines in the nation’s sports pages referred to “nights away from
home,” “a girl a night,” and “lewd behavior in public places.”
home,” “a girl a night,” and “lewd behavior in public places.”

Tyson took out Steve Zouski in round 3 (courtesy Paul V. Post).

Tyson was honored by the New York State Assembly March 19, 1986, with
a framed resolution commending his “singular and truly compelling
distinction” (courtesy Paul V. Post).

As Mike rested in his hospital bed, he utilized his convalescence to full

advantage. He rededicated himself to the goal that he and Cus had first set back
in 1980, to win the heavyweight championship of the world. He would not be
distracted by girls or by the exciting city nightlife. And he would choose his
friends more carefully in the future. Former stablemate John Chetti was
confident that Mike would regain his common sense and renew his dedication to
the task ahead. “Now that he’s famous, everyone wants to be his friend. But
Mike’s smart. He knows who his friends are.” While Mike Tyson recuperated, a
British citizen was creating something of a furor in far-off London Town.
Heavyweight challenger Frank Bruno destroyed former champion Gerrie
Coetzee at 1:50 of round one to guarantee himself a title fight with the new
WBA king, Tim Witherspoon, during the summer, as part of the HBO box-off.
The hard-punching Bruno improved his record to an impressive 28–1 with 27
knockouts, his only loss being a tenth-round KO at the hands of the
unpredictable James “Bonecrusher” Smith.
unpredictable James “Bonecrusher” Smith.

When Mike Tyson took leave of Mt. Sinai Hospital and returned to Catskill,
New York, to resume his training program for the Tillis fight, he was a new man.
He had matured considerably in the ten days spent in isolation, making full use
of his time away from home to reflect on his short but hectic career as a sports
celebrity, and on the distractions that had caused him to ignore his trade and to
betray his promise to his deceased manager. Cus D’Amato had warned him
about the dangers he would have to face when he became a celebrity. They
discussed these very possibilities many times over the years as the former
Brooklyn street urchin was growing and developing, both physically and
emotionally. Cus told Mike that the hardest thing he would have to face was how
to handle himself once he became a celebrity. “It is difficult getting to the top,”
Cus had said, “but it is more difficult handling the success once you have
achieved your goal.” Now Mike understood what the venerable old trainer was
trying to tell him. Now he was back on track, and he promised not to make the
same mistake twice.

He returned to the gym on April 7 to begin his training program for the “Quick”
Tillis fight, and he was all business. He knew he had only four weeks to get
ready for the toughest fight of his career, and he didn’t want to waste a minute of
it. Mike Tyson attacked his training program and his sparring partners with a
vengeance. The kid from Catskill knocked out the lower front teeth of one
sparring partner, Charlie “Tombstone” Smith. And he punished former world
class heavyweight Jimmy Young, dropping him with a vicious left hook. Young,
who had driven George Foreman into retirement and who had lost a
controversial 15-round title fight to Muhammad Ali, was impressed with the
youngster’s talent. “You’re not allowed to bat your eye. He knocked me down
the first day and the second day, and I don’t get knocked down in the gym.”9 In
the opposition camp, “Quick” Tillis was also busy mastering the fundamentals.
The 28-year-old “fighting cowboy” from Tulsa, Oklahoma, was on a four-fight
losing streak, including decision losses to Gerrie Coetzee and Tyrell Biggs, but
those bouts were now ancient history. Admittedly, Tillis was out of condition for
those fights, but against Tyson he had something to prove. He had the best
reason of all to get in top condition, incentive. Mike Tyson was the hottest piece
of boxing property to come along since Jack Dempsey, and Mr. Tillis wanted to
show the world that he was the better man. Come May 3, Mike Tyson had better
be in the best shape of his short career because James “Quick” Tillis was coming
to the fight loaded for bear.
In spite of his recent setbacks, Tillis still had an impressive set of credentials.
His overall record showed 31 victories against only eight losses, and 24 of his
opponents were put to sleep before the final bell sounded. Tillis arrived in Glens
Falls, New York, brimming with confidence for his big match, and he was sure
he knew how to beat Tyson. “You gotta keep movin’ against Tyson. You gotta
go side to side and in and out, keep movin’ so he can’t catch you. Hold him, rope
him, all that stuff. My great grandfather was a cowboy, so it’s in my blood. From
the root to the fruit, I’m in this game to make big money. I wouldn’t want to
work hard and train hard just to be a punchin’ bag for somebody. I want to get
back on top—in the limelight.”10

More than 7,500 screaming fans were on hand to welcome “Kid Dynamite” to
the Glens Falls Civic Center. He was glad to be back after a seven-week layoff
caused by the ear infection that pushed the Tillis fight back from its original
March 29 date. “(The hospital) was the best thing that ever happened to me. It
was like a vacation. Not being in the gym took off a lot of pressure and gave me
time to think and relax. I thought about what I wanted to do; did I want to be a
playboy and hang out or fight. I found out I wanted to fight.” The parade to the
ring encompassed the usual Tyson entourage—local security people, followed
by Rooney, Tyson, assistant manager Steve Lott, and cut man Matt Baranski.
Needless to say, pandemonium reigned while the somber Tyson pushed his way
through the crush of people. A hint of a smile crossed his face as he slipped
between the ring ropes. There was a joke around town about the new Mike
Tyson doll. You just wind it up and it comes out punching. Sure enough, when
the bell sounded, the Tyson “doll” came out swinging. Mike was his usual
aggressive self, bobbing and weaving, moving forward, mixing hard rights and
lefts to the body with an occasional shot to the head. It was obvious that he
intended to try and take Tillis out early. But “Quick” Tillis came prepared. He
was in great physical condition, and he was ready for Tyson’s tactics. He slipped
most of Mike’s rushes rather easily, although he did take a few hard shots in the
process. Mostly he kept the young brawler at bay, pushing him away when he
got close and landing several good counterpunches of his own in the process.
One uppercut in particular caught Tyson clean but left no ill effects on the
youngster’s sturdy chin. Tyson landed a solid right to the head early in round
two, but Tillis grabbed and clinched immediately. Tyson continued to pursue his
man throughout the round but couldn’t catch the dancing cowboy.

The Catskill teenager shifted tactics in the next round, becoming more of a boxer
and less of a brawler. The early part of the round was dominated by frequent
clinches as the man from Tulsa wouldn’t let the young slugger cut loose on him.
clinches as the man from Tulsa wouldn’t let the young slugger cut loose on him.
But that scenario finally ended when Mike trapped his man on the ropes and
unloaded. A hard right to the body was followed by a left hook to the head. Now
the punches came fast and furious as Tyson unleashed a vicious attack to press
his advantage. Left-right-left. A hard right to the side of the head knocked Tillis
sideways along the ropes. Half a dozen more punches found their mark before
Tillis could tie up his energetic adversary. In spite of all Mike’s punishment, the
“fighting cowboy” was back on the balls of his feet, dancing away from danger
and bringing feelings of doubt to the young boxer. Tillis caught Tyson with
several good left hooks in round four, but Tyson walked right through them like
nothing had happened. That was a plus for Tyson because Tillis was a known
hard puncher. He had Marvis Frazier on the canvas, he had Greg Page down, and
he dropped Carl Williams twice. But the tough New Yorker didn’t even
acknowledge that he had been hit. At one point in the round, Tyson went into a
low crouch that left the top of his head even with Tillis’ knee. After a subsequent
clinch, the Oklahoma cowboy lunged at his man with a hard left to the head that
missed. Tyson slipped the punch as Tillis went by, spun around and caught the
off-balance fighter with a left hook, dropping him to the canvas, more surprised
than hurt.

As the middle of the fight approached, Mike Tyson became very tentative. He
wasn’t his usual busy self in the clinches, he put together no rapid-fire
combinations, and he seemed to have lost some of his drive. The crowd became
curious. Was it out of respect for Tillis? Was he now in awe of his crafty
opponent? Was he tired? Was he pacing himself? What was his problem? On
one scorecard, Tyson had won rounds 2, 3, 4, and 6, with rounds 1 and 5 being
scored even. Tillis had not won a single round at that point, but suddenly he
began to come on, and Mike Tyson began to fade. Tyson managed to come out
on top in a sluggish round 7, but rounds 8 and 9 were dominated by the
Oklahoma cowboy, although they were so dull that Kevin Rooney implored his
young charge to “keep punchin’. Don’t stop in the clinches.” The final round
was no different. Mike Tyson kept the lid on until the final 30 seconds, when he
opened up and finished with a flurry. Tyson eked out a close decision by a 6–4,
6–4, 8–2 count, but he left many questions unanswered in the process. He
certainly did not impress anyone with his lackadaisical performance in this fight.

The days following the Tillis fight were times of soul-searching for the Tyson
camp. The fight itself had been less than an artistic success, and unkind guttural
murmurings could already be heard throughout the boxing world. First of all, the
fans were unhappy. Tyson followers across the country had expected Mike to
fans were unhappy. Tyson followers across the country had expected Mike to
claim his 20th consecutive victim via the knockout route, and his inability to do
so left them disgruntled and angry. Boxing fans, in general, are a bloodthirsty
lot, and Tyson fans in particular crave their share of the sticky red stuff. Nothing
less than witnessing an opponent being bludgeoned into unconsciousness will
satisfy the appetite for gore and mayhem. Boxing experts around the nation were
also dissatisfied with Tyson’s lethargic performance, and they continued to
question his determination and his stamina over the ten-round distance. Certainly
his inactivity over the last four rounds of the fight fanned the flames of that still
raging controversy. Mike had been content just to lay on his opponent and rest
whenever Tillis tied him up in rounds seven through ten, his dynamite right hand
hanging useless at his side. At a time when he should have been taking Tillis
apart piece by piece with devastating body shots, Tyson did nothing. Stamina.
Did he have enough stamina to compete in the heavyweight ranks over a
grueling ten-to 15-round route, or was he strictly a six-round fighter? The jury
was still out on that question, according to sportswriters.

The brain trust of the Tyson group set about to answer that question to their own
satisfaction. One thing that all members of the Tyson camp agreed upon was that
a fighter’s first ten-round bout is more than a punishing physical effort. It is a
frightening excursion into the unknown. It is a mind-boggling psychological
obstacle that must be overcome, a mysterious, tenuous wall that has to be
breached before a boxer can pass from the club fighter stage into the arena of the
professional pugilist. Self-doubts play on one’s mind, making the task at hand
larger than life-size, until it appears to be an insurmountable barrier of mammoth
proportions. A boxer’s character is tested at times like these. He needs to keep
his goal in the proper perspective and proceed toward it one step at a time. He
must challenge the training regimen day by day, always keeping sight of his
objective and determining what will be required of him in order to achieve it.
And on fight night, the same procedure must be followed. The fighter must
maintain absolute concentration, focus all his energies on the fight one round at a
time, and not let the big picture overwhelm him. If he does this, and if his
conditioning has been satisfactory, he will succeed and the ten-round demon will
be crushed forever.

Tyson had breached the wall, although in retrospect it seemed at times as if he

had tip-toed over it. Still, the ten-round hurdle was a thing of the past, and a sigh
of relief could be heard emanating from the secluded confines of Catskill, New
York. Jim Jacobs, for one, was more than satisfied with Mike’s performance. He
passed the test and, in the process, he had laid a good beating on Tillis for the
first six rounds. Had he not gone into a shell over the last four rounds in order to
first six rounds. Had he not gone into a shell over the last four rounds in order to
conserve his energy, it is very likely that he would have made Tillis knockout
victim number 20. Kevin Rooney had rated Mike’s achievement a C+ in his
school of hard knocks. The young trainer grades his students just like a college
professor, marking their level of skill and execution in such areas as defense,
aggressiveness, ringmanship, effort, and consistency. According to Rooney,
none of his students will ever achieve a perfect mark of A+ on their report card,
as noted previously. Tyson’s C+ was considered satisfactory for this stage of his
development, although it was far from outstanding.

Rooney predicted, however, that Mike would be advancing to the B level in his
upcoming fights, and should be producing straight A’s consistently by the end of
the year—just in time to challenge for the title. Certainly Rooney could breathe a
little easier after the Tillis fight. He had done his job and he had done it well.
Tyson was in superb physical condition and was able to compete at a high level
of consistency over the ten-round distance. From the looks of it, he could have
extended his effort to 12 or 15 rounds without a problem. Mike finished the fight
with a lot of gas left in his tank, and the fact that he became ultra-conservative as
the fight progressed was not Rooney’s fault. The mind plays strange tricks on a
person. Mike Tyson had struggled with the mind game for weeks prior to the
Tillis fight. He was troubled and tormented by the demons of self-doubt, but in
the end he emerged victorious. From now on, the ten-round bugaboo would be a
piece of cake. With that hurdle behind him, it was time for Mike to look ahead to
his next hurdle, another ten-round test against the WBC’s seventh-rated
contender, the Bronx bad boy, Mitch “Blood” Green. Mike had only 17 days to
prepare for the fight, which would be held in the high temple of boxing, New
York’s Madison Square Garden. This fight would be not only a boxing match, it
would be an “event.” Jim Jacobs, Bill Cayton, and HBO would see to that. This
was Mike’s first fight for HBO under his million dollar contract, and both his
managers and the people at HBO wanted to make the most of it.

The fight was being promoted by HBO in conjunction with Don King
Productions. Don King, the flamboyant one, was a typical American success
story. Born in Cleveland in 1933, King, his sister and four brothers were raised
by their mother after their father was killed in an industrial accident. As a
teenager, King operated on the fringes of the criminal element in town,
eventually working his way into the position of the “Numbers Czar.” King’s
world came crashing down around his ears, however, one night in 1965, when he
accidentally killed a man during an argument. His conviction on a manslaughter
charge resulted in a four-year stint in the Marion Correctional Institution. Once
charge resulted in a four-year stint in the Marion Correctional Institution. Once
released, King decided that he could make as much money legally as he could
running numbers, and with none of the risks. In a short time, he became a boxing
manager, his first notable fighter being “The Acorn,” Muhammad Ali’s favorite
name for the tough, hard-hitting, and bald Ernie Shavers, whose contract Don
King purchased from former major league pitcher Dean Chance for $8,000. Two
years later, King branched out into promoting fights, eventually snatching the
brass ring with the Foreman-Ali match in Zaire on October 30, 1974. In addition
to his multi-faceted business acumen, Don King is also a showman of the first
magnitude. He wears his hair in a long, wild, Afro style, looking like a man with
his finger in a light socket. The gaudy, diamond-studded rings that dominate his
hands complement his sequined tuxedos, frilled shirts, and gold necklaces. One
national magazine probably came closest to characterizing Don King when it
referred to him as “Flamboyant, ostentatious, cunning, ruthless, part
businessman, part con-man, part riverboat gambler, part revivalist preacher. And
brilliant.” And the man knows how to make money, too.

This group—Jacobs-Cayton, HBO, and Don King—were embarking on the final

phase of the campaign to sell Mike Tyson. The Green fight would mark the
beginning of the gigantic promotion that was designed to culminate in a Tyson
title fight on HBO late in the year. The first step in the plan was to move Mike
Tyson’s training camp to New York City, where a major media blitz could be
initiated. During the second week of May, the Tyson camp was uprooted and
moved from the back woods of Catskill to the Grammercy Gym in Manhattan.
Rooney insisted on Grammercy this time because, as he told Bob Smith at the
Daily Mail, “everybody goes to Gleason’s, but I would always train in the
Grammercy Gym because it was Cus’s gym. It’s cleaner and bigger than most of
the other gyms in the area.” In the boxing world, the Grammercy Gym was
known as “the gym that Cus built.” Mike Tyson’s first task in the big city was
not sparring. It was not running. And it was not doing calisthenics. It was
playing another game of “meet the press,” a chore that Tyson always despised.
He got tired of answering the same old questions over and over. “I’m looking
forward to fighting in Madison Square Garden. All the great fights in history
have been fought in the Garden. It’s a great opportunity. I love what I do. I’d
fight three times a week if I could.” And on. And on. And on.

There was a slight possibility that the fight would not even be held in Madison
Square Garden, but would be pre-empted by a professional hockey game. The
New York Rangers were playing in the Stanley Cup Playoffs and, should they
make it to the finals, the sixth game would be played on May 20 in the Garden.
make it to the finals, the sixth game would be played on May 20 in the Garden.
If this remote possibility came to pass, the fight would be moved next door to the
Felt Forum, the smaller, 4,000-seat arena in the Garden complex. Shortly after
Tyson arrived in New York, Don King scheduled a press conference in the
Waldorf Astoria to introduce both fighters to the press and, hopefully, lay the
groundwork for a crowd-appealing and money-making hate-hate relationship
between the two fighters. Mitch “Blood” Green did his part to bring about that
hate-hate relationship. Mitchell Green was a native of the Harlem section of the
Bronx, a tough street kid who had to fight for survival from the time he was old
enough to walk. When he was still a youngster, his fights often ended with the
other guy cut and bleeding, causing one of his buddies to remark, “They oughta
call you Blood.” And so Blood it was. Mitchell Green had earned a nickname.
But that was all Mitchell Green had. That and his life in the streets. He became
the leader of one of the local street gangs, The Warriors, and his life became one
constant conflict with the dedicated minions of the law. During his teenage
years, Mitchell “Blood” Green spent a great deal of time in and out of
courtrooms and jails, much to the dismay of his poor mother. Charlene cried
herself to sleep many nights, worrying about her son. She was afraid to answer
the phone at night for fear it would be someone telling her that Mitchell had
been killed. According to Charlene, boxing proved to be a salvation for her son.
He could fight legally, and he could vent his anger and his frustrations on his
opponents in the ring instead of in the streets.

And Mitchell Green made good copy. He certainly perked up the press
conference for the Tyson fight. As he paraded back and forth around the head
table, decked out in an outlandish outfit complete with a long gold earring and a
Panama hat, Blood Green boasted about how he would destroy the Tyson
legend. “I’m not no bum! Tyson, as for you, I’m gonna break your neck. You
can’t whup me. Look at me good like I tole you before. This is ‘Blood’ Mitchell
Green. I’m not one of those duffle bags who lay on the ropes. If you show up at
Madison Square Garden, you’re gone.” Poor Green should have listened to those
young kids on the streets of the Bronx who warned him, “I don’t think you can
mess with Tyson, buddy.” Mike Tyson is a quiet man. He doesn’t say much, and
he doesn’t make disparaging remarks about his opponents. He also doesn’t like
people to make disparaging remarks about him. As he eyed Green’s histrionics,
his expression remained placid, but his steely eyes were already planning
revenge. Mike’s revenge always took place in the ring. His only public remarks
were, “If he makes a mistake, he’s gonna find out for the first time how it feels
to get knocked out. You can do a lot of things to Mike Tyson, but intimidating
him is a different matter.”11

Mitchell “Blood” Green went the distance with Tyson on May 20, 1986,
losing by unanimous decision after ten rounds. Green also fared poorly in a
highly publicized street fight with Tyson two years later (courtesy Paul
Antonelli).

The week proceeded quietly in training camp, with Mike doing his road work in
Central Park and his ring work at Grammercy’s. He got in a lot of sparring with
heavyweights Wes Smith and Melvin Epps under the watchful eye of trainer
Kevin Rooney. Rooney also worked Mike hard on the bags, the jump rope, and
the exercise equipment. Still the media blitz continued unabated, making it
difficult for Tyson and Rooney to concentrate on the task at hand. One day Mike
appeared with Bill Mazer on Sports Extra, Channel 5, New York. During the
interview, Mike emphasized the fact that he was going to be champion of the
world someday, and he impressed his host with his knowledge of boxing trivia,
although he was openly flustered at being asked to parade his wisdom before the
American public. When Mazer asked Tyson who Mickey Walker was, Mike
replied, “Oh God. Don’t do that to me. You embarrass me.” He also exhibited
the humorous side of Mike Tyson to the TV audience.

Mazer: You’re so young. Don’t you worry about burnout?

Tyson: No. The old fighters fought hundreds of fights. One guy had three
fights in one day. If you like what you’re doin’, you can do it frequently.
You guys come to work every day and you like your job.

Mazer: Yeah, but nobody’s hitting me.

Tyson: Nobody’s hitting me either.

The next night, on the David Letterman Show, Mike commented on the
sacrifices that a boxer has to make in order to be successful.

Q: It must be tough for a fighter to have girlfriends with all the training
that’s required. Do you have any?

A: I don’t have a girlfriend. I’d like to but I’m a fighter and I have to train
all the time.

The Friday weigh-in was a noisy affair with Green storming around bare-
chested, complaining about his share of the purse, and threatening to pull out of
the match. Green was guaranteed $30,000 for the fight, while Tyson was being
paid a cool $200,000. While Green strutted his stuff and boasted about his
paid a cool $200,000. While Green strutted his stuff and boasted about his
Adonis-like physique, Tyson just shrugged and noted, “If a body was the only
factor, then Arnold Schwarzenegger would be world champion.” At another
press conference following the weigh-in, Tyson let the public in on the other side
of a celebrity’s life.

People wouldn’t want to be in my shoes. They think so because they say,

“Wow! I can get money. I can be rich.” But if they had to go through some
of the things I have to go through, they would cry. Sometimes it’s so
depressing. Everybody always wants something. They want to find some
way to get your money. It’s always people. Just as hard as you work, people
are working as hard to separate you from your money.12

Fight night. The Garden was theirs, and 6,529 boxing fans pushed their way
through the turnstiles to witness another Tyson demolition derby. Don King and
HBO billed the fight as an interborough war with Mitchell “Blood” Green
representing the Bronx and Mike Tyson upholding the honor of Brooklyn. Most
of the crowd was hoping to see Mike Tyson score a quick and awesome
knockout, but Mike himself had other plans. Mike Tyson was angered over
Green’s insulting remarks during the week preceding the fight and was
determined to make Green pay for his braggadocio. His plan was to punish
Green for the full ten rounds, giving him a sound beating, but never taking
advantage of an opportunity to knock him out. Mike wanted to make Green quit
if he could.

Larry Merchant was at ringside extolling the virtues of Mike Tyson as Mitchell
“Blood” Green came jogging down the aisle decked out in a flowing white robe
with white fringe on the shoulders and arms. He was loud and noisy and he
flicked jabs at the air. The voice of Merchant could be heard in the background.
“He’s a spirited, tough kid in the ring, not a classic style but he’ll fight you. He
wants to get in there and go dukes with Mike Tyson. The question is can he do
it?” The answer wouldn’t be long in coming. Mike Tyson paced his dressing
room like a caged tiger thirsting for blood, Mitch Green’s blood. He had listened
quietly to Green’s tirades all week, but now the moment of truth had arrived. It
was time to put up or shut up. As he left his dressing room, it was a different
Mike Tyson that made his way down the aisle. Gone was the look of
nonchalance and relaxed gracefulness that had defined the Tyson countenance in
previous fights. Now he was all business, dressed in black and unrobed as usual,
his face twisted into a grotesque sneer that could only mean trouble for Mitch
Green. On this night, Mike Tyson hated the Harlem tough guy with a passion
Green. On this night, Mike Tyson hated the Harlem tough guy with a passion
that could not be extinguished. Tonight Mike Tyson would make Mr. Green pay
for all those disparaging remarks of the previous week. He vowed to punish
Mitch Green for ten long rounds. He would beat him thoroughly and painfully to
show Green who was the tougher of the two. And if Green wanted to end the
fight prematurely, he would have to quit.

The ringside commentator’s voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as
the future champion came into view.

Mike Tyson is an awesome prospect, in the process of becoming a fighter, a

challenger, a champion. It does seem already, prematurely, he’s being
treated like some sort of human trash compacter, expected to just go out
there and grind everyone into powder, and if he does anything less, it’s
failure. So let’s just remember that even the greatest fighters left some
opponents standing and the critics clucking—that he is just 19—and that
he’s been a professional for only 14 months.

Announcer Charlie Hull introduced Mitch Green to the crowd amidst polite
applause. The 6'5", 225-pound Bronx bomber looked in tip-top condition, his
shoulder-length black hair hanging in tiny ringlets, his mustache and goatee
neatly trimmed, and his statuesque body glistening in the glare of the ring lights.
His ring record was almost as impressive as Tyson’s. Winner of 16 fights with
one draw, Green had lost only once, on a close decision to WBC champion
Trevor Berbick. This fight was to be his stepping stone to a rematch with
Berbick for the title. Tyson glared at his man threateningly during the briefing by
referee Luis Rivera and then returned to his corner to receive last-minute
instructions and a kiss on the lips from his trainer.

Mitch Green’s dream of glory lasted less than 30 seconds in actual combat. Mike
Tyson came out fast and he came out swinging. After the first 20 or 30 Tyson
hooks, a look of doubt came over Green’s face. Tyson was a man on a mission,
and Green was the target. The big man’s eyes showed concern almost from the
start, and he was forced to backpedal and fight a defensive fight before the
onslaught of the teenage tiger. To his credit, he fought back when cornered, and
he caught his assailant with some telling punches. Still, Tyson took the shots
without notice and moved inexorably forward. In round two, the stone-faced
Tyson hit Green with a straight jab that sent his mouthpiece flying into the
crowd. Green responded by holding Tyson behind the head with his left hand
and banging four solid shots to Mike’s head with his right. There were some
good exchanges in the early going with both fighters winging and landing some
good exchanges in the early going with both fighters winging and landing some
good punches. In round three, a Tyson hook knocked Green’s mouthpiece out
again, this time with a bridge and two teeth in it. By now, Mitchell “Blood”
Green was becoming very discouraged. The red stuff that covered his trunks was
coming from his own mouth instead of his opponent’s. In between rounds, he sat
dejectedly on his stool and shook his head in disbelief. Mike Tyson was too
much for him. In the other corner, Mike Tyson was enjoying himself. He had the
fight well in hand, and he was executing his moves with complete confidence.
He continued mixing his punches well, throwing a stiff jab, followed by vicious
hooks to the body and a variety of punishing uppercuts and head shots. And
every punch was thrown with bad intentions.

In round five, Tyson taunted Green for a minute or so. After talking to his
opponent, Tyson laughed at Green and dared the big man to hit him. Mike
moved forward, bobbing and weaving, not throwing any punches, slipping every
punch that Green threw at him, thoroughly enjoying his defensive abilities.
Between rounds eight and nine, Tyson’s exuberance surfaced once again. In the
middle of a Rooney lecture, Mike glanced up at his intense trainer, smiled, then
kissed him on the cheek. All was well in the Tyson camp. In the end, it was a
Tyson runaway. He won the fight handily with Green winning one round at
most. Mike was still not winded after 30 minutes of constant activity where he
threw almost 500 punches.

At the post-fight interview, Mike confirmed his fight plan. “I don’t want to
sound brutish or anything. I didn’t want to knock him out. I wanted to put a lot
of pressure on him and make him decide himself whether to give up or not. I hit
him with some rugged punches but not devastating punches. I knew he was a
professional and if he went down from those punches, he would have given up.
And I must take my hat off to him. He’s a very tough individual.” Mike summed
up the fight best a little later when he said, “I’m just a 19-year-old kid havin’ a
lot of fun.”13

With the Green fight history, the selling of Mike Tyson took off in high gear.
Bill Cayton’s strategy for the rest of the year was to keep Mike close to New
York City, the media capital of the world, with an occasional side trip to her
west coast counterpart, Los Angeles. Mike was scheduled to fight in the New
York City area another eight to ten times before challenging for the title in
November or December. In between fights, Cayton and Jacobs would see to it
that Mike attended as many noteworthy events as possible, making sure to be
photographed with famous people in the process. He would also be seen in the
photographed with famous people in the process. He would also be seen in the
company of the world’s most beautiful models and starlets. The New York
newspapers were soon full of Mike Tyson photos. His gold, gap-toothed grin
was everywhere. One day he was at Gracie Mansion trading jokes with Mayor
Edward Koch, and the next day he was at Yankee Stadium autographing a
baseball for superstar Dave Winfield. He even found time to make the newsprint
in the clutches of Penthouse Pet Cody Carmack. No wonder he was smiling.

Kevin Rooney and Jim Jacobs had to be very careful they did not overdo the
promo bit to the exclusion of Mike’s conditioning program. After all, Mike was
first and foremost a boxer who was still in pursuit of the title. Getting him in
condition for his next fight, only 24 days away, was paramount. His opponent,
Reggie Gross, was already in training, and he was intent on derailing the Catskill
Express. Gross, out of Baltimore, Maryland, was no pushover. His record
showed 18 wins and four losses against some stiff competition, mostly in the
cruiserweight division. In his two most recent fights, Gross had scored an
impressive eighth-round knockout over highly rated Bert Cooper, then lost a
tough ten-round decision to Mike’s old nemesis, Henry Tillman. Come June 13
in Madison Square Garden, Reggie Gross would be standing in front of Mr.
Tyson, determined to make him his 19th victim. The sparring sessions in the Cus
D’Amato gym were fast and furious during the early part of June as Mike Tyson
tangled with some tough competition. In addition to his regular sparring partner,
Dion Burgess, Mike was forced to contend with tough Anthony Davis. As
everyone knew, Tyson’s sparing sessions were no different from regular bouts.
They were wars, with no quarter asked or given. And Mike Tyson fought them
without the protective headgear, which he was not allowed to wear unless there
was a medical problem that necessitated their use. “We want guys who aren’t
afraid to throw bombs,” said Rooney. Anthony Davis was like that, and Rooney
appreciated it. But Anthony Davis was no match for a fired-up Mike Tyson, and
he had to call a halt to one sparring session after Mike had bloodied his nose.
“Whoa. He’s like a rock. I got to stop.”14

Sharing the spotlight with Mike Tyson in Catskill was Edwin “Chapo” Rosario,
who was headlining the June 13 Garden card in a WBC title fight against
champion Hector “Macho” Camacho. Tyson usually worked out in the gym from
12:30 p.m. until 2:30 p.m. followed by Rosario from three to five. Chapo, at 16–
1 with 16 KO’s, was extremely confident of taking the title away from the
Macho man, whose record stood at 29–0 with 16 KO’s. While Tyson was
focusing his energies on Reggie Gross, his manager, Bill Cayton, was busy
announcing his next three fights. On June 28, according to Cayton, Mike was
scheduled to meet William Hosea in the RPI Field House in Troy, New York.
scheduled to meet William Hosea in the RPI Field House in Troy, New York.
Less than two weeks later, he would step into the ring at the Stevensville
Country Club in the Catskill Mountains to take on Lorenzo Boyd, and on July
26, Mike would be paired with Marvis Frazier in the Glens Falls Civic Center.

When fight night arrived, 10,000 fans filed into Madison Square Garden on what
was billed as “Resurrection Night” by the metropolitan media, who were intent
on rebuilding the Garden’s reputation as a major boxing arena. The Tyson fight,
in fact, was only a secondary fight that evening, yielding the limelight to the
WBC lightweight title fight between Camacho and Rosario. When Reggie Gross
stepped into the ring, it looked like it would be a long night for the kid from
Catskill. Gross, who stood six feet tall, had filled out as a heavyweight and
carried 218 pounds on his sturdy frame, one pound more than Tyson. Mentally,
Gross was ready for the challenge. He was determined to carry the fight to the
youngster. And he was confident that he would destroy the Tyson myth during
the course of the evening. The fight turned out to be short and sweet, at least as
far as Mike Tyson was concerned. Mike came out quickly as usual, determined
to take Gross out in the first round. Gross was just as determined to stand his
ground and mix with the young New Yorker. Midway through the round, Gross
went on the offensive, throwing a flurry of punches at the teenage sensation.
Tyson ducked under a hard right thrown by the determined Gross and took a
short left uppercut that caught him flush on the chin. Another short left missed
its mark, and a hard right failed to connect as Tyson calmly moved out of harm’s
way. Still another right and left found nothing but air as the elusive Tyson
bobbed and weaved like a magician. A solid right uppercut finally found its
mark and stood Tyson straight up, but the New Yorker’s bull-like neck absorbed
most of the force of the devastating blow, leaving Mike alert and ready to
counterattack, which he did. After another Gross right sailed over his head,
Tyson leaped out of his crouch with a roundhouse left that found Gross’ right
cheekbone, dumping the Baltimore fighter on his back. Gross crawled to the
ropes on his hands and knees, and pulled himself upright at the count of seven,
but his glassy-eyed stare was evidence that the fight was almost over. Tyson
followed up his advantage with determination, and two more left hooks put his
courageous opponent down again. Gross was beaten but his heart wouldn’t admit
it, and once again he pulled his battered body upright. Referee Johnny LoBianco
grabbed the wobbly fighter and waived an end to the fight at 2:36 of round one.
The fight had been short but not easy.

After the fight, Tyson was ecstatic over his quick victory. “I was lookin’ forward
to fightin’ Gross because of his good performances against Cooper and Tillman.
I wanted to prove somethin’ tonight. I was determined to knock him out in the
first round.”15 When his manager, Jim Jacobs arrived, Tyson was all smiles. “I
can’t believe how I avoided all those punches he was throwin’. It was weird.”
Jacobs smiled. “That’s because you’re elusive, Mike. You’re very elusive.” One
of the reporters questioned Mike about the right uppercut that Gross laid on him.
“I saw the punch comin’ and I braced myself for it. It looked devastatin’ but it
wasn’t. I wanted him to stand there and trade punches.”16

Tyson’s stablemate, Edwin Rosario, was not as fortunate as Mike, losing an

unpopular 12-round decision to Hector Camacho. Twice the rugged Rosario had
Camacho on the verge of a knockout but couldn’t finish the job. As soon as
Camacho regained his senses, he got on his bicycle and ran away from his
tormentor for the rest of the fight, salvaging his title only through the good
graces of the judges, not through any effort of his own.

Mike Tyson had only 15 days to bask in the glory of his most recent victory. On
June 28, he entered the RPI Field House to trade punches with yet another
graduate of the cruiserweight division, William Hosea from Peoria, Illinois.
Hosea carried an impressive 17–4 record with 15 knockouts into the ring with
him. During his career, Hosea had beaten Mitch Green, KO’d former
heavyweight contender Renaldo Snipes, and had the highly touted Greg Page on
the canvas before losing a ten-round decision. One of his claims to fame was the
fact that he had never been knocked down in 21 professional fights. Mike Tyson
intended to change that statistic. As usual, the kid from Catskill was the
aggressor from the opening bell, keeping the pressure on his 29-year-old
opponent. As the two fighters exchanged punches in center ring, Hosea suddenly
got in a thunderous left hook that caught Tyson right between the eyes. The
teenager’s head snapped back on impact, but he shook off the blow with no
apparent damage. Seconds later, Tyson was on the attack, pounding Hosea with
both hands. A jolting right uppercut buckled Hosea’s knees and spelled the
beginning of the end for the Illinois heavyweight. The punches came in flurries
now, mostly heavy, sickening shots to the body. The barrage continued for about
15 seconds, then one-two-three hooks found the side of Hosea’s head, dropping
the 205-pounder on his face. Hosea quickly got up on his haunches, then made it
to one knee, but remained fixed there as the fatal count reached ten.17

The knockout, coming at 2:03 of round one, culminated a 57-punch demolition,

and improved Tyson’s record to a perfect 23–0 with 21 knockouts, including 14
first-round knockouts. “I hit him with two good body punches and I felt his
strength disintegrating and leaving his body,” Tyson said. “He took a better
punch to the head than to the body.” “Mike’s got a pretty potent punch,” Hosea
noted. “I’m sorry the people didn’t get their money’s worth.” Tyson’s trainer,
Kevin Rooney, added, “He took some shots and could have continued. But the
count got to 6,7, and 8, and he said, ‘What the hell.’ He knew he couldn’t beat
him.”18

The Tyson express was back on track and headed for “Titleville.” Mike was
already ranked number two by the World Boxing Council, and he was in a
position to demand a title shot any time he chose. His managers chose instead to
schedule another four to six fights before sending their teenage gladiator into the
ring against the champ. There was no urgency to challenge for the title. The end
of the year would be soon enough. Two days after the Hosea fight, Mike Tyson
quietly celebrated his 20th birthday and then slipped away to one of the Catskill
resorts near Swan Lake to rest and promote his upcoming fight against Lorenzo
Boyd.

The metropolitan New York area was celebrating a birthday during the week
also, but not Mike Tyson’s birthday. The Statue of Liberty, the graceful lady
who stood peacefully in New York harbor welcoming visitors to our shores, was
turning 100 years old on July 4, and all America was gathering to wish her well.
Miss Liberty’s beauty had been restored to its former brilliance during the past
year thanks to a $66 million face-lift paid for by public donations. As the big day
dawned, ten million people crowded into lower Manhattan to witness the
spectacle. President Reagan was on hand to press the button that sent a laser
beam darting across New York harbor to illuminate the statue and begin the
festivities. Thousands of boats in the harbor sounded their fog horns and sent
streams of water skyward in celebration. Pope John Paul II sent a “God bless
America” message to the people of the United States by videotape. Tourists
consumed three million hot dogs and seven million cans of soda. Twenty tons of
explosives were used in the fireworks displays. A good time was had by all and,
when the weekend was over, Miss Liberty settled back to welcome immigrants
to the “Land of the Free” for another hundred years.

Mike Tyson returned home to Catskill after the holidays to prepare for the Boyd
fight. The serenity around the Ewald house was comforting to a young man who
had risen to celebrity status almost overnight. As he told the Daily Mail, “I like
the peace and quiet of the country. And I like animals. I still have my pigeons.
And I just bought a Shar-Pei. I’ve always wanted to get a Shar-Pei.” The Shar-
Pei breed was developed in ancient China to hunt wild boar. It’s a mass of
wrinkles to look at, a homely little dog, but warm and loving.

Mike Tyson was anything but warm and loving to his sparring partners in the
gym on Monday morning. Dion Burgess and Anthony Davis brought out the best
in Tyson and, as a result, they took a fearful beating. Davis, in particular, gave
Mike a torrid workout, with some vicious in-close exchanges. There was good
reason for Davis’ courage during these sessions. Every vital area of his body was
covered by some type of protective equipment. The most recent addition was a
full face mask, which he donned to prevent further damage to his broken nose.
As a result, Davis had little fear of being hurt by Mike Tyson when he traded
punches with the pride of Catskill. It made for an interesting week, and it gave
Tyson a solid foundation for his impending battle with Lorenzo Boyd. The
Tyson entourage made the 100-mile trek up to Swan Lake the night before the
fight. Fight day dawned hot and humid, with the temperature creeping up into
the ’90s, but it was still more comfortable than it would have been had the fight
been held in New York City or Albany.

Mike spent a relaxing Friday in the cool environs of the country, communing
with nature, enjoying the animals, and getting himself mentally prepared for his
24th search-and-destroy mission. The New York fighter was gunning for another
quick knockout against Boyd in order to propel himself into the upper echelon of
the heavyweight division. From here on, he would fight only contenders as he
scrambled toward the top of the heap. Lorenzo Boyd, another Oklahoma cowboy
from the same stable as “Quick” Tillis, sported a solid 17–5 record as a
professional, but he was still considered to be just a journeyman fighter by most
boxing experts. Boyd sounded confident in his pre-fight comments, but the
words had a hollow ring to them.

When the match got under way, Mike Tyson immediately assumed the role of
the pursuer and Lorenzo Boyd became the pursued. Boyd fought like a man
trying to survive, not like a man who had come to town to defrock a myth. He
stood cemented in the center of the ring, hands held high to protect his face, and
elbows in close to the body, as he waited for Mike Tyson to start beating on him.
Tyson didn’t disappoint. His first punch of the fight, an awesome right hand to
the rib cage, forced all the air out of Boyd’s lungs, accompanied by an eerie
hissing sound. Boyd recoiled from the blow, grimacing in pain, but before he
could recover, an even more damaging punch smashed against his nose,
shattering it and sending a shower of blood cascading over both contestants.
shattering it and sending a shower of blood cascading over both contestants.
Tyson worked Boyd’s body unmercifully during the remainder of the round,
maintaining an almost non-stop offensive. At one point, Mike narrowly missed
scoring with a sizzling uppercut that might well have ended the fight then and
there, but it was only a temporary reprieve as far as Lorenzo Boyd was
concerned.

Round two was more of the same. Body punch after body punch found its mark
as the relentless and ruthless Tyson kept on top of his outgunned foe. He was
poetry in motion now, a pugilistic virtuoso who was performing to perfection as
2,300 excited patrons cheered him on. Tyson moved in on his man once more,
unleashing a lightning left-left combination to the body and head that spun Boyd
around. The predator was in full pursuit now, and he closed in for the kill.
Another rapid-fire left-left sequence finished the job, with the final uppercut
lifting the man from Cushing completely off his feet and depositing him on his
back, out cold. Only one minute and 33 seconds had elapsed. Lorenzo Boyd
never moved as the referee hovered over him and showed him his fingers, from
one to ten. Boyd lay unconscious for a full five minutes, his head resting
comfortably on the bottom strand of rope. When he was finally revived, he was
propped up on his stool in center ring, where the doctor worked over him for
another five minutes. Boyd looked like a man who had just been run over by a
truck.
Lorenzo Boyd went to sleep in round 2 (courtesy the Times Herald-Record
[Middletown, N.Y.]).

Mike Tyson was ready for the big time, and the big time was only 15 days away.
On July 26, Tyson, now ranked eighth by the WBC, would climb through the
ropes at the Glens Falls Civic Center to “go dukes” with the number 11
heavyweight, Marvis Frazier, before a live audience of 8,000 wild boxing fans,
plus thousands more who would be watching the action on ABC’s Wide World
of Sports.
 9

Everest Conquered—November 22, 1986

Mike Tyson was entering the final phase of his long climb to the top of the
boxing world. The Marvis Frazier fight was intended to be the event that would
catapult him into international prominence. No longer would he be a sports
figure, known only to those who followed the sweet science of pugilism.
Henceforth, if all went as planned, he would be a citizen of the world, known to
all and admired by most. It was only fitting that this fight should evolve into a
contest of minds rather than a war of clenched fists. “Smokin’ Joe” Frazier,
Marvis’ famous father, initiated the mind game and, when the final hand had
been played, he regretted having done so.

Joe Frazier always looked for the edge in a boxing match. In this contest, Joe felt
that he could destroy Mike Tyson’s nerves by constantly belittling his talents and
achievements. He insulted and embarrassed the Catskill youngster at every
opportunity. At press conferences, during TV interviews, even in everyday
conversation, “Smokin’ Joe” preyed on Mike Tyson’s inner character. During
the four weeks preceding the big encounter, Joe Frazier played the matador to
Mike Tyson’s bull. The boxing world waited to see if the matador could humble
his courageous foe, or if the bull would turn on his tormentor and disembowel
him.

Eleven days before the fight, baseball unwrapped its annual showcase of stars,
the All-Star Game. The 1986 extravaganza, held in the Houston Astrodome, was
unique in many ways. To begin with, the American League All-Stars eked out a
3–2 victory, only their fourth win in 29 games dating back to 1960, and their
first win in a National League park since 1962. The winning margin in the game
came on a two-run homer by Detroit’s Lou Whitaker off Dwight Gooden, early
in the game. Fernando Valenzuela, Mexico’s gift to the Los Angeles Dodgers,
equaled the feat of another great screwball pitcher, Carl Hubbell, when he
fanned five consecutive batters.

Four days after the American League’s victory, boxing came center stage once
Four days after the American League’s victory, boxing came center stage once
more, this time in Wembley Stadium, London, England. The pride of Great
Britain, Frank Bruno, challenged “Terrible Tim” Witherspoon for the WBA
Heavyweight Championship. Bruno entered the contest with perhaps the most
imposing statistics in the heavyweight division. The former European Champion
had won his first 21 fights by knockout, surpassing Mike Tyson’s total of 19.
The lone blemish on an otherwise magnificent career came on a tenth-round KO
at the hands of James “Bonecrusher” Smith in this same stadium on May 13,
1984. Since that setback, Bruno had gotten back on the winning track, disposing
of another seven challengers, six by KO, giving him 27 knockouts en route to a
28–1 record. The WBA champ, Tim Witherspoon, appeared fat and flabby at
fight time, carrying 235 pounds on his 6'3' frame. Bruno, on the other hand, was
in top physical condition, his superb physique displaying 227 pounds of solid
muscle. Sadly, with all the hype, and with 43,000 screaming fans in Wembley
Stadium, the bout was a dull affair, and the hero of Great Britain proved to be no
match for the chubby one. A flurry of punches by the champion ended Bruno’s
dream of glory in the 11th round, leaving the overrated challenger slumped in a
neutral corner bloody and battered. Bruno was suddenly exposed as another
hyped-up heavyweight who carries dynamite in either hand but who is hampered
by a crockery chin.

Back in the States, the HBO Unification Series was heating up. IBF Champ
Michael Spinks, having defeated the aging Larry Holmes twice, was set to
defend his title against European Champion Steffen Tangstad in September. Two
months later, WBC king Trevor Berbick would put his title on the line against
an, as yet, unnamed opponent. Then, in December, Tim Witherspoon was
scheduled for a rematch against former WBA champ Tony Tubbs. A February
box-off would unify the WBA-WBC crowns, with the winner taking on the IBF
champ in the Unification finale in late spring. The Tyson-Frazier hookup might
well determine Berbick’s next opponent. Other possible new entrants in the
series included Gerry Cooney, he of the devastating punch but questionable
heart, and gold medal winner Tyrell Biggs.

As a recent celebrity, Tyson’s every move was now being scrutinized by the men
of the press, in hopes that a sensational story might surface to tarnish his
reputation. Every slight transgression was faithfully blown out of proportion by
the vultures of the news beat and colorfully reported to an equally cynical public
thirsting for scandal. A visit to a Latham pizza joint with a group of friends that
became somewhat boisterous, as teenage gatherings are wont to be, became a
“disturbance” according to the local scandal sheets. A day away from the gym
“disturbance” according to the local scandal sheets. A day away from the gym
was reported as a major training and attitude problem if you listened to the
“impartial” sports writers. The rumor mill buzzed with the latest Mike Tyson
tidbits. Mike had an apartment in Albany. Mike was a regular participant in the
Central Avenue swinging singles scene. Mike was looking for a house in
Loudonville. Mike had a new girlfriend every week, his latest amour being Cody
Carmack. Mike was frequently AWOL from training camp, much to the chagrin
of trainer Kevin Rooney. The truth is that Mike Tyson was neither saint nor
sinner. He was not perfect. Yet neither was he a teenage degenerate as some of
the “yellow journalists” would have the public believe. He was still just an
adolescent, one year out of high school. He did miss an occasional day in the
gym in order to hang out with his buddies at Crossgates Mall. He did have a lot
of girlfriends. And he did have an apartment in Albany, close to his favorite
hangout, Septembers. But he also kept his nose to the grindstone more than most
fighters do, sparring up to 200 times a year. Mike Tyson was a professional
boxer, and he was dedicated to his profession. Taken in context, Mike Tyson
was as normal as his friends, and more disciplined than most.

At this time, in July 1986, Tyson and his trainers were working hard, preparing
for the Frazier fight. The newspaper comments by Joe Frazier drove them to
work even harder. “Mike Tyson is no heavyweight. He’s just an overblown
middleweight.” “Mike Tyson hasn’t fought anybody, just a bunch of bums.”
“He’s got no punch.” “He’s never been in the ring with anyone like Marvis.”
Mike Tyson read the reports, and he seethed at Frazier’s audacity. Outwardly he
remained calm and cool, but inside he was an inferno ready to explode. He
vowed he would get even with the Frazier family—on fight night. Tyson sparred
with increased intensity. Joe Frazier spurted venom. “Mike Tyson’s a baby. He
talks like a girl.” Tyson read and listened. He took out his anger on the body bag
and the speed bag. He made his sparring partners pay for Joe Frazier’s big
mouth. Kevin Rooney observed the mental jousting between the two camps and
smiled with satisfaction. He confided to the Daily Mail, “Mike Tyson’s not a
boxer. When the bell rings for round one, Mike is released.” The boxing sessions
with Dion Burgess and Anthony Davis were violent and exciting, bringing a
round of applause from the local fans who crowded into the Spartan gym to view
the future champ. Rooney was impressed with his fighter’s progress. “I’ve
sparred him a lot. I know he’s in shape. He doesn’t have time to get out of shape.
And he doesn’t have any bad habits. He doesn’t drink or do drugs. Plus his fights
are scheduled one on top of the other. That’s the way it should be.”1
The press conference held in Glens Falls on July 25 was typical of the pre-fight
buildup. Joe Frazier did most of the talking. “Marvis will slug it out with him,
and will beat him. It’s gonna be a rumble. Marvis is a truck. Tyson is only a
wheelbarrow, a wheelbarrow that’s gonna get run over.” Tyson listened intently,
but when his turn to talk came, he was much more subdued than “Smokin’ Joe,”
although quietly confident. “I know what Marvis Frazier has got. I’m sure he’s
seen what I got. I’m ready to fight.”2

Other reports emanating from the Glens Falls area all predicted a Tyson’s
victory. Former opponents of the two fighters didn’t give Frazier much of a
chance to topple the kid from Catskill. James “Quick” Tillis, commenting on Joe
Frazier’s statement that there would be a rumble, said, “That’s Tyson’s fight. He
does that, Tyson’s going to beat that little bleeper to death.” Journeyman Steve
Zouski had no doubts about the outcome. “I give Frazier three or four rounds
and he’ll be sitting outside the ring. Frazier takes a pretty good punch and he’s
busy. But there’s nothing behind his punch to worry Tyson.”3

Cus’s old friend, hypnotist Dr. John Halpin, drove up from Manhattan to spend a
few minutes with Mike on the day of the fight. Together they talked about Cus’s
philosophies of positive thinking and mind over matter. It didn’t take Dr. Halpin
long to realize that Mike needed no special pep talk for this fight. He was well
prepared, mentally and physically. Joe Frazier had given the young warrior all
the incentive he needed to win this fight, and his approach was positive and
aggressive. Across town, in another hotel, the Fraziers spent the pre-fight hours
discussing their fight plan. The preparations for this fight contained more than
the average amount of psychological jousting with “Papa” Joe Frazier trying to
destroy Mike Tyson’s confidence. Frazier had ranted and raved for weeks
leading up to this big event, denouncing the 20-year-old fighter’s manhood as
well as his boxing ability. He attempted to work Mike into such a frenzy by fight
time that the Catskill youngster would forget his fight plan and throw caution to
the winds, allowing Marvis to take advantage of his carelessness and control the
fight, possibly winning by a knockout. Joe Frazier didn’t know it at the time, but
his strategy had backfired as no other strategy had ever backfired in the history
of professional boxing. He had created, in Tyson, a monster of immense
proportions, a monster seething with pent-up fury and hostility, a monster
seeking revenge, but a monster who would be fighting intelligently and under
control. Joe Frazier had gotten Mike Tyson worked up all right, but Tyson didn’t
let it destroy either his fight plan or his concentration. Instead he channeled his
anger into an increased determination and aggressiveness.
Saturday, July 26, turned out to be an oppressive summer day in upstate New
York, hot and humid, with the mercury approaching the 90-degree mark. The
entire country, in fact, was locked in the throes of a punishing heat wave. In the
southern states, a drought had parched the earth and destroyed the crops.
Chickens and cattle lay starving by the thousands. Farmers as far west as Illinois
and Indiana pitched in to assist their brethren south of the Mason-Dixon line.
They sent train loads of hay to the stricken area to help fight the crisis, but it was
more of a goodwill gesture than a cure. Only a change in the weather could end
the suffering.

The atmospheric conditions in Glens Falls were still more comfortable than the
conditions inside the Civic Center, where the air conditioning units were never
activated and the only relief from the stifling humidity came from circulating
fans that moved the hot-sticky air round and round in never-ending currents. The
Civic Center felt more like a Turkish Bath than a sports arena, and boxer and
spectator alike, including this author who was in Glens Falls to report on the
action in the ring, perspired freely. Spectators began filing into the arena shortly
after noontime although the Tyson-Frazier fight was not scheduled to start until
approximately 4:30 p.m. Only 5,102 spectators were willing to travel to Glens
Falls and fork out from $30 to $75 to witness the event, leaving over 2,000
empty seats in the Civic Center at fight time. Most boxing enthusiasts in the area
had already seen Mike Tyson fight on numerous occasions, and for a lot less
money than $75. The inability to sell out the auditorium spelled doom for Glens
Falls as a site of big-money boxing matches. Hereafter it would be considered
only for the less popular fight cards, the $12 ringside cards. World class matches
would be held in New York, Atlantic City, and Las Vegas.
Tyson and Frazier met in the ring July 26, 1986, for a scheduled 10-round
fight (photograph by the author).

Marvis Frazier entered the ring first, as was customary for Tyson’s opponents.
He looked calm and confident as he went through a preliminary warm-up
routine. Minutes later, Mike Tyson made his entrance into the auditorium, and
the hushed silence in the great building suddenly exploded in a cacophony of
noise. The 5,102 fans stood and applauded, screamed, whistled, and stamped
their feet, to welcome their favorite gladiator into the arena. “Ty-son, Ty-son,
Ty-son.” Mike Tyson was oblivious to the reception. Gone was the casual,
unexpressive look that usually covered his face. In its place was an unsettling
sneer, a look that bordered on total hatred. Not only was Tyson angry at the
Fraziers, father and son, but he was also upset at many so-called friends in the
Albany area who had predicted a Frazier victory. Mike was determined to prove
them wrong. Today the world would know how good Mike Tyson really was.
Tyson stalked around the ring scowling, anxious to get the proceedings under
Tyson stalked around the ring scowling, anxious to get the proceedings under
way. As he stood in his corner staring at Joe Frazier, the kid from Catskill
mentally vowed to dismember the younger member of the Frazier clan quickly
and decisively in round one. He was determined not to let Smokin’ Joe’s son
hear the bell for round two.

The referee, Joe Cortez, kept the fighters separated for almost a minute before
round one, waiting for a cue from the television crew. When at last the fight
began, Tyson lurched into the center of the ring like a man chasing a streetcar.
Frazier pawed at his attacker with a looping left, but Tyson slipped it easily.
Tyson countered with a hard right that only caught Frazier on the arms but still
drove the Philadelphia fighter back several feet. The young New Yorker missed
two wild punches but, in the process, backed Frazier into a neutral corner. Four
jabs from the intense Tyson brought no retaliation as Marvis slid along the ropes
to a point midway across the ring. A right cross to the side of the head rocked
Frazier, and a follow-up right to the rib cage sent him reeling backward. Marvis
seemed to be intimidated by Tyson’s awesome power at this point, and he
withdrew into a defensive shell. This was exactly what Tyson wanted. Without
any offensive weapons, Marvis Frazier was a sitting duck.
Tyson beat Frazier by TKO at 0:30 of round 1—the fastest knockout of his
professional career (photograph by the author).

The Master of Disaster bobbed and weaved while flicking out light jabs, trying
to maneuver his man into a vulnerable position. Then Marvis made the fatal
mistake. He slipped away from Tyson and moved back along the ropes, into the
neutral corner again. Tyson stalked his man like a predatory jungle cat. Three
more Tyson jabs backed Frazier deeper into the corner so his back was now
touching the padded ring post. The cat had played with the mouse long enough.
He was ready for the kill. One more left jab occupied Frazier’s attention, then a
quick right uppercut buckled his knees. As he straightened up, another uppercut
crashed against his unprotected chin, almost decapitating him. With the second
devastating punch, the muscle tone completely disappeared from Frazier’s neck.
His head, now without any muscles to support it, lurched upwards and
backwards grotesquely. His vacant eyes stared out into nothingness. As he
bounced off the ropes and pitched forward, his head hung helplessly in front of
his limp body, beckoning to Tyson like a seductive speed bag. The Catskill
assassin responded with two more crushing punches, a right cross and a left
assassin responded with two more crushing punches, a right cross and a left
hook, that had Frazier’s head bouncing back and forth like a yo-yo. He collapsed
sideways into the ropes and slid helplessly into a sitting position against the ring
post. Referee Joe Cortez stepped in immediately and waved Tyson to a neutral
corner. He got down on one knee next to the fallen Frazier and picked up the
count, but at five, seeing no response from Marvis and fearing for his safety, he
waved the fight over. Then, with fatherly affection, Cortez reached under
Frazier’s right arm to support him and gently removed his mouthpiece. The
carnage had lasted only 30 seconds.

Mike Tyson was in the forefront of those who rushed to the side of the stricken
fighter, but Matt Baranski and Kevin Rooney pulled their charge back across the
ring. As he was being led away, a worried Mike Tyson looked back over his
shoulder and pleaded with Marvis’ father, “Please go check on him. I’m sorry it
happened like this.”4 Once back in his corner, Tyson, still concerned for the
well-being of his opponent, ran to the ropes and yelled down to one of the
attending physicians, “Get in here quick.” But Dr. Jock Ford, another physician,
was already leaping through the ropes yelling, “Don’t move him. His neck may
be broken.” Ford, who had witnessed the savage attack close-up, feared that
Frazier might have suffered serious neck damage from the ferocity of Tyson’s
blows. Later Tyson would remark, “I didn’t want to hurt him, because I wouldn’t
want to get hurt myself.” As Tyson’s thoughts drifted from Frazier’s condition to
the fight itself, he remembered once again Joe Frazier’s vitriolic comments and
the predictions of his Albany detractors. His face darkened, and the look of
anger and hatred returned. The arena was sheer bedlam now, brought on by the
terrifying destruction of the world’s 11th-best heavyweight boxer, and the young
D’Amato protégé got caught up in the electricity of the moment. Sneering with
disdain, he stared out at the cheering throng and almost spit the words at them.
“I’m from Catskill, New York, and I’m the best fighter in the world.”

The scene was reminiscent of a scene 26 years earlier when young Floyd
Patterson, another D’Amato protégé, leaned against the top strand of ropes and
yelled down into the press row, deriding the reporters who had been denouncing
his boxing ability for 12 long months. In 1959, Patterson had been dethroned as
heavyweight king during a seven-knockdown humiliation at the hands of
Ingemar Johansson. The press, almost to a man, ridiculed Patterson in print,
calling him a poor imitation of a fighter and a man who was totally unequipped
to compete in the ring. Patterson read the stories and absorbed the hurt deep in
his psyche. The anger grew little by little for a year until, by fight time, he was
thirsting for Johansson’s blood. He dominated the fight from start to finish,
finally KO’ing the battered Swede with a thunderous left hook in the fifth round.
finally KO’ing the battered Swede with a thunderous left hook in the fifth round.
The picture of the unconscious Johansson lying on the canvas, his eyes open and
his feet twitching grotesquely as if with brain damage, remains indelibly
imprinted on the minds of boxing fans everywhere. It was a frightening moment.
Patterson said later, “I never want to go into a fight that mad again. It was not a
good feeling.”

Back in Glens Falls, Joe Frazier’s strategy lay in a bloody heap in a neutral
corner. This fight was a warning to all future Tyson opponents: do not get Tyson
angry. It turns him into a wild animal. As he himself had said only weeks before,
“There are a lot of things you can do to Mike Tyson, but you can’t intimidate
him.” Sweating profusely at the post-fight interview, the youngster from
Catskill, New York, was pleased and excited with his performance.

I was calm. I was relaxed. I knew deep inside that I was gonna catch him
early in the fight because of that little mistake he makes. When he first
comes out, he comes straight down. He doesn’t bend his knees.5 As soon as
he went against the ropes, I knew the fight was over. I saw his head comin’
down and I said, “This is a perfect time to throw the uppercut.” The left jab
and him bendin’ down set up the uppercut. It was such a precise punch I
don’t even know how hard it was. I didn’t even feel the punch, it was so
precise. I just said, “Boom” and that’s all she wrote.

Marvis Frazier was still trying to clear the cobwebs from his head an hour after
he was counted out. The last thing he remembered was backing into a neutral
corner. “I wanted to see what Mike had. I guess I found out too late.” When
asked what he would do differently next time, Frazier sagely remarked, “I
wouldn’t get hit with that uppercut.”6 Mike Tyson’s first test as a contender was
an unqualified success. As Cus D’Amato once remarked, “When he hits them,
they go down.” Trainer Kevin Rooney updated D’Amato’s comments by adding,
“He’s ready to fight anybody in the world.”

The seamy side of boxing reared its ugly head outside the Civic Center late in
the afternoon. A young Albany middleweight named Stephen Frost was seated
on a bench outside the arena in obvious distress after having won his eight-round
match earlier in the day. Frost had traveled to Glens Falls by himself and was
left to fend for himself once the match ended. A spectator, noticing the troubled
boy, sat down to offer assistance. Frost pulled away and stumbled to his feet.
“Don’t talk man, OK? Just be quiet for a minute.” With that, he walked away,
apparently nauseous. Approaching the side of the building, the young boy bent
apparently nauseous. Approaching the side of the building, the young boy bent
over and vomited. With each passing minute, Frost’s condition deteriorated. He
returned to the bench and lay down, sick and incoherent. Eventually the medical
staff from the Civic Center was alerted to the situation, and they assisted Frost
back to the First Aid room for an examination and treatment.

A brutal beating in the ring. The vanquished man slumped in a corner with a
possible broken neck.

A victorious fighter wandering aimlessly outside the arena, ill, incoherent, and
alone. This was the downside of boxing.

The upside of boxing could be seen in the Tyson camp. The Catskill phenom
was now a premier drawing card in the division, in fact, in the entire sport of
boxing. Offers poured in to Big Fights, Inc. from all sectors of the boxing world,
and were carefully scrutinized by messieurs Cayton and Jacobs. Bob Arum
wanted to arrange a match between Mike Tyson and Gerry Cooney, which he
referred to as the “Fight of the Century,” a $50 million extravaganza. The Larry
Holmes camp expressed an interest in a contest between their man and Tyson
that would determine “the real heavyweight champion of the world.” Bob
Gutkowski, President of Madison Square Garden Boxing, proposed the closed
circuit event and offered Tyson $500,000 to meet the former titleholder. HBO
Sports and Dynamic Duo Productions wooed the Tyson group to join the HBO
Unification Series by challenging Trevor Berbick for the WBC heavyweight title
in October. Cayton and Jacobs promised a decision by the end of August,
following a scheduled match with Jose Ribalta in Atlantic City on August 17.

Mike Tyson took a brief holiday following the Frazier fight, but it was a working
vacation. He spent a week away from the gym, but he did make a series of
personal appearances in New York City before beginning his training. One
morning, Mike did an anti-drug television commercial for the FBI. In the
afternoon, he visited Shea Stadium for a publicity session with several members
of the New York Mets. The photographer captured several light moments of
Tyson clowning with Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry. Tyson
autographed several sets of boxing gloves during his visit, including one pair for
third baseman Ray Knight, “From one slugger to another.” Later in the week,
Mike occupied a front row seat at Yankee Stadium, where he chatted with Dave
Winfield and Rickey Henderson. His Yankees buddies presented him with six
autographed bats for his trophy room.

The closer Mike Tyson got to the heavyweight championship, the more intense
The closer Mike Tyson got to the heavyweight championship, the more intense
the pressure became, and the more demands were made on his time. His life was
no longer just training and fighting. As his celebrity grew, more of his time had
to be allocated to promotions, TV commercials, public appearances, and
community relations. These commitments came at the expense of his training
time. Solitude would be hard to come by for Mike Tyson for many months.
Fortunately for the young boxer, Cus D’Amato had anticipated this eventuality
several years before and had worked hard to prepare his young charge for this
day. Mike recalled his friend and adopted father fondly.

Cus and I, it was a very close and intense relationship. We always talked
about bein’ successful. Because he always knew I would get there. He
would say, “There’s always people telling you if you work hard, stay on a
straight line, you’ll be very successful. But there’s never anyone tellin’ you
how to handle it. A lot of people tell you how to be a success, but after you
get there, that’s the hardest part.” Sometimes when I used to get an attitude,
he used to say, “So whatta ya gonna do when you become a big-time
fighter, a champion, whatta ya gonna do, say the hell with me now.” See, I
learn these things now because a lotta things I didn’t wanna listen to.

Mike Tyson was trying to prepare himself for stardom.

While Tyson’s people weighed all the offers and pondered the various
alternatives, trying to predict which strategy would have the best long-term
financial benefits for their fighter, another young boxer was attempting to thrust
himself back into the title chase. Tyrell Biggs’ career had more ups and downs
that the proverbial roller coaster, as he traveled the treacherous road from
amateur sensation to professional contender. Along the way, the former Olympic
gold medal winner achieved numerous victories, with almost as many of them
occurring outside the ring as inside. As Biggs’ amateur reputation grew, he
gradually fell in with a bad crowd. Wild parties, fast girls, booze and drugs
quickly followed, and before long Tyrell Biggs was hooked on cocaine. By the
time he defeated Italian super heavyweight champion Francesco Damiani in the
Olympic finals in Los Angeles, the Philadelphia boxer was free-basing the
deadly white powder. His pro career ended suddenly after only one fight.
Following his six-round victory over club fighter Mike Evans, Biggs wisely
checked himself into the Care Unit Hospital in Orange, California, in an attempt
to kick his chemical dependency habit, a decision that kept him inactive for four
months. Once he returned to the ring, Biggs ran off a string of eight straight
wins, but in the last one, a ten-round decision over Jeff Sims, he broke his
wins, but in the last one, a ten-round decision over Jeff Sims, he broke his
collarbone in round two and, although he courageously hung on to corral a
unanimous decision, the injury put him back on the shelf for another five
months. In the fall of 1986, the big heavyweight made yet another comeback, his
second in only two years of professional boxing. Tyrell was clean and healthy,
and his sights were set on a title match before the end of 1987. His first step
along the path to a championship ended impressively on August 14 as he
knocked out Rod Smith in round six of a scheduled ten-rounder. The Tyson
camp was talking about possible fights against Holmes, Spinks, Berbick, and
Gerry Cooney, but they also kept a wary eye on the big man from the City of
Brotherly Love. Tyrell Biggs was immensely talented and clever. And now he
was also hungry.

After a week and a half of light duty, Mike Tyson was sent back to the musty old
gymnasium on Main Street to sharpen his skills for the next challenge. Dion
Burgess was on hand to hone Mike’s ring reflexes, and this time he was joined
by former Tyson opponent Irish Mike Jameson and a Hawaiian heavyweight
named Enok. Mike Tyson’s heart wasn’t in training for the Ribalta fight,
however. He was still decompressing from the spectacular win over the Frazier
boys, Marvis and Joe. That was unfortunate, because 1500 miles away in Miami
Beach, a sinewy 6'5", Cuban heavyweight named Jose Ribalta was working out
feverishly in preparation for his big opportunity. The rangy Ribalta jogged five
miles a day in the sands of sunny Florida, beginning his run in the early morning
darkness, and finishing it as the sun was just breaking through the shimmering
blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Midday found the dedicated boxer at the gaily
decorated Boxing of the Americas Gym, where manager Lou de Cubas drove
him unmercifully through his conditioning program. Both men were determined
that “Nino” would be in the best condition of his life for this fight. If Ribalta lost
to Tyson, it would not be for lack of training. It would be because Tyson was the
better fighter.

As the final countdown to fight day began, Kevin Rooney was on the verge of a
nervous breakdown. He couldn’t seem to establish a regular training routine for
his fighter. On Tuesday, August 12, a small group of locals positioned
themselves on and around the small stage in the Cus D’Amato Gym to view
Tyson’s 12:30 sparring session. Jameson and Enok were well warmed up as they
shadow boxed in the ring, awaiting the arrival of Tyson. As the minutes ticked
off the clock, Lori Hoey, manager of Peloke’s Motel, home base for Tyson’s
sparring partners, whispered to the author, “Sometimes he doesn’t show up.”
Another spectator came to Tyson’s defense. “He’s a good kid.” Finally, at 1:10
p.m. the telephone rang and Rooney grabbed the receiver like an expectant
p.m. the telephone rang and Rooney grabbed the receiver like an expectant
father. Within seconds, the trainer returned, and announced disgustedly to the
audience, “Mike isn’t gonna spar today. He’s under the weather.” Lori Hoey just
smiled. “He has his moods. He never smiles in the gym unless someone does
something stupid.”

Mike Tyson was handling his meteoric rise to the top of the boxing world as
well as could be expected. But he was, after all, only 20 years old and still a kid.
Occasionally the constant pressure and demands on his time, 12 hours a day,
seven days a week, got to him and he rebelled. But the rebellions were fleeting,
and they had little effect on the performance of the boy who ate, slept, and
breathed boxing 12 months a year. When he failed to spar again on Wednesday,
Kevin Rooney was outwardly distressed. “The fight may be called off. Mike has
an intestinal infection and he may not be better till Monday. We still have to go
to Atlantic City and have Mike checked by the doctors. They might give him a
medical discharge.” On Friday, two days before the fight, Rooney, Tyson, and
the corner men made the 200-mile trek to Atlantic City in their new customized
van. Mike Tyson was still not fully recovered from the flu, but he passed the
physical and the fight went on as scheduled. Jose Ribalta completed his training
sessions on Friday and was pronounced ready to go. Ribalta, ranked number
eight by the WBA, had been in with some of the top talent in the division. In
spite of two tough losses in 1986, ten-round split decisions to both Bonecrusher
Smith and Marvis Frazier, his record still stood at a strong 20–3–1. Although
Mike Tyson’s training schedule was severely limited, trainer Kevin Rooney was
confident about the outcome of the battle. “Ribalta is an awkward fighter, but I
don’t think he’ll last long against Mike. Michael will work his body until he sees
an opening, then he’ll knock Ribalta out.”7

Sunday night, a capacity crowd filled the Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino to see if
the New York youngster could add the clever Ribalta to his growing list of
knockout victims. Most people were hoping for another Tyson massacre. At
ringside, the HBO broadcasting team of Barry Tompkins, Larry Merchant, and
“Sugar Ray” Leonard, decked out in formal black tuxedos, were busy preparing
themselves for the main event. Outside the arena, a stiff breeze, coming in off
the Atlantic Ocean, was an ominous harbinger of things to come. Hurricane
Charlie was rushing violently up the North Carolina coast, leaving death and
destruction in its wake. By morning, the storm would strike Atlantic City with
all its fury, destroying property and threatening lives. The business community
had been working hard all day to protect itself from the ravages of the deluge.
Storefronts were boarded up and dykes were built around vulnerable areas to
Storefronts were boarded up and dykes were built around vulnerable areas to
keep the water out.

Mike Tyson’s appearance in the ring supported the contention that he had been
ill during the preceding week. He came in at only 213½ pounds, four pounds
below his normal fighting weight and his lightest weight as a professional. His
features were gaunt and drawn. Still, he managed to get in a good warm-up
session in the dressing room, as attested to by the heavy blanket of perspiration
that covered his body. He entered the ring with his usual menacing sneer.
Referee Rudy Battle, one of the few black referees in the sport, beckoned the
fighters to center ring. During the introductions, the 6'6" Ribalta towered over
the stocky Tyson, causing one wag to compare them to the comic strip
characters, Mutt & Jeff. Another spectator marveled over the big height and
reach advantage enjoyed by the Cuban heavyweight, whereby an annoyed Tyson
backer retorted, “Don’t give me height and reach. Give me a guy that can fight.”

When the bell rang, Mike Tyson was prepared to show everyone that he could
fight. He was in center ring in a flash, raining rights and lefts on his surprised
opponent. Before the end of the round, a Tyson uppercut straightened Ribalta up
like a tree. Still, Rooney was not happy with his charge’s performance. Between
rounds, he instructed the Catskill youngster, “Looks like you’re a little lazy.
Turn the intensity up, you unnerstan?” Tyson understood, coming out in round
two still the aggressor. Both fighters threw punches with bad intentions.
Ribalta’s stiff left jabs annoyed the pressing Tyson who, nonetheless, forced his
way to the inside to work the body. Midway through the round, Mike executed a
perfect 8–2, a sharp right hook to the rib cage followed by a rapid-fire right
uppercut that knocked Ribalta on the seat of his pants. Although the punch was
devastating, Ribalta’s expression was one of shock rather than one of pain. He
had never before witnessed such hand speed from a heavyweight. He became
more respectful of Tyson’s power after the knockdown. There were still 55
seconds left in round two, but Jose Ribalta was still fresh and not ready to be
taken. A heated exchange ensued as both fighters unloaded their Sunday
punches. Tyson landed a hard left to the chin at the bell.

As the fight progressed, the lanky Cuban used a stiff jab to keep Tyson at arm’s
length, occasionally stopping to bang with the young New Yorker in short but
torrid flurries. Whenever Tyson was able to work his way inside, Ribalta tied
him up. The Catskill fighter appeared to get frustrated by these maneuvers and
began head-hunting. He did fight with extreme intensity during the first three
rounds, however, repeatedly scoring with tremendous body shots. The pace
rounds, however, repeatedly scoring with tremendous body shots. The pace
slowed noticeably during the middle rounds, causing an annoyed Rooney to
chastise his fighter. “Michael, you’re stinkin’ up the joint. You’re not throwin’
combinations. You’re only throwin’ one punch at a time, and you’re not
throwin’ them with bad intentions.” Mike Tyson was obviously not fully
recovered from his intestinal infection. His mind was willing, but his flesh was
too weak to give an all-out effort for a full three minutes each round. In spite of
the heated activity of the first five rounds, Tyson’s body was barely wet,
indicating that the young fighter had been dehydrated by his illness. In round six,
a Ribalta jab bloodied Tyson’s nose, the first time in his career that Mike had
bled. In the seventh round, Tyson unloaded a big right hand to Ribalta’s
cheekbone with 33 seconds left, snapping the big guy’s head back and spewing
perspiration all over the front row spectators.

The crowd showed its appreciation for Ribalta’s courageous effort by chanting,
“Jose! Jose! Jose!” as round eight began. Mike Tyson was not impressed, and he
answered the crowd’s chants with a flurry of punches to Ribalta’s body. A hard
right hook found the Cuban’s head with one minute gone, sending his
mouthpiece out of the ring. Another right hook knocked a bridge out of Ribalta’s
mouth. The Catskill Assassin, sensing an opportunity to end the fight, calmly
stalked his man. Another stiff right sent the big Cuban careening off the ropes.
Again Tyson was on top of him, and again he hurt the Miami fighter, this time
with a crunching right uppercut that turned Ribalta’s legs to jelly. The big
heavyweight was taking a lot of punishment now, and his only defense was to
try to tie Tyson up whenever the New Yorker got within arm’s reach, but that
didn’t happen nearly often enough. A long left hand crashed into Ribalta’s head
with 30 seconds left in the round, dropping him onto the lower strand of ropes in
a neutral corner. Referee Rudy Battle gave the beleaguered Cuban a much-
needed standing eight count.

Mike Tyson was back. He had overcome his earlier fatigue, and the adrenaline
was flowing again. Unfortunately, his physical condition wouldn’t allow the
number two contender to sustain the pace indefinitely, and round nine was a
lethargic affair. Tyson waited for his man in the middle of the ring as the round
started. A big, looping left hand staggered Ribalta, who leaned against his
adversary. Tyson had an opportunity to put his man away now, but he got
overanxious and let the Cuban off the hook. In round ten, both fighters came out
determined to destroy their opponent. They stood toe to toe in the center of the
ring for several seconds, flailing away with both hands in a lively exchange.
Tyson came back with a right from left field that caught Ribalta on the nose,
dropping him on his back. The gallant Cuban, hurt but still defiant, struggled to
dropping him on his back. The gallant Cuban, hurt but still defiant, struggled to
his feet at the count of three and waited as Rudy Battle tolled the mandatory
eight count. The referee stared at Ribalta’s glassy eyes. “How ya doin’? Wanna
continue?” “Yeh. Hell, yeh.”

As soon as Battle bade the fight continue, the pride of Catskill pushed his big
adversary to the ropes and unleashed five solid shots to the head. That was all
Battle needed. He quickly stepped between the two fighters and ended the
punishment at 1:34 of round ten. Tyson by a TKO. As Tyson paced back and
forth in his corner trying to relax, he caught sight of Jim Jacobs and rolled his
eyes in a sign of relief, whispering an almost inaudible “Whew” at the same
time. It was not one of Tyson’s greatest fights but, under the circumstances, with
the debilitating effects of his illness and the resultant sparse training he had
endured in preparation for the event, it was certainly an acceptable performance.
At best, Ribalta won one round. As Tyson noted, “He was discouraged and he
was desperate. He was scared. Every time he threw punches, his head stayed in
the middle, and I wanted to take it off. But he took them, and he brought the best
out of me.”8

Mike Tyson’s strategy committee was not long in announcing the Master of
Disaster’s plans. On Thursday, August 21, Big Fights, Inc., Dynamic Duo
Productions, and HBO Sports called a press conference to make the long-
awaited announcement. Mike Tyson would enter the HBO Unification Series
immediately and would challenge Trevor Berbick for the WBC title in
November. First, however, the Catskill boxer would honor his commitment to
fight Alfonso Ratliff in Las Vegas on September 6, on the undercard of the
Michael Spinks-Steffen Tangstad IBF championship match. At a glance,
Alfonso Ratliff did not appear to belong in the same ring with Mike Tyson.
Ratliff, the former WBC cruiserweight champion, was a talented boxer in his
weight class, but the Catskill sensation was a talented fighter in the heavyweight
division and outweighed the challenger by 20 pounds. Tyson’s opponents
usually attempted to bolster their own confidence by downplaying Mike Tyson’s
previous adversaries and, in some cases, his skills in the ring. Alfonso Ratliff of
Chicago was no exception. At an early press conference, Ratliff, gaily bedecked
in a dark suit with a pink open-necked sports shirt, remarked, “His opponents
have all been fat little Pillsbury Doughboys, fat and flabby around the middle.
Most of them looked like they would fall over without ever taking a punch.”9
Mike Tyson listened with amused interest as the native of the Windy City
produced his own irritating breeze. Ratliff’s tirades didn’t impress the Las Vegas
oddsmakers, however. Mike Tyson was installed as an overwhelming 28–1
favorite to win the fight. As a matter of fact, It was impossible to place a bet on
the winner of the fight. The only bets that were being accepted were on whether
or not Ratliff would last longer than five rounds.

On Thursday, September 4, another press conference was held, this one in the
press room of the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas, the site of the fight. Although the
Tyson-Ratliff match was on the undercard of the Spinks-Tangstad fight, it was
being treated by the media as the main event. Mike Tyson, the man who had
brought excitement back to the heavyweight ranks, was the focus of attention
around town. The conference room was jammed with newspaper and television
reporters as “Iron Mike,” his new media sobriquet, and “Windy City Al” faced
off verbally for the last time. Ratliff, cool in a baseball cap, was still trying to
talk himself into the match. “Tyson says he’ll take me out in five. Well, I’ll take
him out in six. If he beats me, I’ll quit boxin’. I’m not gonna stand toe-to-toe
with him. When he’s throwin’ those wild punches, I’ll be stickin’ and movin’.”
Mike Tyson, the master of understatements, had only one comment to make. “If
there’s any knockdowns, I’ll be the one makin’ them.” Michael Spinks, the IBF
king, was well aware of Tyson’s capabilities, and he was kinder to the kid from
New York than Ratliff was. “He’s dangerous, big, rugged, and awesome. He’s
another guy for me to be afraid of, to worry about.” Michael Spinks knew that,
somewhere down the road, he and Michael Tyson would square off in the ring,
and he was not looking forward to it.10

Except for the boxing excitement in Las Vegas, Thursday, September 4, was a
sad day for the sports world, a day when it mourned the passing of one of its
most admired participants, baseball’s Hank Greenberg. Greenberg, a star slugger
for Detroit Tigers during the 1930s and 1940s, lost a courageous battle with
cancer at the age of 75. As a player, “Hammerin’ Hank” was one of the most
feared batsmen of his time, along with Ruth, Gehrig, and Jimmie Foxx. His
lifetime statistics included 331 home runs and a batting average of .313. The
high point of his career occurred in 1938 when he made a run at Babe Ruth’s
single season home run mark of 60. Greenberg deposited 58 balls into the distant
reaches of American League parks in the first 148 games, but failed to connect
over the last seven games of the season. Still, Greenberg’s record stood proudly
as the fourth-highest total ever hit in one year, trailing only Roger Maris (61)
and Babe Ruth (60 and 59), until the steroid era made a mockery of the feat.

Tyson’s 20-pound weight advantage held up at the weigh-in as he tipped the

scales at 221? pounds to 201 pounds for the 30-year-old cruiserweight. Even
scales at 221? pounds to 201 pounds for the 30-year-old cruiserweight. Even
though Ratliff had a record of 21–3 with 16 KO’s, most of his victories were
against cruiserweights. His occasional forays into the heavier weight class had
ended in disaster, knockouts at the hands of Tim Witherspoon (seven rounds)
and Pinklon Thomas (ten rounds). Mike Tyson hoped to improve on those
performances, hence the five-round betting limitations. Saturday found young
Tyson ready and waiting. Alfonso Ratliff, however, seemed to leave his bravado
in the dressing room. Like so many of Tyson’s opponents, Ratliff talked a good
game but, when the chips were down, he wilted under the Tyson mystique. He
was intimidated by Iron Mike’s awesome record of mayhem and mutilation in
the ring, and his pre-fight courage was replaced by fear as he slipped through the
ring ropes to face his destiny.

Both fighters came out on the balls of their feet, dancing like ebony clones of
Mikhail Baryshnikov. Tyson was the aggressor, as everyone expected him to be,
and Alfonso Ratliff was the runner, constantly backing away and circling the
ring to keep the young slugger at long range. Tyson advanced on his man, gloves
held high against his cheekbones in the time-honored peek-a-boo style
developed by Cus D’Amato, and used to maximum advantage by Floyd
Patterson and Jose Torres. Tyson stalked his man but was unable to work his
way inside or trap him on the ropes. At the 1:11 mark, Ratliff changed direction
from counterclockwise to clockwise and was met immediately with a stinging
right hand to the chin. The kid from Catskill tried to follow up his advantage, but
the tall, lanky Ratliff tied him up. Two Tyson jabs held Ratliff immobilized on
the ropes, and a left-right combination dropped the overmatched Chicago fighter
to one knee. Referee Davey Pearl inexplicably called it a slip. Ratliff scrambled
to his feet and got back on his bicycle, content just to survive the round.
Announcer Barry Tompkins referred to Ratliff’s behavior as resembling that of a
startled fawn. The round ended without further action and Tyson returned to his
corner in obvious disgust at his opponent’s antics. If Mike had his choice, the
two fighters would stand toe-to-toe in the center of the ring, banging away at
each other until one of them dropped. Trainer Kevin Rooney implored his fighter
to go back to the basics. “Work the body and cut the ring down, you unnerstan?’
You got him scared. Now don’t let him get brave. Punch in combinations and
then cut it down. Cut it down the right way. Cut the angles down quick.”
Ratliff’s corner was pleased with their fighter’s imitation of Fred Astaire.
“That’s it. You’re doin’ good. Now, combinations and don’t stay still. Move
around and punch in combinations this time.”

Ratliff disregarded his corner’s instructions and moved in closer at the start of
Ratliff disregarded his corner’s instructions and moved in closer at the start of
round two, intending to trade punches with Tyson more often. It was a big
mistake. After about three seconds, Mike set his man up with a flicking left jab,
then bobbed and weaved under a Ratliff right and countered with a short,
chopping left to the side of Ratliff’s head that sent the former cruiserweight
champ sprawling over the bottom strand of ropes. Tyson watched in disbelief as
Ratliff dragged himself to his feet at the count of nine, intent on continuing the
battle. The kid from Catskill was on his injured prey like a buzzsaw, unleashing
a fusillade of punches to Ratliff’s body and head. The Chicago fighter was
wobbly, but finally managed to tie his man up. As soon as the referee separated
the two fighters, Tyson maneuvered his outgunned opponent back to the ropes
again. A devastating right hook turned Ratliff’s legs rubbery, and he sagged
against the ropes. Another flurry of punches ended with a jolting left to the side
of the head that dropped Ratliff to his hands and knees. The fight ended without
a count as Davey Pearl waved an end to the slaughter at 1:41 of round two. A
concerned Mike Tyson was one of the first people to approach his vanquished
foe, putting both hands behind Ratliff’s neck and whispering some words of
consolation into his ear. The sneer disappeared from Tyson’s face as soon as the
fight ended, and the boy was a boy again, loose and jovial as Kevin Rooney cut
the tape from his hands.

It was a good fight for Tyson, another valuable lesson in ring generalship. The
young contender fought a tall, rangy boxer who tried to run, and he cornered the
man and destroyed him. Before his career was over, a lot of fighters would try to
run and hide on Mike Tyson, and it was imperative that he become proficient at
cutting the ring down and trapping his man on the ropes. The Ratliff fight
provided another learning experience for Tyson, and he showed continued
progress in his trade. Watching the 20-year-old kid solve the Ratliff puzzle
brought to mind, once again, the words of the immortal Joe Louis: “He can run
but he can’t hide.” The kid from Catskill added a few words of his own.
“Runnin’ doesn’t work at all, because they can’t win the fight by runnin’. I keep
the pressure on them, and the more they run, the more I throw punches, so I’m
ahead either way.”11 Tyson donned earphones and joined “Sugar Ray” Leonard
and Barry Tompkins at ringside before the Spinks fight. The Catskill sensation
was very relaxed and at ease. The maturing process appeared to have reached
completion as Mike learned how to handle his new-found celebrity with grace
and patience.

The victory against Ratliff moved Mike Tyson into a title match with WBC
champion Trevor Berbick. The fight, already booked, was scheduled for the Las
Vegas Hilton on November 22. Michael Spinks was still alive and well in the
Vegas Hilton on November 22. Michael Spinks was still alive and well in the
HBO Unification Series thanks to a fourth-round knockout of the mechanically
equipped Steffen Tangstad. Spinks had little trouble with the Norwegian
heavyweight, picking his spots carefully and sending the European champion to
the deck three times. After the last knockdown, Tangstad politely informed
referee Richard Steele that he no longer wished to continue. Tangstad just
wanted to take his money and go home. By virtue of his victory, Spinks received
a bye until the final Unification fight tentatively scheduled for spring. Before the
fight could become a reality, the winner of the Berbick-Tyson match would have
to meet the Tubbs-Witherspoon WBA survivor to unify the WBC-WBA shares
of the title.

At a Las Vegas press conference to present the upcoming Berbick-Tyson

confrontation, champion Trevor Berbick was already having reservations about
tangling with the young Adonis, and the fight was still 11 weeks away. “This
guy is like a tank. This guy’s a young, strong monster. I don’t know if I want to
be in the ring with him longer than 12 rounds.”12 Mike Tyson wasn’t around to
hear the tribute paid to him by the champ. The number one challenger had
already departed Las Vegas for a well-earned three-week vacation. On October
1, Mike would resume training for the big fight. Until then, he would just relax,
enjoy life, and do a little promotional work for Big Fights, Inc.

As Trevor Berbick vacillated and Mike Tyson relaxed, controversy raised its
ugly head in the heavyweight Unification Series. The dispute was triggered by
none other than Bob Arum, the controversial promoter who was left out in the
cold in this series. Desperately trying to get a piece of the lucrative heavyweight
action, Arum declared that Trevor Berbick was not committed to putting his
WBC title on the line against Mike Tyson. According to the crafty Arum,
Berbick’s contract with Don King and HBO was a promotional contract only,
and did not require a defense of his title against the Catskill strongboy. The wily
one courted the Canadian titleholder for weeks, promising him $3 million to
meet Gerry Cooney for the WBC crown in December. Berbick, obviously
confused and flattered by all the attention, declared his November contract with
Don King to be invalid and said he would sign to fight Cooney for Top Rank,
Inc., Bob Arum’s production company. It didn’t take the HBO group long to
respond to the attempted coup by Arum. Don King, Carl King, Butch Lewis, and
the Hilton Hotel officials all attacked Arum publicly, insisting that Trevor
Berbick was committed to defending his crown against Mike Tyson in
November and would honor his contract.
Don King and the Hilton people vowed to take Berbick and Arum to court if
necessary. The Hilton chain had reportedly spent over $10 million on the four-
bout HBO Series and was ready to do battle to protect its interests. Don King
was quoted as saying, “A rival promoter has stooped to an all-time low. Berbick
has a contract and it is registered with the WBC and its president, Jose Sulaiman.
Trevor has been given a $125,000 check expressly for Mike Tyson.” Once the
King boys, father and son, got to Berbick, he wilted under the combined pressure
and agreed to honor his contract. A press conference, announcing the date, was
quickly scheduled for the following day, September 9. Trevor Berbick
capitulated publicly, to the relief of all parties associated with the tournament.
After being threatened by Jose Sulaiman with having his title taken away, the
Jamaican-born heavyweight returned to the fold, hat in hand. Don King helped
to make Berbick’s decision easier by sweetening the pot for the title fight,
upping Berbick’s end of the take from $1.6 million to $2.1 million.13

At the splashy New York City press conference, Don King, the John Barrymore
of the squared ring, proudly pronounced “Judgement Day” to John Q. Public.
And the hype was on. Nattily attired in a black tuxedo, hair in a straight-up
electrified style that was his image, the effervescent promoter titillated the crowd
of media people jammed into the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria with the
prediction that the Berbick-Tyson fight would be the fight of the decade. “Mike
Tyson is the hottest thing in boxing in a long time,” said Berbick’s manager,
Carl King. “He is knocking guys out left and right, and that’s what the people
want to see.” Berbick, always one to verbalize a victory for himself, downplayed
Tyson’s talents. “I’m the best fighter in the world today. Tyson is a good fighter,
but he’s going to get a boxing lesson. Not only am I going to knock him out, but
I’m going to give him a good whooping. If he comes at me like he’s been going
after all those other guys, it will end early. This is going to be a tuneup fight and
nothing more.” The soft-spoken Tyson was more modest. “This is the biggest
opportunity of my life. I’ve been trainin’ for eight years with this fight in mind.
My managers feel I belong here. I feel I belong here.”14

Once the hoopla had died down, Mike Tyson and Kevin Rooney could
concentrate on the real business at hand, to get Iron Mike in the best condition of
his short career, both physically and mentally. Mike Tyson had had 44 amateur
fights and 27 professional fights. Now his life-long quest was down to a single
fight, a battle for the championship of the world and an opportunity to make a
prophet out of his late manager, Cus D’Amato. A victory over Berbick would
fulfill D’Amato’s prediction that Mike Tyson would become the youngest
heavyweight champion in history. The Catskill youngster was determined not to
heavyweight champion in history. The Catskill youngster was determined not to
let the opportunity slip away. He would dedicate this fight to his beloved mentor.

Out in Las Vegas, the Hilton people were hard at work preparing the physical
facilities for the final three bouts in the Unification Series. The Berbick-Tyson
fight would necessarily have to be fought indoors in the Hilton Pavilion, with its
seating capacity increased to 9,000. By the time the WBC-WBA title fight was
held, however, a new outdoor arena would be in general operation. The arena,
being constructed in the parking lot of the hotel, would seat more than 15,000
spectators.

Tyson’s preparations began with one thought in mind, winning the

championship of the world. Becoming a world champion is like breaking the
four-minute mile, achieving a perfect score of ten in Olympic gymnastics
competition, or breaking Babe Ruth’s single season home run record. On the
surface, it appears to be impossible, but it isn’t impossible. Athletes with
adequate skill and superior dedication appear on the sports scene from time to
time and achieve the impossible. They succeed where others fail because they
believe in themselves and they believe in the quest. Tyson believed he would be
the heavyweight champion of the world someday. He believed it with all his
heart, and he was willing to work hard in order to prove it. He dedicated himself
to one objective, to be the best. Cus D’Amato had instilled many valuable
qualities in his young protégé. One of the most important was a positive attitude.
Mike Tyson never thought in terms of losing. He firmly believed he could never
lose. One day, a reporter asked him, “What if you lose?” Mike looked at the man
incredulously and replied, “I can’t relate to that. I never think in terms of losing.
Besides, that’s a negative question and I’m not a negative person. I don’t see me
losing.”15

Outside the ring, Mike Tyson’s life was good. He had money, friends,
girlfriends, and a host of admirers. Although Mike still maintained his primary
residence at Ewald House, he began to gravitate more and more toward Albany,
where he had a host of buddies and where the after-dark activities were exciting.
One of the first things Mike Tyson did after the Ratliff fight was to get an
apartment on Clifton Avenue in Albany, near his friends and close to the action
along Central Avenue. Mike was a local celebrity, and hangouts like
Septembers, one of the city’s more popular dating bars, attracted him like a moth
to the flame. According to his Albany roommate and close friend, Rory
Holloway, Tyson was also on the market to purchase a house in Loudonville, a
suburb of the state capital. Mike enjoyed the night scene. He related well to the
suburb of the state capital. Mike enjoyed the night scene. He related well to the
people and loved spending time with people his own age, people that he could
swap stories with and exchange jokes with, people on the same emotional and
chronological plane. Mike also loved the dancing opportunities and the
camaraderie that pervaded the late-evening atmosphere along Central Avenue.

Saturday afternoon often found the Catskill sensation at the Crossgates Mall
with his hometown cronies, hanging out and watching the girls. It was just like
the old days. Hardly anything had changed outwardly in the last two years.
Except for the heavy gold chains and diamond-studded gold bracelets, Mike
Tyson was still the enthusiastic high school kid. As usual, the gang cruised the
town in the early evening hours, visiting some of their old haunts at the Latham
Circle Mall as well as at Crossgates. The routine might include a pizza at Papa
Gino’s before catching a flick at Cinema 7. Then it was on to Septembers and an
evening of light-hearted conversation and dancing.

As Tyson frolicked, the HBO Unification Series was heating up yet again. Word
out of Philadelphia was that Butch Lewis was going to pull his man out of the
series. Ostensibly, Lewis wanted to match Michael Spinks against Gerry Cooney
in a super-spectacular that would generate more income than would a title match
against a WBA-WBC champion. The rumor mill, however, indicated that the
real reason Spinks was pulling out of the tournament was much more basic.
Spinks wanted no part of Mike Tyson, and he was worried about being seriously
hurt if a match with the Catskill man-child ever became a reality. Don King was
livid at Lewis’ remarks. HBO, having invested $20 million to televise the series,
was upset, and the Las Vegas Hilton, contributor of $10 million to the kitty to
host the four fights, threatened legal action. Just to confuse the issue even more,
Bob Lee, the president of the International Boxing Federation, warned Spinks
that if he didn’t defend his title against the number one contender by January 15,
the title would be declared vacant.

Amid all the heavyweight furor, life went on as usual in the rest of the boxing
world. Tyson’s stablemate, Edwin Rosario, challenged Livingstone Bramble,
destroyer of “Boom Boom” Mancini in two epic lightweight encounters, to a
title match in Miami Beach on the evening of Friday, September 20. Bramble,
thought to be invincible in most quarters, was installed as a heavy 4–1 favorite in
pre-fight betting. Apparently Rosario paid no attention to the odds. He carried
the fight to the champion from the outset, winning the first round easily. As
round two started, Rosario drove Bramble into the ropes with a hard right hand
and buckled the champ’s knees with a torrid left hook. Bramble, bleeding
profusely from a cut over the right eye, tried to backpedal out of danger, but
profusely from a cut over the right eye, tried to backpedal out of danger, but
Rosario could smell the title and wasn’t about to let his man escape. A final right
hand dropped the champ to his knees. As the referee tolled the ten count,
Bramble tried unsuccessfully to regain his feet. Edwin Rosario, a 4–1 underdog,
was suddenly the new WBA lightweight champion, improving his record to 24–
2 with his 20th knockout. The Jacobs-Cayton stable finally had its first
titleholder since Wilfred Benitez and, hopefully, another would follow in less
than two months.

As the first of October rolled around, it was goodbye to the Central Avenue strip
and hello to the gym for Mike Tyson. The young challenger had eight weeks to
work off the excesses of a three-week journey into dissipation and prepare
himself to meet the champ, but at 20 years old, that wasn’t a difficult task.
Conditioning is relatively easy at that age. It is the 30-year-old boxers that have
a problem working themselves into shape after an extended layoff. Trainer
Kevin Rooney welcomed his fighter back to the training camp with open arms,
telling the Albany Times-Union, “I’m not gonna ask him what he did on his time
off. He needed a break from everybody. The three weeks off rejuvenated him.
All I know is, he’s alive and back in trainin’.” The Cus D’Amato Gym was
bustling with activity for the first time in three months as the Tyson quest
resumed. The first week was restricted to light workouts of about an hour
duration, to get Mike loosened up. As week two began, the training schedule
became more rigorous, with a full slate of sparring sessions in addition to the
usual gymnasium regimen. Mike’s ring opponents, those men designated to get
him in top condition to battle Trevor Berbick, were big Mike Jameson and
Walter Santemore. Rooney was happy with the selection. “Jameson has been
here before and he’s a tough guy. We saw Santemore out in Vegas and he wants
to work with us. He’s been with Cooney and Holmes. From now on, we’ll go
from Monday to Saturday, and give him Sundays off. We’re just tryin’ to get
him back in shape.” Rooney might also have noted that Santemore, although his
professional record was only a so-so 22–15, had been in the ring with some of
the biggest names in the division, men like John Tate, Mitch Green, James
Broad, James Tillis, Ernie Shavers, Frank Bruno, Tony Tucker, and Trevor
Berbick, almost a who’s-who of the top 20. Mike Tyson, with the glitter of Las
Vegas and the constant media harassment waiting to transform him into a
screaming schizophrenic as soon as he set foot on Nevada soil, tried to maintain
his equilibrium. “I feel all right. I don’t get too excited. It will hit me when I get
out to Las Vegas. I’m not gonna let myself get bothered with all the hype. I’m
just gonna concentrate on my home life and my trainin’.”16
Controversy, confusion, and confrontation continued to be the order of the day
for the Unification Series even as Mike Tyson squared off against Mike Jameson
in the ring on the third floor of the Village Building in the tiny hamlet of Catskill
in upstate New York. Butch Lewis continued his threats to pull Michael Spinks
out of the HBO Series. Lewis, who was promoting the Series with Don King
under the banner of Dynamic Duo Productions, called on the WBA to sever its
ties with South Africa and to publicly denounce its policy of apartheid. “If the
WBA doesn’t respond, Spinks will not fight in the Series. I refuse to sell my soul
for a dollar,” screamed the histrionic Lewis, knowing full well that the WBA
would not yield to his threats.17

After two weeks of training in Catskill, it became obvious to Kevin Rooney that
a change of scenery was in order. Originally the Tyson group was scheduled to
move its base of operations out to Las Vegas on October 28, but Rooney moved
it up to the 19th in order to escape the hometown distractions. The crowd of
locals that crammed into the tiny gym to watch their hero in action impeded
Mike Tyson’s progress and prevented Mike from achieving complete
concentration, something that was critical to his success. In addition, the
magnetism of the Albany scene and the attraction of one particular female friend
resulted in several episodes where Mike was AWOL from camp completely. As
a matter of fact, during the second week of October, Mike was away from the
gym for six straight days. Rooney tried to gloss it over. “He looked so good
workin’ in the gym that I gave him a few days off. Then he got tied up in New
York with business deals with the managers. They’re workin’ on a million dollar
promotional deal with several large companies.” That excuse didn’t wash,
however, and Mike Tyson packed his bags and headed west. According to the
trainer, “We’re ready. We’re leavin’ early to set up camp and get situated. We
want to get out there and get used to the climate, plus get away from any
distractions. We’ll have five weeks to get ready and get him in shape.” As Mike
Tyson departed Catskill, he made the first prediction of his life. “I’m fightin’ for
the title. This is it. I’m ready. [He’ll go] in the sixth.” Kevin Rooney was even
more confident. “We’re goin’ for an early knockout, maybe even the first
round.” Apparently the Las Vegas bookmakers agreed with Mike’s and Kevin’s
assessments, installing the challenger as an early 4–1 favorite to dethrone the
Canadian champion.18

Mike was lodged in a private residence a couple of miles outside of town to give
him the maximum amount of privacy. The house, owned by Dr. Bruce
Handelman, a friend of Jim Jacobs, was put at his disposal for as long as he
remained in the area. Training camp was set up at Johnny Tocco’s Gym, about a
remained in the area. Training camp was set up at Johnny Tocco’s Gym, about a
mile from the house, and the doors were barred to keep the public out. Even the
press was excluded from witnessing the workouts. Tyson and Berbick both
trained at Johnny Tocco’s, with Mike using the gym at 12:30 p.m. daily and
Berbick’s entourage arriving at 4:30. Both camps insisted on the utmost secrecy,
so all the windows were covered and iron bars secured the doors. Two new
sparring partners were added to the Tyson training camp in Las Vegas, Mike’s
old friend and top ten contender, James Broad, and young, up-and-coming
heavyweight sensation Mike Williams. There were even rumors that the hard-
punching Williams had put Mike Tyson on the seat of his pants during one
workout, but trainer Kevin Rooney discounted that story as being a figment of
someone’s imagination.

Although the Tyson camp maintained a Spartan atmosphere in Las Vegas,

Mike’s new-found celebrity status still required his meeting certain
commitments to enhance his public image and promote the fight. In early
November, for instance, Mike appeared on the Joan Rivers Show in L.A. for a
few minutes of verbal jousting with the syndicated talk show hostess. Strangely
enough, Mike got no worse than a draw with the sharp-witted Rivers. During
one exchange, the blonde comedienne asked Mike why he wore so much gold
jewelry. Without blinking an eye, the young fighter, who was weighted down
with a heavy gold necklace and an enormous gold and diamond-studded
bracelet, deftly replied, “I’m a Catholic.” Later, in answer to a question about his
out-of-thering hobbies, Mike gave them as “ice cream and women in that
order.”19

While in L.A., Mike also attended a press conference at the Beverly Hilton Hotel
to promote the upcoming fight. A 5–1 favorite, the challenger exuded confidence
when he stated, “I’m a man and I’m ready to fight for the man’s crown.” Trevor
Berbick, the 32-year-old champion from Jamaica, had his own ideas about the
outcome of the fight. “No question it’s going to be a knockout, and I’ll be
standing at the end.” Poor Berbick was rapidly getting himself into a macho state
of mind, a condition that would prove his undoing on “Judgement Day.” The
proud champion was talking tough in order to psyche out his young opponent,
but the more he talked, the more he believed his own rhetoric. As the days
passed, Berbick became determined to prove his manhood in the ring by
standing toe-to-toe with the 20-year-old slugger and exchanging full firepower
with him. Trevor Berbick intended to show the world that he could take anything
that Mike Tyson could throw, and then go on the offensive himself and bring the
kid from Catskill to his knees. That was Berbick’s plan. It was a bad plan.
kid from Catskill to his knees. That was Berbick’s plan. It was a bad plan.

As soon as the Los Angeles schedule was complete, Mike and Kevin Rooney
flew back to Las Vegas to resume workouts. Mike rose bright and early his first
day back in the desert and stepped out into the Vegas darkness for his usual five-
mile run through the outskirts of town. It was 5 a.m. and Mike had the streets to
himself. After a leisurely morning agenda and a light lunch, Tyson and Rooney
drove to Johnny Tocco’s Gym for the day’s training session. The focal points of
the workouts were the ring wars, two rounds each with Jameson, Santemore,
Broad, and Williams. As Rooney reminded everyone, Mike Tyson’s sparring
sessions were not run-of-the-mill workouts. They were real matches with no
holds barred. “I always make it a point to say [to the sparring partners], ‘I want
you to go out there and do the best you can. I don’t want you to go out there and
hold back. My man is here to fight. My man is gonna go hard.’” Tyson nodded
in agreement. “I train like a fight. If someone comes to spar with me and they’re
not serious, I think they’re makin’ a very foolish mistake. I think the best profit
from it is when you have a sparrin’ partner in there that’s not intimidated, that’s
throwin’ punches and tryin’ his best to get the edge and win, like in a fight,
tryin’ to knock you out.”20

Most of Mike Tyson’s sparring partners didn’t fare too well in their wars with
the young gladiator. A point of proof was the fact that Mike had gone through 24
spar mates in the past 17 months. Rooney smiled when reminded of that statistic.
“I’ve had guys walk right out. They say ‘This isn’t for me,’ and they go, or they
don’t come back, ya know. They say they’ll call, but they never do. Bein’ a
sparrin’ partner for Mike Tyson is not an easy job. The punishment is brutal, but
it does have some benefits. The hours are good. You get to travel and see new
places. And the pay is good, $600 a week.” While Mike Tyson concentrated on
the task at hand in Las Vegas, back home in Catskill, New York, new billboards
were being proposed for the tiny hamlet. The billboards, to be strategically
located on all major highways leading toward town, would advertise the region’s
latest product, Mike Tyson. The preliminary artwork showed the good-looking
boxer in a contemplative mood, accompanied by the enticing statement,
“Welcome to Catskill, home of Mike Tyson, WBC champion.” The Catskill
Village Board of Trustees enthusiastically approved the construction of the
billboards in hopes of promoting tourism in the area.21

As the days passed, the verbal quotes from the two camps predicted dire
consequences for the other guy. Berbick, sporting an impressive 31–4–1 record
with 23 knockouts, continued to feed his ego with boasts about his future
accomplishment. “I love breaking those bubbles that have never been busted.
I’m going to give him a good whipping, then knock him out. I’m going to take
him to school. All these years I’ve been chasing guys around the ring; Greg
Page, Pinklon Thomas. Now here’s a guy who comes at me, and I love it. He hits
just hard enough to make me mad.” Mike Tyson listened to Berbick’s comments
and he smiled with approval. “He’s a very tough, determined fighter, but he’s
not gonna take my punches for twelve rounds. He says he’ll be right there, and
that’s fine with me. He won’t be there for long, though.”22 Most of the hype for
the fight centered around Mike Tyson’s attempt to become the youngest
heavyweight boxing champion in history. Floyd Patterson was the current record
holder, having defeated Archie Moore for the title when he was exactly 21 years
and 300 days old. If Mike Tyson were to unseat the WBC champion, he would
only be 20 years and 145 days old, and would surpass Patterson’s record by
more than 17 months, or 520 days.

As training wound down, the atmosphere around the Tyson camp seemed much
more relaxed than usual. For most fights during his professional career, Mike’s
training regimen lasted approximately three weeks, the average time between
matches, and it was an intense three-week preparation for his next opponent.
Now there was an 11-week hiatus between the Ratliff fight and the title
encounter with Trevor Berbick. As a result of this extended interlude, the
preparation could be developed more slowly and more systematically over a
longer period of time, without the frenetic, helter-skelter activity that surrounded
his previous non-stop schedule. Even so, everyone in camp knew that the
pressure would begin to mount about 30 days prior to the fight, and by fight time
it would be suffocating.

On Friday, November 21, the day before “Judgement Day,” both Tyson and
Berbick made their way to the Las Vegas Hilton around midday for the
ritualistic 1 p.m. weigh-in and final press conference. The weigh-in was held in
one of the hotel meeting rooms, complete with stage. The official scale, the
fighters, their assistants, the promoters, and state and local boxing officials
assembled on the stage, with several hundred media representatives vying for the
choice positions near the front of the stage. A huge Lite Beer sign provided a
somewhat incongruous backdrop to the proceedings. Mike Tyson, as challenger,
was first to step on the scales. Clad only in blue briefs, the confident New
Yorker weighed in at 221¼ pounds, the heaviest of his career. Trevor Berbick
was next, and the WBC heavyweight king stood proudly before the press
gathering and held the championship belt over his head for all to see and admire.
gathering and held the championship belt over his head for all to see and admire.
Dozens of cameras flashed as the photographic contingent scurried for pictures
for the evening editions of the nation’s newspapers. The champion tipped the
scales at a svelte 218 pounds. There was no doubt that Trevor Berbick was
taking the challenger seriously. This would be Berbick’s third title fight and his
first defense of the crown. On April 11, 1982, Berbick became the first fighter to
take Larry Holmes 15 rounds, although he lost the decision. Then, on March 22,
1986, the 6–1 underdog won the WBC title by taking a unanimous 12-round
decision from Pinklon Thomas. This time, Trevor Berbick would enter the ring
as the champion, but would still be a heavy underdog.

Over the years, Trevor Berbick had become an enigma in the boxing world. A
member of the 1976 Jamaican Olympic boxing team, Berbick lost in the second
round to Romanian Mercea Simon. After turning pro and moving his residence
to Canada, the big heavyweight battled his way into the top ten rankings with
impressive victories over such renowned boxers as Greg Page, Muhammad Ali
(finally forcing the Great One into retirement), John Tate, and Thomas. He also
carried the aforementioned title fight to Larry Holmes for 15 rounds. Yet, along
the way, he suffered mysterious losses to the likes of Bernardo Mercado,
Renaldo Snipes, and cruiserweight S. T. Gordon. Characteristically, Berbick was
always ready to explain away his losses with such diverse excuses as managerial
problems, illness, and having been drugged before the fight. Excuses would do
Trevor Berbick no good this time. In one more day, he and Mike Tyson would
go to war to determine who was king of the hill. One of them would remain
standing at the end. The other would be counted out. As the weigh-in broke up, a
reporter noted that Mike Tyson didn’t appear to be in the least bit nervous. Mike
shrugged and remarked, “I always have butterflies. But as far as being
intimidated, no one intimidates me.” Another reporter yelled out to the young
challenger, “Mike, anything to say?” This brought a thumbs-down gesture from
the Catskill kid and the prediction, “Knockout.”

After lunch, the final press conference got underway with the same cast of media
characters on hand to record the historic event. Champion Trevor Berbick
arrived, nattily attired in white from head to foot—shirt, tie, suit and shoes—
projected the good guy image top to bottom. It was reminiscent of another
champion who, 71 years earlier, appeared at a pre-fight press conference decked
out all in white. On that occasion, Jack Johnson went on to lose his title to the
“Potawatomie Giant,” Jess Willard, in a 26-round KO under a brutal Havana
sun. Mike Tyson showed up for the press conference much more casual, dressed
in a white warm-up suit trimmed in black and red. The 6'2" Berbick left no
doubts as to his intentions during the fight. “I’m going to knock him out in the
seventh round, but first I’m gonna put a whippin’ on him.” The challenger was
more succinct, but just as determined. ”This is the third press conference we’ve
had. I can’t answer any more questions. The time for talkin’ is over. Now it’s
time to fight.” Before the press conference ended, Berbick played one more
mind game on the Catskill neophyte in an attempt to rattle the youngster and
throw him off his fight plan. As the champion, Berbick had the first choice of
colors for his boxing trunks. Knowing that Tyson always wore black trunks and
shoes in his fights, the wily titleholder surprised the audience when he
announced, “I’m the judge. It’s Judgement Day and I’m the judge. My robe is
black, my trunks are black. I’m the judge.” “It doesn’t matter. We’re not
changing. We’ll wear black too,” Rooney stated, ignoring the automatic $5,000
fine for wearing the same colors. After all, a $5,000 fine was pin money for a
guy who stood to reap a $2.1 million reward from the big event.23

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The hands of the clock moved inexorably ahead. Then
—it was Judgement Day, November 22, 1986. The hype was over, the
verbalizing had ceased. The training camps stood dark and silent. All the
remained now was the main event. Mike Tyson slept late. The sun filtering
through the shaded window finally rousted him out of bed on this fateful day. He
dawdled over a light breakfast, read a couple of boxing magazines, watched TV,
and generally wasted away the morning in indolence. It would be a long day for
champion and challenger alike. Tyson was visited by a constant stream of well-
wishers during the day, including former D’Amato world champions Floyd
Patterson and Jose Torres. Patterson predicted that Mike Tyson would break his
record and become the youngest heavyweight champion in history. “That’s what
Cus wanted,” said Patterson. “I hope for Cus’s sake that Mike wins.” Apparently
Mike Tyson was ready. As he told Patterson, “I have been preparing for this day
since I was 12 years old. I always wanted to be a world champion. This is a
man’s crown, and I’m gonna wear it.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The hands of the clock inched closer to showdown time.
As evening approached, the impatient challenger ate a hearty dinner, a high-
protein meal designed to give him the strength and stamina to go 12 tough
rounds if necessary. About 7 p.m. Tyson, Rooney, cut man Matt Baranski, and
assistant manager Steve Lott set out for the “Strip,” that neon glitter dome that
was Las Vegas, for the Hilton and for destiny. Fight time was scheduled for
approximately 10:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. HBO would begin its
television coverage at precisely 10 o’clock with personal profiles of both
television coverage at precisely 10 o’clock with personal profiles of both
fighters, then a preview of the match. Tyson’s dressing room for the big event
was a portable trailer that had been set up in the Hilton parking lot next to the
Convention Center. The evening was cool, the sky starry. The atmosphere was
charged with electricity. A sellout crowd of 8,500 excited fans packed the Hilton
Center to view history in the making. It was a strange scene, this title fight,
almost eerie in some respects. Trevor Berbick was the champion, but it was
Mike Tyson whose name was on everybody’s lips. The fight was “The Mike
Tyson fight.” It was Mike Tyson this, Mike Tyson that. The kid from
Brownsville was already considered to be the new savior of boxing.

The heavyweight division at the time was in chaos, with three relatively
uninspiring fighters reigning as the IBF, WBA, and WBC champions. Suddenly,
a young, refreshing teenager appeared on the scene, a man-boy who carried
dynamite in either hand. As he stepped over one victim after another, en route to
a string of 19 consecutive and sometimes electrifying knockouts, he brought
excitement back to the heavyweight division. Here was someone who could
unify the title. Here was a fighter cut from the same mold as Jack Dempsey and
Rocky Marciano. Here was a destroyer of men, a true champion who would
dominate the world of boxing for a decade or more. The air tingled with
expectation. As one wag announced, “This is more than a title fight. This is a
coronation.”

As fight time drew near, Mike began his usual warm-up routine in the trailer,
shadow boxing to the strains of Sam Cooke coming from his tape system.
Flailing away at an unseen opponent, the kid from Catskill bobbed and weaved,
jabbed and flurried, until the perspiration ran down his sleek brown body in
steady rivulets. The stillness of the night was broken by a knock on the door. A
voice yelled through the steel wall, “OK, this is it. You’re on.” Suddenly the
trailer exploded in a cacophony of noise as half a dozen managers, trainers, and
handlers all began speaking at once. Someone noted that the desert air was cool
at this time of day in Las Vegas, and that Mike might get chilled if crossed the
parking lot to the Hilton Center uncovered. Mike was well loosened up by now,
and the last thing he wanted was for his muscles to tighten up on the way to the
ring. Fortunately a quick solution was found. One of the trainers grabbed a large
white towel from the bathroom and cut a circular hole in the center of it, just big
enough for Mike’s head to fit through. Wearing his homemade poncho, the
young challenger prepared to meet his destiny. As he stepped from the trailer, a
reporter asked, “When do you put on your game face?” Mike almost spat out the
reply. A sneer crossed his face as he said, “This is no game.” Mike was already
reply. A sneer crossed his face as he said, “This is no game.” Mike was already
preparing himself mentally for the task ahead. From now until the end of the
fight, Mike’s mind would be on only one thing, defeating Trevor Berbick and
capturing the WBC title. And that was serious business.

The walk to the hotel was short and silent. Then they were inside. The Hilton
Center burst into thunderous applause as the ecstatic crowd caught sight of the
young 20-year-old sensation. Kevin Rooney led the entourage down the aisle,
followed by Tyson, Matt Baranski, and Steve Lott. Except for the bath towel that
covered his shoulders, Mike presented a threatening image, black trunks and
high black shoes covering his dark, menacing body, the whole set off by a
sinister sneer that prophesied doom. It was a visage that had sent chills up the
spines of numerous opponents over the previous 20 months, a visage that won a
dozen or more fights for the Catskill assassin before the first bell had rung. It
was now 76 days since Mike Tyson’s last fight, and he was anxious to get back
into action again. Mike slipped calmly through the ropes and surveyed the
crowd, the sneer becoming even meaner and more ominous than before. Trainer
Kevin Rooney, on the other hand, looked like the cat that ate the canary. A smile
played around the corners of his mouth. He looked like a man who knew
something that no one else knew.

HBO was on the air, profiling the powerfully destructive challenger. Its cameras
scanned the audience to locate and identify the many celebrities in attendance. It
was a gala evening in Las Vegas, an “event,” and as such it was attended by
dozens of famous people, most of them lavishly dressed in fancy tuxedos and
extravagant evening gowns. The boxing world was well represented by WBC
lightweight champion Hector “Macho” Camacho, IBF heavyweight king
Michael Spinks, and former champions Larry Holmes, Muhammad Ali, Thomas
Hearns, and the old “Mongoose” himself, the legendary Archie Moore. Also in
attendance were celebrities from the arts, the sciences, and the business world.
Even the silver screen lent many of its superstars to the gala event, mammoth
talents like Kirk Douglas, Sylvester Stallone, and Jack Nicholson. All were here
for one primary reason, to see the next legend of sport win his first title.

The hands of the clock approached the witching hour. The crowd waited
expectantly. The challenger paced the ring nervously. It was time for the main
event. The heavyweight boxing champion of the world entered the arena looking
very much like the executioner on Judgement Day. He was clothed entirely in
black from head to foot. He wore black shoes, black socks, and a black silk robe.
His face was hidden from view behind a large black hood. The only hint of
opulence in the otherwise somber scene was the jewel-studded WBC
opulence in the otherwise somber scene was the jewel-studded WBC
championship belt that circled the champion’s waist. His procession to the ring
was much more subdued than that of the charismatic challenger. The 8,500
people in attendance greeted him with polite applause. Trevor Berbick was a
pleasant champion of average talent. He was neither liked nor disliked by the
boxing world. In general, the average fan was apathetic toward the gentle giant.
As the champion approached the ring, he caught sight of his adversary walking
back and forth around the ring like a caged animal, his face a study of impending
doom. The bravado that the champion had slowly built up in the weeks
preceding the fight began to ooze from his body almost as soon as he caught
sight of the menacing challenger. He suddenly became apprehensive about the
outcome of the match, but he was still determined to take the fight to the man-
child. It had become a macho cause for the Canadian champion, and he had to
prove his manhood in mortal combat.

Tyson continued to pace nervously during the introductions, but as referee Mills
Lane brought the two men together for their final instructions, the nervousness
was gradually replaced by quiet resolve. The voice of his mentor played on his
mind. “If you do what I tell you, you can be the champion of the world.” Tonight
Cus would be in his corner once again. Tonight they would be together one last
time, the old man and the boy. This was the culmination of their quest, the top of
Everest. One final time the venerable trainer would counsel his charge between
rounds, assessing the fight, setting the strategy. He would instruct, and the young
challenger would listen. He would direct, and the young fighter would carry out
his orders. Together they would scale the mountain. Together they would claim
the coveted championship belt.

The bell sounded for round one and the fight was on. Tyson came out winging,
meeting the champion in the center of the ring with a flurry of lefts and rights.
Berbick stood toe-to-toe with the challenger, attempting to overpower the
younger fighter. That strategy turned out to be the mistake of the fight. One
minute into the round, Berbick responded to a Tyson barrage with a flurry of his
own, landing a solid right hook to the side of Tyson’s head in the process. The
kid from Catskill walked right through it as if it had never happened. Mike
Tyson was like a man on a mission, always moving forward, his face frozen in
that frightful sneer, his eyes riveted on the center of Berbick’s chest, looking for
the slightest sign of an opening. The New Yorker used his stiff left jab to great
advantage, keeping Berbick at arm’s length, then connecting with a right and left
to Berbick’s face. A hard right hurt the champion at the 1:15 mark, but the big
Jamaican kept boring in. There was very seldom more than a foot or two
Jamaican kept boring in. There was very seldom more than a foot or two
separating the fighters during the round. Often they battled head to head. Tyson
connected with two more shots and Berbick beckoned him to keep coming, a
show of bravado as if to say “you didn’t hurt me.” A left hook, then another right
and left found their targets on unprotected areas of Berbick’s body. After about
20 seconds of close in-fighting, the referee separated the two men. The
determined challenger came back quickly with two rights that hurt the champion.
A following left hook sent the big man reeling backwards into a corner. Tyson
was on top of him with 18 seconds left in the round and dazed him with a right
uppercut and still another left cross. A right cross found its mark before the
beleaguered titleholder could tie his man up.

The crowd was on its feet screaming at the bell. Berbick tried to stick his tongue
out at his adolescent antagonist as he wobbled back to his corner, but he couldn’t
get it past his mouthpiece. The futility of the attempt mirrored the futility of
Berbick’s strategy in round one. Angelo Dundee was frantic in the champion’s
corner. He was distraught over Berbick’s performance, and he let his man know
it in no uncertain terms, screaming into his ear, “You’re fighting like a damn
dummy.” Across the ring, Kevin Rooney offered encouragement to his fighter.
“You’re doin’ great. Stay calm.”24

The challenger came out fast in round two, hands held high against his
cheekbones in Cus D’Amato’s famous “peek-a-boo” style. A wide, looping right
hand to the head stunned the confused champion. The challenger quickly
followed up with two big left hooks followed by a hard right that lifted Berbick
off his feet and dropped him on his back. Eight thousand, five hundred shocked
fans leaped from their seats, anticipating the end. The arena was complete
bedlam now, but the 32-year-old champion was not yet ready to throw in the
towel. He was up immediately, hurt but also embarrassed by his inability to slow
down the Catskill brawler. Trevor Berbick was breathing heavily, obviously
agitated by the humiliating turn of events. He could see his title slipping away,
slowly but surely, and he didn’t know how to prevent it. Tyson continued the
assault, pummeling Berbick in center ring. The fight became all Tyson now.
Berbick retreated, trying only to survive the round, to give himself time to
regroup. His macho plan of overpowering the youngster from upstate New York
had long since disappeared in a fusillade of punches from the 20-year-old
challenger. It appeared to be only a matter of time now before Tyson would lift
the crown from the head of the battered champion.

Only one minute had expired in round two and, as far as Trevor Berbick was
Only one minute had expired in round two and, as far as Trevor Berbick was
concerned, a lifetime remained before he could retreat to the safety of his corner
stool. The challenger relentlessly pursued his man for the next minute, punching
selectively as openings occurred. Berbick backpedaled and spent most of his
time covering up. There was no offense now in the champ’s repertoire, only self-
preservation. At the 2:13 mark, Mike Tyson landed a savage right to the kidney
and barely missed with a following uppercut. He backed away momentarily,
then stepped up and caught Berbick with a short left hook to the temple. The
punch traveled less than 12 inches but it completely incapacitated the valiant
champion. Berbick hung motionless for a split-second, then slumped backwards
to the canvas. Courageously he tried to right himself. He struggled to all fours
but, as he attempted to stand, his legs refused to support his huge torso and he
toppled sideways into the bottom strand of ropes. Still, his champion’s heart
pushed him onward, and once again he fought to pull himself upright. Again his
limbs failed to respond, and he stumbled completely across the ring, finally
collapsing in the corner. It was an eerie and terrifying sight. He thrashed about
on the floor like a fish out of water, his equilibrium completely destroyed.
Already there was concern at ringside that Trevor Berbick might be seriously
injured. Finally achieving a vertical position on the third attempt, the game
Canadian turned to face his tormentor, but it was obvious that he was in no
condition to continue the fight. Mills Lane stepped in and wrapped his arms
around the champion just as he was about to collapse again.

Mike Tyson had done it. He had taken the WBC title in a most convincing
manner, thereby becoming the youngest man ever to wear the crown. At 20
years, four months, and 22 days, he had eclipsed the old record of Floyd
Patterson by more than a year and a half. Tyson’s first thoughts, naturally, were
of Trevor Berbick. He pushed his way across the ring to put his arm around his
vanquished foe, to ascertain his physical condition, and to console him in defeat.
The ring was pandemonium. The defeated champion sat stunned in his corner,
still unable to comprehend what had happened. Jim Jacobs jumped into the ring
and was met with a kiss on the lips from the jubilant new titleholder. Kevin
Rooney was ecstatic.

The post-fight interview with Larry Merchant revealed the immense confidence
the young challenger had in his abilities.

Q. How does it feel to be wearing this belt?

A. It’s a moment I’ve waited for all my life. Berbick was strong, very
strong. But I was calm. I was timing my punches, and I threw every punch
 strong. But I was calm. I was timing my punches, and I threw every punch
with bad intentions in a vital area.

Q. How were you prepared for this fight?

A. I anticipated a knockout because I had so much confidence, so much

belief in myself. My trainer, Kevin Rooney, and I sacrificed so much, we
couldn’t fail. My plan was to stick my jab in his face, and every punch I
threw with bad intentions. Now I’m the youngest champion in the history of
the sport. My record will never be broken.

Q. Did he hit you with anything?

A. He hit me with a few glancing punches, but even if he connected, I

refused to get knocked down. I refused to lose. There was no way I was
gonna go outta this ring walkin’. I woulda hadda been carried out. There
was no way I was gonna leave this ring alive.

Q. He looked like he was just trying to survive as early as the second round.

A. I don’t know about that. If that was so, that was his problem. I come to
destroy and win the heavyweight championship of the world, which I done.
I want to dedicate my fight to my great guardian, Cus D’Amato. I’m sure
he’s up there, and he’s lookin’, and he’s talkin’ to all the great fighters, and
sayin’ his boy did it. Now I want to unify the title.

Q. When Cus first saw you at 13 years old, he said, “Stay with me and you
can be the heavyweight champion of the world.” And you said, “How do
you know that?”

A. That’s not what I said. I said, “He’s a crazy, ole white dude. But he was
a genius. Everything he said, happened. Isn’t that true? Everything he said,
happened.”

Mike closed the interview by vowing to be a fighting champion. “I want to

fight the Witherspoon-Tubbs winner. I’ll fight any man alive. I can beat any
man in the world. And I’ll take on all comers.”

Trevor Berbick, still unsure of himself, graciously consented to give his thoughts
on the fight. “I still can’t believe I got caught and fought the wrong fight. I was
trying to prove to myself that I could take his best shot, and I got caught. I still
can’t believe it. He hits hard. I don’t know if I saw the knockdown punch or not.
His punches came from all directions.” And so it was. Tyson’s punches came
from all directions, and they brought him the championship of the world. As the
arena emptied and the silence returned once again to the Hilton Center, the new
champion’s words still echoed softly through the immense nothingness. “I come
to destroy and win the heavyweight championship of the world. Now I’ll take on
all comers. I can lick any man in the world.”25
 10

The Unification and Beyond—1987

Early Sunday morning, before the sun came up, Mike Tyson awoke as usual. But
this time he didn’t have to force himself out of bed to jog five miles through the
Las Vegas darkness. This morning was different. As he lay there, slowly
stretching his muscles, the events of the previous night flashed through his mind
like a kaleidoscopic fairy tale. He suddenly realized he was not just Mike Tyson
anymore. Now he was the heavyweight champion of the world, the larger-than-
life hero he always dreamed about being. It was an exhilarating feeling, a feeling
to be inhaled and enjoyed. Little did Mike know that there was more to being a
champion than just the money and the glory. There was celebrity to contend
with, and there were the myriad of professional responsibilities that go hand in
hand with the championship.

Mike Tyson had been trained for stardom since he was 13 years old by his astute
mentor, Cus D’Amato. But no one can be completely prepared for the sudden
and suffocating avalanche of personal commitments, business proposals, and
other intrusions on one’s time that accompanies fame. The young New Yorker’s
private life was over, and in its place was a tight schedule of interviews, photo
sessions, promotions, and civic responsibilities orchestrated by the duo of Jacobs
and Cayton. The champ was, at first, amused by all the attention, but soon
became annoyed when he realized he couldn’t even walk down the sidewalk in a
major city without being accosted by crowds of hero worshippers, well wishers
and autograph seekers. Over the next year, the hectic pace and associated mental
stress in Mike Tyson’s life would, at times, reach unbearable proportions,
particularly in the weeks leading up to a title fight. So much so, in fact, that the
strain on his nervous system would cause a small patch of hair to fall out near
the front of his scalp. The bald spot would become most prominent on fight
night and would fill in somewhat between fights, but it would be a full year
before Mike Tyson would feel comfortable enough in his new position to relax
and accept his celebrity status.
The new heavyweight king spent the better part of Sunday morning walking
around the Las Vegas Hilton with his WBC championship belt strapped around
his midsection, accepting congratulations from many of the hotel’s 4,000 guests.
Back home in Catskill, his fellow “townies” were still reliving his stunning
victory over Trevor Berbick. There was even talk of a big parade down Main
Street the day after Thanksgiving. But Mike Tyson was too emotionally and
physically drained to be guest of honor in a parade, and his managers begged off.
In fact, they cancelled all his personal appearances for two weeks to give the
new champ time to rejuvenate himself. Tyson was off first thing Monday
morning, jetting to the coast for two glorious weeks of fun and sun, alone and
away from the drudgery of training camp. He partied and cavorted with a gallery
of Hollywood luminaries including beautiful Lisa Bonet, one of the stars of the
Bill Cosby television show.

Still, the young champ could not escape from his responsibilities, even for two
weeks. In rapid succession, he appeared on the David Letterman Late Night
television show and the Joan Rivers Show. To Letterman, he confessed the
sacrifices that a professional boxer has to make in order to be champion. “I
would like to date women, but I can’t give them the attention they deserve.
Except Lisa Bonet. I’d make time to give her attention.” He parried successfully
with the irreverent Joan Rivers, queen of night-time comedy. When she
reminded the boyish Tyson that kids looked up to the heavyweight champion,
Mike replied in his soft, high-pitched voice, “I love kids. That’s the best part,
having kids around. That makes everything worthwhile.” And to her statement
that, as a kid, he was a delinquent, Mike just smiled, “But I was a sweet
delinquent.” As a celebrity, Mike Tyson’s comments now carried considerable
weight. Children listened to what the heavyweight champion of the world had to
say, and they followed his example. Even adults paid more attention to his
advice now that he was famous. Tyson expounded further on his responsibilities
to the youth of the nation during an HBO interview. “When you’re the
champion, you can’t use foul language. You can’t drink in public. Can’t smoke.
Can’t do any of those things around kids. It shouldn’t be tolerated.”

As the WBC champion drifted through December in unsupervised indolence,

basking in the Southern California sun, his next opponent was being selected in
far-away New York City. Originally, the WBA had scheduled a title fight
between the champion, Tim Witherspoon, and the former champion, Tony
Tubbs, for December 12, 1986, in Madison Square Garden. Four days before the
big event was to take place, however, Tony Tubbs withdrew with an apparent
injury. Fortunately, the dangerous James ”Bonecrusher” Smith was in training
injury. Fortunately, the dangerous James ”Bonecrusher” Smith was in training
for an upcoming fight against Mitch Green, and he gladly seized the opportunity
to replace Tubbs and challenge for the title. It was the chance of a lifetime for
the number eight contender. On December 12, “Bonecrusher” stepped into the
ring to meet the man who had dealt him a brutal beating only ten months before.
Determined to do the first damage this time, Smith attacked the champion from
the outset. Stunningly, he dropped the lethargic Witherspoon three times in the
first round, taking the title and winning the dubious distinction of squaring off
against Mike Tyson in a WBA-WBC unification match in early 1987.

The politics of boxing once again raised its ugly head immediately after the
Smith-Witherspoon fight and, for a brief time, threatened to destroy the WBA-
WBC unification fight between Smith and Tyson. WBA chairman Alberto
Aleman insisted that Smith defend his title against the WBA’s number one
contender, Tyrell Biggs, rather than Mike Tyson. When Biggs management
declined the offer, Aleman opted for the next highest contender. The WBA
chairman did approach the unification series in a positive manner, however and,
after the WBC and the promoters agreed to follow all WBA rules including the
15-round championship distance, he agreed to Tyson as an opponent. The date
and site were quickly agreed upon. The big event would take place at the Las
Vegas Hilton on March 7, 1987, in a newly constructed outdoor arena located in
the Hilton parking lot. The final unification battle against the IBF champion,
hopefully Michael Spinks, would also be in the Hilton outdoor arena in May or
June. After that gala attraction, the site for future heavyweight title fights would
be up for grabs. Among the leading contenders for staging future fights were
Alan Fields of Madison Square Garden and Donald Trump of Trump Plaza in
Atlantic City.

James ”Bonecrusher” Smith was boxing’s newest Cinderella story. The WBA
king was the heavyweight division’s first college graduate, having earned a
Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration from Shaw University in
Raleigh, North Carolina. Bonecrusher was a late-comer to the boxing ranks,
having first taken up the sport in the United States Army in 1978 when he was
24 years old. Now, at the age of 33, the former prison guard stood on the
threshold of immortality. If he could get past the immovable object, Mike Tyson,
he would probably be favored to unify the title against the IBF champion in late
spring. If he could get past Mike Tyson….

The present WBA champion was a complete surprise, but at least the WBA had
a champion. The IBF titleholder was fading out of the picture completely, a
a champion. The IBF titleholder was fading out of the picture completely, a
situation that would leave the title vacant. Late in the month, HBO obtained an
injunction against Michael Spinks, prohibiting him from fighting Gerry Cooney
until after he had fulfilled his obligations to the Heavyweight Unification Series.
As events unfolded, however, it was obvious that the injunction was without
substance. As long ago as October 2, Butch Lewis stated his intention of
entering into a big money fight against Gerry Cooney outside the Heavyweight
Unification Series. As a pretext for taking the fight, Lewis said that Spinks
would no longer compete in the series unless the WBA severed its ties with
South Africa. Lewis was quoted as saying, “I will no longer associate myself
with any activities with which the World Boxing Association is involved.”
Future events would show that Butch Lewis’ statement was the epitome of
hypocrisy. Butch Lewis apparently wasn’t interested in apartheid at all. Butch
Lewis was only interested in money—and how much of it he could make. His
actions typified the sleazy side of the boxing world.

As the new year got under way, it was business as usual for the WBC king. He
spent several days in New York making a series of public service television
commercials. He spent one full day filming an anti-drug commercial for the FBI,
and another day on a film clip for the State of New York. The 15-second promo
showed the champ punching the speed bag in the gym, then turning to face the
camera with the advice, “Say no to crack—and live.” Mike’s primary thrust in
civic projects was aimed at educating the youth of the country to the dangers of
drugs. He spent considerable time with the kids of New York City, speaking out
loudly against the perils of drugs and alcohol. Later in the month, he shared the
stage with New York Yankees left fielder Dave Winfield at one of the inner city
junior high schools to promote Drug Awareness Day. Mike, casually dressed in a
white silk shirt and gray slacks, entered the auditorium with his green and gold
WBC championship belt encircling his waist. He spoke to the student body like a
big brother, in terms they could understand. “I’m only four years older than the
oldest person in here. I love the championship. I love bein’ rich. I love havin’
beautiful girl friends. But I’d give it all away before I’d belittle myself by
putting a joint to my mouth or putting some white poison in my nose. I love
myself too much.”1

Honors began to pour in to the Tyson household early in the year as he was
voted “Fighter of the Year” by the Boxing Writers of America, an award he
shared with undefeated featherweight champion Julio Cesar Chavez, winner of
54 straight fights, 44 of them by knockout. Tyson was also named “Fighter of
the Year” by Ring Magazine. In this same issue, Ring Magazine previewed a
possible future Tyson opponent when it named Texas heavyweight Mike
Williams boxing prospect of the year. The muscular Williams, a former Tyson
sparring partner, sported a 9–0 professional record with six KO’s. His most
recent outing was a knockout win over “Quick” Tillis.

Mike’s dizzying business schedule and his frequent coast to coast commuting
came to the attention of the Catskill Daily Mail Sports Editor, Bill White. “How
do you keep your life balanced? You spend so much time in New York and L.A.
with celebrities and then you come back to Catskill.” “I don’t want to forget my
roots. Catskill is home. That’s where my family and my real friends are. I’m
always aware of the bloodsuckers that try to latch on to celebrities. I keep my
distance from them.”

Tyson also kept his life in perspective by socializing with his buddies in Albany
and Catskill and avoiding the celebrity scene. He would rather hang out at his
favorite joint, Septembers, or take in an Albany Patroons basketball game in the
Washington Avenue Armory than rub elbows with the likes of Jack Nicholson at
an L.A. Lakers game. The Patroons were only a high minor league club, a
member of the Continental Basketball Association, but they were exciting to
watch, and Tyson loved to visit the old castle-like structure with his buddy Rory
Holloway to root for his team against teams like the Mississippi Jets.

Be that as it may, the champ’s life took on a surrealistic quality. His social and
business activities were all-consuming, and his boxing career was relegated to a
minor hobby. His management team of Jacobs and Cayton were busy laying the
groundwork for Mike Tyson’s financial future at the expense of his preparation
for the upcoming WBC-WBA unification fight with “Bonecrusher” Smith. They
engaged Ohlmeyer Communications Co. to market Tyson to the public.
Ohlmeyer’s responsibilities included locating marketing and licensing
opportunities related to book publishing, television, toys, games, and
advertisements, evaluating the various projects, and making recommendations to
Jacobs and Cayton, who retained the final decision making themselves. Jacobs,
Cayton, and the Ohlmeyer people were also negotiating with three major studios
for a two-hour television film of Tyson’s life. To oversee this new venture, the
managers formed a new company, Reel Sports, Inc., which had a personal
services contract with the heavyweight champion. Media exposure continued
unabated in January, much to the chagrin of trainer Kevin Rooney, whose sole
responsibility was to have his charge in top physical and mental condition by
fight time. It was an impossible task under the prevailing conditions. Photograph
sessions with people like the model, Iman, took precedence over sparring.
Interviews with Life magazine correspondent Joyce Carol Oates took precious
time away from Mike’s gym work. Over 300 requests for interviews and photos
sessions were received in the offices of Big Fights, Inc., and were meticulously
evaluated for media value and for economic considerations.

Finally, on January 14, Mike Tyson attempted to go back into serious training in
the gym in Catskill, but the attempt had a circus atmosphere associated with it.
As champion, Tyson attracted visitors to the Cus D’Amato Gym in droves.
Friends dropped by to congratulate the champ and to wish him well. Boxing fans
crowded the little training camp to catch a glimpse of the king in action. And
media representatives scrambled for position on a day-in, day-out basis, always
pushing for one more interview, one last photo. Time magazine did a photo
spread on the new champ, the session taking up most of the day. The usual
assortment of directors moved into the D’Amato Boxing Club late in the
morning and immediately took over the facility. Moving about with all the
paraphernalia common to a magazine camera crew, e.g. tripods, cameras, and
lights, the Time group completely upset Kevin Rooney’s schedule, leaving the
trainer annoyed and frustrated. By the end of the day they had accumulated
numerous photos of Tyson clad in a woolen warm-up suit, working out on the
heavy bag and doing floor exercises. Right on the heels of the Time crew came a
Japanese film crew. They were doing a TV spread on the new champion, Japan’s
newest hero, and they wanted to record his workouts in Cus’s old gym.
Considering his growing popularity in Japan, there was a definite possibility that
he might fight there in the fall, possibly against Gerry Cooney. According to
inside sources, a major Japanese corporation and a large bank were willing to
bankroll such a venture—and money was no object.

Rooney was rapidly becoming disgusted with the situation in Catskill. He could
not concentrate on the task at hand, that is getting the champ ready for a title
fight in six weeks. Mike needed a lot of work. After his six-week sojourn in
Hollywood, the WBC champion came into the gym a chubby 230 pounds, 11
pounds overweight. The sharply delineated stomach muscles that usually marked
his magnificent physique were missing on January 14. Instead of muscle, a
noticeable layer of fat covered his midsection. It was obvious that the good life
had gotten to Mike Tyson and had made him a poor imitation of the 20-year-old
“Iron Mike.” Rooney immediately put Tyson under a strict training regimen,
working him mercilessly until the pounds of ugly fat began to melt off the
champ’s body. In a week, the conscientious trainer had his fighter down to a
more manageable 225 pounds, and had sparred him for 20 rounds over a three-
more manageable 225 pounds, and had sparred him for 20 rounds over a three-
day period. Still the distractions persisted. Rooney took steps to rectify the
situation before it was too late. He made all training sessions closed-door affairs.
That only partially solved the problem, however. It corrected the situation in the
gym, but the atmosphere outside the gym continued, and Rooney was helpless to
stop that. Mike was constantly pressured for interviews, autographs, personal
appearances, and just plain handshakes. A few sparring sessions were held with
regulars Mike Jameson, Dion Burgess, and Anthony Davis, but it was like
shoveling against the tide. Rooney was convinced that it would no longer be
possible to conduct a meaningful training program in Catskill.

On January 27, Tyson had to appear in Los Angeles for a press conference
heralding the upcoming fight, labeled “Superfight” by promoter Don King. As
soon as the press conference ended, the champ was whisked off to New York
City, where he was honored at a luncheon by the World Boxing Council and
received another “Fighter of the Year” award. His managers, Jim Jacobs and Bill
Cayton, were also honored, being recipients of the “Manager of the Year”
award. As the days turned into weeks and Tyson’s business commitments
continued to keep him away from the gym, Kevin Rooney brought the situation
to a head. He telephoned Jim Jacobs and notified the manager that he and Mike
were going out to Las Vegas two weeks early to get acclimated to the desert
environment and to escape the circus atmosphere in Catskill. Jacobs agreed.

Following Rooney’s decision, the congenial heavyweight king made the rounds
of Catskill to visit all his friends one last time. He started the day by visiting
Werner and Elfie Murkowski, owners of Bell’s Coffee Shop, where he gulped
down a double order of toast and two glasses of orange juice. Within an hour,
the affable giant was at Burger King finishing off a fish fillet, salad, and a
vanilla shake. Along the way, he took time to walk up and down Main Street
visiting friends and greeting his neighbors in Catskill. Eventually the champ
made his way over to Catskill High School to visit principal Dick Stickles,
assistant principal John Turek, and gym teacher Jim Franco, and to mingle with
the kids themselves. Mike even shot a few baskets in the gym before tearing
himself away to return to the Cus D’Amato Gym for yet another interview.
Before facing the bright lights and exposing himself to the battery of questions
that constituted the media zoo, Mike confided to a friend, “I’m in a bad mood
today.” Still, he was patient and polite to the reporters. After several minutes, he
excused himself and went to the locker room to dress for the day’s workout. The
omnipresent eyes of the cameras followed his every move as he worked out on
the bags or moved around the ring during his sparring session. Another interview
followed the workout, but the sweaty, tired heavyweight champion graciously
answered all questions. There were very few original questions, and the
youngster answered many of them automatically.2

His trainer, obviously happy to be leaving for Nevada, sounded very positive
about the upcoming bout. “We’re ready to go. He’s in good shape. We’ll take a
few days off when we get out there, and then get back to work. We’ll have five
weeks to get ready. Right now, we’re right on schedule.” When asked to
comment about Tyson’s apparent weight problem, Rooney shrugged it off. “He
hasn’t been able to run because it’s been too cold.” It’s always cold in the
Catskills region of upstate New York in late January, but this year the weather
turned frigid, with sub-zero temperatures, howling winds, and blowing snow,
preventing the young boxer from taking his early morning jaunts. “When we get
out there, we’ll do plenty of runnin’. The weight doesn’t matter. He’s a little
heavy, but he’s still all muscle. He’ll come in around 218, 219. It doesn’t
matter.”3

The Tyson entourage, consisting of Mike, Kevin, Matt Baranski, Mike Jameson,
Oscar Holman, and Tyrone Armstrong, left Albany airport at 1:17 p.m. on
Tuesday, February 3, aboard an American Airlines 757 bound for the City of
Lights, Las Vegas, Nevada. Once in the desert country, Rooney breathed a little
easier. Safely ensconced in a comfortable condominium outside town, the
training crew could relax in privacy except for the two hours spent in Johnny
Tocco’s Gym. Even that was conducted under tight security. Team Tyson was
now completely isolated from the outside world, a situation that aided them in
preparing for the upcoming fight. From here on, any press conferences or
interviews would be tightly controlled and scheduled well in advance so as not
to upset the training regimen. It was now time to focus on only one thing, the
fight. Meanwhile, the promoters had to increase their propaganda campaign if
they wanted to prevent a disaster. Only five weeks remained before the big
event. Ticket sales were sluggish and time was getting short. The apparent lack
of interest in the fight was due to the fact that boxing fans were reluctant to fork
out from $75 to $750 to see a match that was expected to end in an early Tyson
knockout.

The key was to stimulate interest in the big fight, and that could only be realized
if the fans envisioned “Bonecrusher” Smith to be a viable challenger. The
marketing of “Bonecrusher” got under way with a flourish. He was immediately
given a substantial dose of media visibility, including guest appearances on
various radio and television talk shows as well as national sports programs. On
one such show, “Sports Look,” he told host Roy Firestone, “I believe I’m the
most devastating puncher in the world today. Mike Tyson has never faced
anyone who could put him out with one punch. If I hit Mike Tyson with my best
punch, he will go out. There’s no doubt about it.” Tyson quietly rebutted that
statement to Bill White, the sports editor of the Catskill Daily Mail, “I’m
nervous. No, not nervous, I’m excited. I’m ready and I’m confident I’ll be
successful. I’ll take out anyone they put me in against. No man is my equal.”

Kevin Rooney was now in his element. He had full control of Mike Tyson’s
everyday activities. With help from assistant manager Steve Lott and Matt
Baranski, he kept a tight rein on the champ, a situation that frustrated Tyson at
times. “I can’t do anything. They watch my every move.” After the daily
workouts, Baranski would escort the sparring partners back to the Hilton, while
Tyson, Rooney, and Lott would head for the condo and an evening of rented
videos. As the trio left the gym, Rooney assured the Daily Mail, “We haven’t
changed our game plan. We’ll take no prisoners.” Now the regimen got down to
the boring, repetitive drills that Mike Tyson disliked so much, but the drills that
would make him rock solid, both mentally and physically, when he stepped into
the ring to face a man named Smith.

At 4 a.m. Monday morning, Mike Tyson climbed out of bed, donned a gray
warm-up suit and stocking cap, and stepped out into the cool Nevada darkness to
loosen up his body with a leisurely five-mile jog through the strangely deserted
side streets of the now quiet gambling mecca. After breakfast, the young New
Yorker watched a cartoon show on video cassette and chatted with cut man Matt
Baranski, who stopped by for an early morning visit. Baranski, an almost
unknown member of the Tyson party, was one of its most valuable contributors.
A lifetime boxer and trainer, Baranski was an expert at controlling cuts and
reducing swelling. A cut man was something Tyson had not yet needed in his
amateur or professional career, a total of 72 matches. But someday, the
unexpected could happen. Mike Tyson could have his eye sliced open by a sharp
punch or by a head butt. If that should happen, Matt Baranski’s sweet science
could mean the difference between winning or losing a title. The cut man is a
key part of every fighter’s team. If the fighter has confidence in his cut man, he
will perform at a higher level in times of severe difficulty, knowing that his
condition is being treated by the best man possible. Matt Baranski was the best
man possible. At noon, Tyson, Rooney, and Lott climbed into the back seat of
their chauffeur-driven limousine and made the two-mile trek to Johnny Tocco’s
their chauffeur-driven limousine and made the two-mile trek to Johnny Tocco’s
Gym in downtown Vegas. Once inside the barricaded building, Tyson quickly
changed into his boxing gear and, after several minutes of floor exercises, he
readied himself for his daily wars—his sparring sessions against Jameson,
Holman, Ferguson, Burgess, Davis, and Broad.

Tyson’s sparring partners were always ready to go. As Davis noted, “It’s like a
fight. You get yourself geared up to face this guy every day. You try to hurt him
because he’s trying to hurt you.” Dion Burgess nodded in agreement. “You must
do nothin’ but concentrate on Mike Tyson for three minutes. And before you get
in the ring, you have to prime yourself up for that. If you don’t, then that could
create problems for you.” Still, in spite of the punishment they absorbed daily
from the heavyweight champ, the sparring partners seemed to enjoy their work.
As Burgess once put it, “Believe it or not, as ludicrous as it sounds, I might have
done it for nothin’.” Davis was not quite that blasé about it. He did, however, put
the job in its proper perspective. “Top pay, travel, you get to see the country, and
you get treated well. There’s a lot of advantages here.”4 Besides, the sparring
partners were protected against injury with a maximum of body gear. They wore
padded head gear that covered their entire head except the front and top. Their
critical body areas, including the kidneys and liver, were covered with a
protective jacket, up to and including a flak jacket. A groin protector completed
the safety equipment, making Tyson’s opponents almost impervious to pain. For
his part, the champion wore minimal protection, again harking back to the
philosophy of Cus D’Amato, who claimed protective equipment made a fighter
careless. One change was made to Tyson’s equipment now that he was
champion, however. Specially designed headgear was now worn during all
sparring sessions. As champion, Mike Tyson was now a valuable property and
had to be protected from an accidental training camp injury that could delay or
postpone a multi-million dollar fight, resulting in substantial losses to the
promoters. The headgear was much smaller than that worn by the sparring
partners. It protected his ears but did not protect his jaw or forehead.

The Tyson camp seemed to run like a well-oiled machine, quietly and
efficiently. There were numerous jobs to be done in the course of a day’s
routine, but each man knew his responsibilities and handled them flawlessly.
Matt Baranski, for instance, was not merely Tyson’s cut man. He had many
other responsibilities as well. One of his most important responsibilities was
riding herd on Tyson’s sparring partners during their stay in Las Vegas. While
Tyson, Rooney, and Lott stayed in the condo outside of town, Baranski and the
rest of the entourage were housed in town at the Hilton. Baranski’s first job of
rest of the entourage were housed in town at the Hilton. Baranski’s first job of
the day was to drag Holman, Jameson, and the rest of the crew out of bed at 5:45
for a three-mile jog through town. He also had to make sure they arrived at
Johnny Tocco’s on time and were loosened up and ready to fight by the time
Tyson got to the ring. Many of the sparring partners had the talent to become
world class boxers, but they lacked the self-discipline needed to realize their
potential. While they trained with Mike Tyson, Matt Baranski became their “self
discipline.”

Tyson’s weight gradually dropped from 227 to the 220 range. He appeared as
strong and as fast as ever, causing Jesse Ferguson to remark, “He’s in a class by
himself as a fighter. He comes right at you with only one thing on his mind, to
take you out of there. He’s out to win.” As the days passed, Tyson’s training
activities became more and more mechanical, an early morning run of three to
five miles, an early afternoon two-hour gym session, and an evening on the
exercycle at the local nautilus club. In between the training programs, the time
dragged by painfully slowly. In fact, the only reason Mike started going to the
nautilus club was to relieve the boredom back at the condo. Except for small talk
with his trainers, Tyson’s time in the condo was spent just lying around relaxing,
reading, or watching videos. After five weeks, Mike had seen almost every video
in Las Vegas. The idle time affected everyone, even Matt Baranski. “We have a
lot of time on our hands. I lay in the sun. I only eat twice a day. I’d shoot craps
sometimes. Used to shoot a lot.” Then he thought about the big fish that were
biting on Lake Mead nearby. “I love to fish. I’ve got my pole with me this time.
The fight is four weeks from Saturday. I’m counting the days. After a month,
I’m not the only one who’s ready to leave. So are Kevin and Mike. We leave the
next day [after the fight] and very happy to go.”5

On February 26, the International Boxing Federation made an announcement

that stunned the entire boxing world. Michael Spinks had been dethroned for not
signing to fight the top contender, Tony Tucker. Instead, Tucker and James
“Buster” Douglas would square off in May to crown a new champion, the man
who would meet the Tyson-Smith winner in the finale of the HBO Unification
Series. The announcement was a big disappointment for all those associated with
the tournament—HBO, Jacobs and Cayton, and Don King. Michael Spinks was
a bona fide champion, and his presence lent credibility to the box-off. With him
gone, the tournament lost some of its luster. A Tyson-Tucker fight or a Tyson-
Douglas fight was nowhere near as big a fight as a Tyson-Spinks fight would
have been. Don King, as co-promoter of the tournament with Butch Lewis under
the forum of “The Dynamic Duo,” said, “It’s Dynamic Uno now. What Butch
the forum of “The Dynamic Duo,” said, “It’s Dynamic Uno now. What Butch
Lewis has done to the reputation of Michael Spinks is a tragedy.”

The name of Mike Tyson still made the boxing headlines around the country
during February, but an old, familiar name suddenly appeared on the sports
pages. Former heavyweight champion George Foreman began a comeback ten
years after retiring from the ring. The 39-year-old Foreman, in his prime, was
one of the most destructive punchers in boxing history. Holding the record for
the highest knockout percentage in the heavyweight division with 43 KO’s in a
48-fight career, the big Texan stepped into the ring in Sacramento, California,
against journeyman Steve Zouski to resume his career and, hopefully, earn
another title shot. The man who destroyed Joe Frazier in less than two rounds,
and who left Ken Norton a battered hulk, drew only 5,307 fans to Arco Arena to
witness his second debut. Foreman had whittled his weight down from 320
pounds to 267 for the fight, but he was still a long way from his prime fighting
weight of 227. Even so, the blubbery ex-champ was too much for Zouski, who
was rescued by the referee in round four. In a post-fight interview, Foreman, a
preacher since his boxing days, stated that his primary purpose in returning to
the ring was to raise funds for his favorite charity, “The George Foreman Youth
and Recreation Center” in Houston, Texas.

Another announcement that disturbed the HBO tournament officials was the
news that Michael Spinks and Gerry Cooney had signed contracts for a big
money, closed circuit fight to be held in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The bout,
sanctioned for 15 rounds by the New Jersey Athletic Commission, was being
promoted as the “People’s Championship” by the garrulous Butch Lewis and his
co-promoter, millionaire business tycoon and owner of the Trump Hotel and
Casino in Atlantic City, Donald Trump, who was bankrolling the affair. With
Spinks out of the picture, managers Jacobs and Cayton had to evaluate alternate
competitors to match their young champion with throughout the remainder of
1987. With Tyson fighting every two-and-a-half to three months, the Jacobs-
Cayton duo always tried to keep three bouts ahead. The planning strategy now
called for Tyson to defend his title against Tyrell Biggs in May, meet the
Tucker-Douglas winner in August to unify the title, then possibly fight in Japan
against an unknown opponent late in the year. Jim Jacobs had, in fact, been
working with Biggs’ manager, Shelly Finkel, to provide Biggs with credible but
beatable opponents for two or three fights prior to the proposed May meeting.
Jacobs had succeeded in convincing Renaldo Snipes and James “Quick” Tillis to
meet Biggs late in 1986, and Biggs responded with convincing victories. The
March 7 Tyson-Smith title fight would also showcase the flashy 1984 Olympic
superheavyweight champion against rough, tough David Bey. Biggs
superheavyweight champion against rough, tough David Bey. Biggs
remembered sparring with the then 18-year-old Mike Tyson during the Olympic
Trials. “He was trying to knock me down,” he said almost incredulously.
“There’s no doubt about that. That’s the way he always fights. He tries to nail
you. I’ve always thought that, with his style of fighting, he’d be a much better
pro than he was an amateur.” Tyrell Biggs considered himself to be the ultimate
fighting machine, a dazzling boxing master, who was a thinking man in the ring
and who had knockout power. In his mind, Mike Tyson was nothing more than a
street fighter, a ruffian. He dreamed about the day he would dance circles around
the kid from Catskill and take his title away in the process.

Two days before the “Superfight,” a final press conference was held in the
Hilton Showroom. James “Bonecrusher” Smith appeared on the scene, properly
programmed by Don King. “I don’t like being considered a contender going into
this fight. I’m the WBA Champion. Mike is going to bite the dust. He is fighting
the hardest punching heavyweight in the world. ‘Iron Mike’—that’s a lot of bull.
I want to see if he’s made of iron, or if he reacts to pain. Everybody I’ve hit has
shown a reaction.” Tyson listened to the harangue nonplussed as usual. His only
comment in rebuttal was “I’ll do whatever it takes to win.” As Tuesday dawned,
Tyson’s training program began to wind down. He finished his sparring agenda
with six rounds against Broad, Ferguson, and Jameson. The next day, a three-
mile run through town and four rounds on the heavy bag completed Rooney’s
preparations, and the young trainer appeared satisfied with his fighter’s
condition. “We’re ready. Trainin’ is over and we’ll just keep him loose until
fight time.” Mike Jameson felt the sparring partners had done their job creditably
when he commented, “He’s solid. He’s in great shape. He won’t have any
problems.” Many outside observers felt otherwise. They thought Mike Tyson
might be overtrained this time out. There was a feeling in the Tyson camp that
Mike peaked a week and a half before the fight, a sentiment voiced by Rooney
himself. “We wanted to fight last week. Now we’ll just wait it out. He’ll just run
now. If he gets bored, he’ll probably go to the health club and ride the bike.
Otherwise, he’ll just lay around the house.”6

Tyson was up Thursday morning at precisely 4:30, ran the required three miles,
then slipped back into bed until nine. Breakfast consisted entirely of a fruit diet,
but Mike more than made up for it at lunch, devouring a two-pound steak
washed down with eight glasses of water. At 9:30 p.m. it was bedtime. The same
routine was followed both Friday and Saturday with two exceptions. Mike didn’t
run on Saturday, but he did make one trip into town for the official weighin at
11:00. The WBC Champion scaled a tight 219 pounds while the big man from
11:00. The WBC Champion scaled a tight 219 pounds while the big man from
Magnolia, North Carolina, tipped the scales at a trim 233. The next nine hours
were a time of waiting for both Tyson and Smith. Time weighs heavy on the
mind and the nervous system in the hours before a heavyweight championship
fight. The tension builds, the fighters pace their respective hotel rooms
nervously, and the hands of the clock move ahead at an agonizingly slow pace.
Mike Tyson was new to the celebrity game, having been the WBC Heavyweight
Champion for a little over three months, and the circus atmosphere in Las Vegas,
combined with all the pre-fight hype, had taken its toll on the young fighter, both
emotionally and physically.

His frayed nerves became visible by fight time as he made his way down the
center aisle of the Hilton outdoor arena and climbed the steps to the ring. A bald
spot had appeared on the front of his scalp, caused by a nervous disorder
according to the doctor. The same ailment caused his neck and jaw to twist
grotesquely to the left at sporadic intervals. Tyson’s physical and emotional
problems, combined with “Bonecrusher” Smith’s sudden timidity in the presence
of the WBC king, resulted in one of the dullest heavyweight title fights in recent
years. “Bonecrusher” did not come out and attack the kid from Catskill as he had
promised. Instead, he kept away from Tyson’s potent left jabs and right
uppercuts, using a pawing left jab to maintain a reasonable distance between
himself and his adversary. When the WBC champ did venture inside, Smith
wrapped his huge arms around the youngster, tying him up until the referee was
forced to step in and separate the two.

For his part, the 20-year-old slugger fell right in with Smith’s tactics, showing
none of the typical Tyson aggressiveness during the fight. He continually walked
through Smith’s ineffectual parries, but once tied up he made no effort to free
himself, being content to just lay on Smith and wait for the referee’s
intercedence. When he did mount an offensive, he threw only one punch at a
time. Gone were the patented lightning-fast Tyson combinations. Gone were the
punches thrown with bad intentions. In their place were lackadaisical,
mechanical punches executed by a man completely devoid of emotion and
incentive. “Bonecrusher” Smith was severely criticized for his performance in
the fight, but it takes two to tango, and Mike Tyson was an equal, albeit
unintentional, collaborator to the fiasco. Iron Mike did unify the WBC-WBA
titles handily, winning all 12 rounds, but his image was severely tarnished in the
process. The contributing factors for Tyson’s poor showing were many. There
were the early indications that he was overtrained. As Rooney had said, Mike
was ready to go two weeks before the fight, and just marked time during the
was ready to go two weeks before the fight, and just marked time during the
final two weeks. Tyson certainly fought like a man whose reflexes and
incentives had long since passed their peak. There were also the newly
experienced pressures associated with being the heavyweight champion of the
world, with all the invasions of privacy and intrusions on one’s time that
accompany it.

The final stressful incident that befell the troubled boxer occurred during the
fight. An unidentified person telephoned the Hilton Hotel, threatening to kill the
WBC champion. As soon as the fight ended, Hilton security personnel
surrounded the fearful boxer and escorted him from the ring with the admonition
“Stay low.” The ensuing post-fight press conference was chaotic as Tyson tried
to be as inconspicuous as possible. When asked to pose for photographers with
his new WBA belt, Mike declined, saying, “Someone threatened to kill me.”
Again, when a photographer asked Mike to stand up for a picture, the champion
replied, “And get shot? I stand up and ‘boom.’”7

Before the press conference ended, Jim Jacobs informed the mass of reporters
that the new WBC-WBA champ would fight again on HBO on May 30 against
an unnamed opponent. Jacobs had hoped to announce that Tyson would meet the
highly publicized Tyrell Biggs on May 30, but Biggs’ performance on the
undercard of the Tyson-Smith bout erased that possibility. Tyrell Biggs fought a
tough journeyman fighter named David Bey in a match that was supposed to
give Biggs increased credibility and induce the public to clamor for a Tyson-
Biggs confrontation. It failed in all respects. In fact, the Biggs-Bey fight was a
near disaster. The former Olympic king inexplicably decided to stand and slug it
out with the brawler from Philadelphia instead of dancing and boxing as he was
trained to do. He played right into Bey’s hands and, in the fourth round, he took
a sharp right hook to the head that opened a gaping hole over his left eye. To
Biggs’ credit, he was able to regroup and launch a two-fisted offensive that
dropped the tubby challenger to the canvas in the sixth round. Although Bey
regained his feet, referee Richard Steele stopped the onslaught seconds later,
awarding Biggs a TKO victory. Thirty-two stitches were required to close the
ugly wound over Biggs’ eye, causing any possible title fight to be postponed for
at least six to eight months. Mike Tyson’s next logical opponent for the May 30
date appeared to be Pinklon Thomas, the former WBA champion, who had KO’d
Danny Sutton on the same card.

Tyrell Biggs was a semi-tragic figure in the world of professional boxing. A

fighter endowed with unlimited natural ability, a perfect physique for a
heavyweight boxer, and the necessary courage to fight back in the face of
heavyweight boxer, and the necessary courage to fight back in the face of
adversity as he did against David Bey, he was a fighter who could be categorized
as a “loser.” Tyrell Biggs lacked two of the essential ingredients necessary to
become a world champion. First, he lacked the discipline to establish a fight plan
and then stick to it in the ring. Invariably, the Philadelphian got drawn into a
slugging match with his opponent when he should have been exercising the
boxing skills that made him an amateur champion. Biggs had exceptional speed,
both of hand and of foot. He was an outstanding boxer with a good jab and
superior ring generalship. But in a macho mix-up of elementary thinking, he felt
he must be a knockout artist in order to be a respected heavyweight champion.
As a result, at some point in almost every fight, Biggs threw his fight plan to the
winds and slugged it out with his opponent. The most critical flaw in Tyrell
Biggs’ makeup however, was his lack of confidence. The young boxer sounded
confident in pre-fight conversation, but it was all a charade. Biggs had a deep-
rooted feeling of inferiority that obscured his artistic strengths. He would never
be a professional heavyweight champion because of the demons that plagued his
soul, the demons that told him he was not good enough.

Don King, the flamboyant one, threw his usual post-fight celebrity bash in the
Hilton Skyroom, but Tyson and Rooney made only token appearances. Mike
Tyson is not a partygoer. “He likes to have fun on his own,” Rooney said. “He
doesn’t drink or smoke.” Mike Tyson shuns the spotlight whenever possible and,
on this night, with a death threat hanging over his head, he was less inclined than
usual to expose himself in a wide-open ballroom. After greeting the host and
making small talk with some of the guests, Tyson and Rooney excused
themselves and headed back to the safety of their rooms. As the nervous duo
sneaked down the corridor, their apprehension was evident. “When we were
walkin’, I kept looking for someone to come out of the blue,” stated Rooney. “I
kept my eye out.”8

The Tyson entourage left Vegas in force the next morning, Tyson and Rooney
off for several weeks of well-earned vacation, and Jacobs back to New York to
review and evaluate potential new contenders for the champ’s crown. Pinklon
Thomas loomed on the horizon, as did former champion Tony Tubbs, British
heavyweight Frank Bruno, Italian boxer Francesco Damiani, and former
Olympic boxers Tyrell Biggs, Henry Tillman, and Evander Holyfield. Of the
group, Tyson wanted desperately to meet Tillman and Biggs. He had to stand in
their shadows during his amateur days, and he thirsted for revenge. He resented
Biggs intensely because Tyrell was the fair-haired boy of the U.S. Olympic
Committee and was always treated in a royal manner. The Philadelphia fighter
Committee and was always treated in a royal manner. The Philadelphia fighter
was a tall, handsome man, with the face of a movie star and the physique of a
Greek God. He was a fast, clever boxer who was made to order for the rules of
amateur competition. He was given maximum media exposure in international
competition in order to groom him carefully to represent the United States in the
1984 Olympic Games. Mike Tyson, on the other hand, was looked upon as a
street fighter by the pretentious Olympic officials. Henry Tillman was the man
who defeated the inexperienced Tyson in the Olympic Trials elimination
matches in 1984, preventing the Catskill teenager from realizing one of his
childhood dreams. Tyson never forgot that humiliation.

Tyson was destined to meet Tyrell Biggs in the near future, but the chances of a
return match with Henry Tillman were exceedingly remote. Tillman was a
cruiserweight and not a world class cruiserweight at that. He did get off to a fast
start in the professional ranks, winning the NABF Cruiserweight Title in less
than 18 months by knocking out Bashiru Ali in the first round in Las Vegas on
April 22, 1986. He subsequently lost the title to “Smokin’” Bert Cooper in his
first title defense the following June. After racking up four more victories, the
California fighter tried to recapture his past glory by winning the WBA
cruiserweight belt from his old friend, Evander Holyfield, in a February bout in
Reno, Nevada. It was no contest from the start. The talented Holyfield made
Tillman his 14th consecutive victim, and tenth knockout victim, in a convincing
manner. The classy champion staggered his Olympic buddy in every round,
flooring him in the second. Tillman demonstrated great courage, but the rapidly
improving Holyfield had the heavier artillery. In the seventh round, Carlos
Padilla stopped the carnage after Holyfield dropped Tillman to the canvas for the
third time. Tillman would probably never fight Mike Tyson, but the impressive
Holyfield loomed as a definite threat to the heavyweight champion, perhaps in
1988 or 1989.

Mike Tyson and Kevin Rooney spent several weeks basking in the sun and
unwinding from the pressure cooker of a Las Vegas championship fight. They
would have to return to the ring wars soon enough to get ready for the next title
defense, against the dangerous Thomas. But for 14 glorious days, Kevin Rooney
and his family lounged around the snow-white sands of the Bahamas, while
Tyson alternated his time between New York and Los Angeles. As a guest on
the Today show, Mike told an amused Bryant Gumbel, “I’m still a kid and I
don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life when I grow up.” While
Tyson and Rooney were taking it easy, it was business as usual in the offices of
Big Fights, Inc. Jacobs and Cayton were trying to lure former champ Larry
Holmes out of retirement à la Joe Louis and Muhammad Ali. Negotiations
continued unabated for three days, but ended in failure when Holmes’ demands
became unreasonable. The Easton entrepreneur demanded half a million up
front, another $3.5 million after the fight, plus a percentage of the gate. Cayton
wanted to get Holmes in the ring to add luster to Tyson’s record. “Larry Holmes
is a highly skilled fighter. He would make the fight very competitive.” But $4
million plus was too much to pay for luster.

Mike Tyson rolled into Catskill one weekend just long enough to indulge
himself in two new automobiles—a chauffeur-driven 1987 Rolls Royce and a
sleek 1987 Jaguar. Then he was off again, back to Hollywood to hang out with
his entertainment buddies. It was there that the young champion’s life made a
sudden and irreversible change. During dinner with friends one evening, the
Catskill boxer was captivated by a young, female patron nearby, an ivory-
skinned beauty named Robin Givens. Mike imposed on comedian John Horne to
introduce him to Robin, and from the first moment he met her, the champion was
lost, bitten by the love bug—and it was a fatal bite. The sophisticated Givens,
one of the stars of the television show Head of the Class, quickly replaced Lisa
Bonet in Mike Tyson’s heart. On their first date, the young couple dined at Le
Dome Restaurant in Hollywood, accompanied by Robin’s mother, Ruth Roper,
and her sister, Stephanie.

Before Tyson could begin a courtship, however, he had to return to New York
for a business obligation, followed by a visit to England to attend the
heavyweight fight between the pride of Clapham, Frank Bruno, and the ever-
present James “Quick” Tillis. At La Guardia Airport, the American press were
still pressing the champion to explain the bald spot and the neck twitch that were
evident during the Smith fight. Jim Jacobs’ explanation, obviously the party line,
was that the bald spot was the result of a mistake by a Las Vegas barber, and the
neck twitch was just Mike’s way of loosening up. Funny, Mike never loosened
up that way before. The explanations were weak. The cause was obvious
(nerves), and the prognosis was good (the nervous disorder would disappear by
the end of the year as Mike Tyson became more comfortable in his new
celebrity). When asked about a prediction for the Bruno fight, Tyson declined to
comment, but Kevin Rooney volunteered his opinion. “I hope Bruno wins. He’s
a big, strong guy. He’d be a good opponent for Mike.” Remembering the time in
1983, when the 16-year-old Junior Olympic Champion stepped into the ring to
spar with the British professional at Grossinger’s Resort in upstate New York,
Rooney said, “They boxed five or six times. Mike held his own then. Now he
has more experience so he should do better.”9

Across the big pond, the Tyson group was surrounded by British newsmen as
soon as they deplaned at Heathrow Airport. The world champion politely posed
for photos, decked out in a new British “bowler,” with his WBC and WBA belts
slung over his shoulder. After a day of rest, Tyson and his managers sat down
with representatives of Frank Bruno to discuss a possible future championship
match. Initial talks revolved around money, location, and date. British promoter
Mike Barrett pushed for a late-summer date in Wembley Stadium, a time frame
and location that was amenable to Jacobs and Cayton. As Cayton stated, “We
want Mike to do what Muhammad Ali did, fight all over the world.” The final
arrangements, of course, would depend on Bruno’s performance against Tillis,
as well as Tyson’s schedule in the Unification Series.

On Wednesday, March 24, with Mike Tyson at ringside, 3,000 spectators filed
into the vast soccer stadium to witness the British Commonwealth Champion in
action. The powerful Brit didn’t disappoint. He scored an impressive fifth-round
KO over the Oklahoma cowboy, racking up his 29th knockout in his 29th
victory. His only two losses were also via knockout, to former WBA champions
Tim Witherspoon and “Bonecrusher” Smith. Mike Tyson was impressed with
Bruno’s performance. “Bruno did a tremendous job and I’m looking forward to
meeting him in the ring.” Manager Bill Cayton was equally impressed with the
British heavyweight. “I have never seen anyone destroy Tillis like this. Bruno
was brilliant, and remember, Tillis gave Mike his hardest fight.”

While Tyson was out of the country, the Nevada State Supreme Court lifted its
injunction against Michael Spinks. Now that Spinks had been stripped of his IBF
title, he was automatically eliminated from the HBO Unification Series and was
free to fight whomever he pleased. Butch Lewis immediately announced that the
“People’s Championship” between his fighter and Gerry Cooney would be
viewed on closed circuit television from the Atlantic City Convention Center.
The arrangements called for Spinks to receive a guaranteed $7 million, while his
opponent was assured of $5 million against a percentage of the gate.

Back in the States again, the love-sick Tyson headed straight for the west coast,
determined to woo and win the ravishing Givens. The 22-year-old beauty was,
like Tyson, a New Yorker. Born on Seymour Avenue in the Bronx, she managed
to escape the inner city syndrome thanks to the efforts of her strong-willed
mother. Ruth Roper scrimped and saved so she could send her daughter to
private schools, determined to see to it that Robin would marry rich. After
private schools, determined to see to it that Robin would marry rich. After
attending the exclusive Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, the statuesque
Givens applied to Harvard University for entrance into its pre-medical program
but, on the advice of actor Bill Cosby, changed her plans in mid-stream and
entered the acting profession instead. The Givens-Tyson relationship got off to a
stormy beginning, mutual attraction being interspersed with frequent heated
arguments. Mike Tyson had been a conqueror of women throughout his early
life, and he was used to pursuing a woman until she succumbed to his charm and
his advances. Then, having won the prize, he would discard her and move on in
search of another challenge.

In Robin Givens, Mike Tyson more than met his match. Givens was not a starry-
eyed teeny bopper in pursuit of local athletic heroes. She was a strong-willed,
well-educated, confident individual whose goal in life was to be famous and
wealthy. She had associated with celebrities for years and had dated such well-
known personalities as comedian Eddie Murphy and basketball superstar
Michael Jordan. She was not overly impressed with the heavyweight boxing
champion of the world. She enjoyed being in Tyson’s company, but she was not
a hero worshipper and did not fawn over the champ like his usual female
companions did. Many times, when the refined Givens resisted his will, Tyson
would go into a tirade, often resulting in a physical punching match between the
two. At one point in their relationship, the champ presented Robin with a four
carat diamond, which he coyly referred to as a “friendship” ring. Within weeks,
Robin returned the ring following another of their domestic wars. The Tyson-
Givens duo was the entertainment world’s new “odd couple.” Tyson, the
tattooed Brooklyn street thug, and Givens, the refined beauty from Scarsdale,
were 180 degrees out of phase with each other culturally. Yet, strangely enough,
they also seemed to complement each other. They had many common interests—
a sense of humor, the love of music, the need for close family ties, and the value
of a career. In their differences, they tried to teach each other love and respect.
The street kid imparted his wisdom on positive thinking, a strong work ethic,
and love of children. For her part, Robin instructed Mike in culture, financial
management, and the value of publicity to one’s career.

It was a strange, stormy relationship that should have ended as soon as it began.
Unfortunately, the two protagonists yielded to lust and would be married on
February 7, 1988. The marriage would end one year later on Valentine’s Day,
after 12 months of what Robin told Barbara Walters during a televised interview
was “pure hell.” It was pure hell on both their parts. But the beginning of the
marriage seemed to be idyllic. Robin and Mike spent the Easter weekend in
marriage seemed to be idyllic. Robin and Mike spent the Easter weekend in
Catskill, quietly enjoying the upstate New York scenery and solitude. Mike
taught Robin how to shoot pool in the upstairs bedroom. He introduced his new
girl to his “family” of pigeons in the front yard, even letting her hold them and
pet them. And he displayed his beautiful girlfriend to all his friends in town.
Robin took time to get to know Camille over the weekend, impressing the older
woman with her manners and her charm.

Tyson’s life became a whirlwind of activity following his demolition of the

WBA king “Bonecrusher” Smith. The demands on his personal time became
much greater, with hundreds of offers pouring in to the headquarters of Big
Fights, Inc. Even so, the new heavyweight king had more time for himself as
champion. In the old days of Cus D’Amato and the Catskill Boxing Club, Mike
Tyson trained seven days a week in preparation for his bi-weekly bouts. As
champion, he was limited to four or five title defenses a year, requiring a
maximum total training time of 30 weeks. The remaining 22 to 28 weeks were
divided between business commitments and vacation time. Mike Tyson, the
heavyweight champion of the world, had an excess of free time to enjoy himself
and an unlimited amount of money to indulge his every whim. But once he had
become infatuated with the bewitching young actress, much of Mike’s free time
was spent in the air between New York and California.

Early one spring day, the champ received a phone call from Jim Bouton, a
former major league pitcher with the New York Yankees and author of the
controversial baseball expose, Ball Four. Bouton was now a member of the
board of directors of the Young Adult Institute (YAI), an agency that served
mentally retarded and developmentally disabled young adults in New York City.
He was looking for a celebrity who would devote not only his name but also his
time to the forgotten individuals of YAI. He found the perfect person in Mike
Tyson. The former Brooklyn street urchin knew what it was like to be
underprivileged and emotionally handicapped, and he approached the project as
he would a fight. He waded in with both fists flying, determined to help the kids
singlehanded. These young adults wanted to make a useful life for themselves,
but they needed help, the kind of help that a Mike Tyson could give. YAI
members were handicapped, but not to the point of having to be institutionalized.
They could support themselves if given the opportunity. Jim Bouton and the
other YAI volunteers were trying to purchase private brownstone homes in the
city to house the young adults in a supervised, dormitory style environment,
giving these people a chance to experience a normal, dignified life.

YAI also created a workforce that contracted jobs from private industry, small
YAI also created a workforce that contracted jobs from private industry, small
packing-type operations, or other types of manual functions that could be carried
out under close supervision. But the institute suffered, as do most organizations
of its type, from a lack of funds necessary to purchase and staff a private home
for young adults. There were still 1,400 New Yorkers waiting to get into a home,
the average wait being an agonizing ten years. Mike Tyson, for one, was
appalled by that statistic. He did contribute his name to help the Institute raise
funds to support their programs, but he did much more. He also contributed his
time, spending several days with Jim Bouton in New York, visiting one of the
brownstones, working with the young adults, and playing games with them. His
visits were dutifully recorded by several news organizations including ABC,
HBO, and Don King and Mike Tyson Productions. The residents of YAI were
thrilled to be in the presence of the heavyweight champion. One bashful young
lady, wearing a Pepsi Cola baseball cap, expressed the feelings of all the young
adults when she said, almost unbelievingly, “It’s a great big thrill. Michael
Tyson is here.” She timidly approached Mike in the playground to shake his
hand and, after the champ gave her his hand, he patted her on the shoulder, a
simple gesture that overwhelmed the girl. “Oh my God. He touched my
shoulder.” Later in the day, Tyson worked with the young adults in their
basement workshop, helping pack plastic utensils and sugar into wax paper bags,
one of the menial tasks performed by them to earn money. At one point, Mike
Tyson leaned over and gave his working companion an affectionate kiss on the
cheek. The young girl blushed and shyly bowed her head, embarrassed. “I do
love you, Mike,” she giggled. To a visitor, she exclaimed, “I love this guy a lot.”

That was the effect Mike Tyson had on all the members of the YAI. He could
relate to them on their own level. He played basketball with them, worked
alongside them in the basement, listened to music and danced with them,
exchanged stories with them, hugged them and gave them love. He even boxed
with a few of the young men in the gym and took a knockout punch from one
excited opponent who nipped him on the chin. The champ toppled backward to
the floor and lay motionless on the mat while another boxing enthusiast tolled
the fatal ten count. As most people discover when they work to help others, they
receive much more than they give. Mike Tyson was no different. “I hurt when I
see these people. They are sentenced and they never did a crime.” Arnold
Schwarzenegger, who watched Mike work with the challenged athletes at the
Special Olympics, said, “You can see the love he has in him. He wants to share.”
Tyson confirmed that statement. “I never realized, but I’m the kind of person
that gets the biggest satisfaction from giving more than receiving.”
The heavyweight champion sought to help the less fortunate wherever he was,
visiting handicapped children in Atlantic City, feeding homeless people in
Cleveland, handing out truckloads of turkeys to poor people on Thanksgiving in
Cleveland, and marching in parades and soliciting financial support for
charitable causes in New York.

The idyllic nights of March soon gave way to the rainy spring days of April, and
soon it was time to go back into the gym and prepare for another title defense.
Mike’s extended social life had taken a bigger toll on his body this time than
before the Smith fight. He reported to Rooney weighing a blubbery 237 pounds,
21 pounds over his best fighting weight. The layer of fat that covered his
midsection when he began training in January had turned into a noticeable
paunch this time, and hung grotesquely over the top of his trunks. A friend
described him as looking like a fat, little old man. As before, the atmosphere in
Catskill was not conducive to getting the fighter in top condition. The champ
played hooky the second day of camp, opting to wheel his 12-cylinder Jag to
Albany to visit friends instead of enduring the painful grind of the gymnasium
routine. Mike’s life in the fishbowl made it difficult for him to concentrate on his
work. He went into training for Pinklon Thomas on Thursday, April 16, with
some light gym work. The following Tuesday, the Cus D’Amato Gym was
ablaze with floodlights as Mike Tyson worked on one of his many television
commercials, this one a 30-second shot for Kodak. The actual shooting took
seven and a half hours to complete, as the champ was photographed going
through his normal paces such as shadow boxing and jumping rope. The training
session was cancelled again on Wednesday to allow Mike to travel to New York
City to attend a press conference for the upcoming fight. And on Thursday, a
Japanese film crew moved back into the dingy gym to film a television special
on the young heavyweight sensation. Life in the fishbowl was hectic, and
occasionally nerve-wracking.

Even Robin came east for a visit. Mike sent a stretch limo to New York to meet
her at the airport and escort her back to Ewald House. She spent the following
day at the gym watching the champ in action. Relaxation for the pair consisted
of shooting pool, playing ping pong, “sloppin’” the pigeons, and taking long
hand-held strolls along the banks of the Hudson. Mike Tyson was in the process
of becoming domesticated, but he didn’t know it at the time.

Life continued hectic in the tiny New York hamlet. Training camp was only a
minor diversion instead of the all-consuming crusade it must be for a
heavyweight champion. Outside the gym, Mike was involved in numerous civic
heavyweight champion. Outside the gym, Mike was involved in numerous civic
functions. One night, he threw out the first ball at the season opener for the Class
AA Albany-Colonie Yankees. Another night, he made a guest appearance at the
Empire State Convention Center boxing matches featuring the number one WBC
featherweight contender, Buddy McGirt.

On Wednesday, April 29, Mike Tyson and Kevin Rooney traveled to New York
for another press conference at the Waldorf Astoria. Pinklon Thomas, like most
of his predecessors, arrived with his courage on his sleeve, deriding and
denigrating the champion. “Hey, little man with the squeaky voice,” pointing to
Tyson, “Is your name Michael Jackson or Mike Tyson?” Tyson eyed the
challenger disgustedly. “Show a little respect in front of your lady.” Thomas
continued to rant and rave during the proceedings, predicting dire consequences
for the kid from Catskill. “I’m not gonna tell you how, but I’m gonna whup him.
He doesn’t belong in the same ring with me.” Tyson told reporters that he
expected a short fight. When pressed as to when the fight might end, Tyson said,
“As soon as he gets hit.”10

The following week, 2,000 miles west of Catskill, the eyes of the boxing world
were focused on Las Vegas, Nevada, for what would turn out to be the boxing
event of 1987. It was the highly publicized match between the undisputed
middleweight champion, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, and the charismatic
challenger, “Sugar Ray” Leonard. This was the richest fight of all time, as
thousands of boxing fans crammed into theatres and arenas all over the country,
paying an estimated $60 million to watch the Sugar Man, with a record of 34–1
with 22 knockouts, attempt to wrest the middleweight crown from the head of
the awesome champion, whose record was an imposing 62–3–2 with 52 KO’s.
Hagler was a heavy favorite. Not only was Leonard moving up in weight class,
but he had been relatively inactive in recent years, having fought only once since
retiring in 1982 with a detached retina. His last fight, against Kevin Howard on
May 11, 1984, was unsatisfying to him, and he went back into retirement. But a
match with Hagler gave him the incentive he needed, and he returned to the ring
wars one more time, determined to carve out a niche in boxing history. The fans
who crowded the closed circuit TV outlets, and the 15,336 fans who paid to
witness the event live in the parking lot outside Caesars Palace, were not
disappointed. It was a great strategic battle, particularly on Leonard’s part.
Leonard fought the perfect fight, maintaining a safe distance between himself
and the aggressive Hagler most of the time, his circling and jabbing tactics
frustrating the Brockton brawler, who wanted to stand toe-to-toe and mix it up.
Leonard occasionally did stop and slug it out with the Marvelous One, but only
Leonard occasionally did stop and slug it out with the Marvelous One, but only
for brief intervals. Leonard danced on the balls of his feet like a Broadway ballet
star for three rounds, but the long layoff took its toll. His motion slowed
noticeably from the fourth round on, and by the ninth round his tank was empty.
Only his champion’s heart spurred him on and allowed him to trade punches
with the middleweight king. Leonard actually won two of the last three rounds
on guts alone. His late-fight heroics clinched a split decision.

Another important fight, at least from Tyson’s point of view, took place several
weeks later. Former Olympic teammate Evander Holyfield took on Rickey
Parkey for the IBF cruiserweight title. Holyfield, the WBA Junior Heavyweight
Champion, at 15–0 with 11 KO’s, had ambitions of moving up to the
heavyweight division in 1988 and eventually challenging Tyson for the big
crown. His performance against Parkey only added to his reputation as a
possible future heavyweight contender. The action was head-to-head for two
rounds but, in round three, the powerful Holyfield dropped the tough Parkey
twice to end the fight and annex the IBF crown.

Next it was Tyson’s turn. May 30 arrived almost without notice. The day before
the fight, the champion was surrounded by a crowd of yelling, screaming fans as
he pushed his way into the Hilton for the official weighin ceremony. It was a
new experience for the 20-year-old hero. He was mobbed by fans wherever he
went—New York, Los Angeles, Brooklyn, even Catskill. But he was learning to
deal with it and to accept it as the price for fame. “I prefer to be alone, but it’s no
problem. They don’t mean any harm. It’s not like they’re tryin’ to assassinate
me. I’d probably do the same thing if I saw Mickey Mantle on the street.” The
champion, seeking his 30th victory, watched the balance beam stop at 218¾
pounds as dozens of flashbulbs popped, recording the event for posterity. The
challenger came in a pound lighter. Angelo Dundee, Thomas’ trainer, tried to
unsettle the New York youngster by announcing he had a hidden camera in
Johnny Tocco’s Gym and had recorded Tyson’s training sessions. “Tyson is
vulnerable. He was off balance. Pinklon can and will beat him.” Kevin Rooney,
openly amused by Dundee’s statements, retorted, “If they had a hidden camera
watching Mike Tyson sparrin’, then Thomas wouldn’t show up for the fight.”
Tyson was equally unimpressed. “I don’t recall Angelo ever scoring a
knockout.” The heavyweight king was looking forward to this match with great
anticipation. After his lackluster performance against “Bonecrusher” Smith,
Tyson was determined to make amends against Thomas. “He’s a very worthy
opponent. I was lookin’ forward to this fight even before I was champion. This is
the fight in which I’m gonna prove I’m the best fighter in the world.”11
The 6'3" Thomas, out of Pontiac, Michigan, was considered by many experts to
be the cream of the crop, the best heavyweight in the world, outside of Tyson.
He boasted a 29–1–1 professional record and had scored 24 knockouts over a
ten-year career. The big heavyweight was, at one time, the WBC Champion,
having taken the title from Tim Witherspoon on a 12-round decision. He
subsequently defended his crown with an impressive eighth-round KO of hard-
punching Mike Weaver, but relinquished the crown to the smiling Jamaican,
Trevor Berbick, on a 12-round decision on March 22, 1986. Now it was revenge
time for Pinklon Thomas, time to reclaim the crown. But first he had to destroy
the man who stood between him and his objective, “Iron Mike” Tyson, or the
“Baddest Man on the Planet,” as Tyson likes to call himself. Thomas promised
he would challenge Tyson on a man-to-man basis. “I’ll be there. He won’t have
to look for me. And I’ll throw the first punch.” Manager Jim Jacobs was under
the weather physically, complaining of back problems, but he made the effort to
attend the festivities in the desert. His partner, Bill Cayton, was not so fortunate.
Laid up in the hospital with a heart ailment, Cayton would have to view the fight
on HBO.

Saturday, May 30. Fight night. Another sellout crowd of 12,000 people
surrounded the ring in the parking lot of the Las Vegas Hilton. The desert air
was stifling, with the temperature approaching the 90-degree mark by the time
Tyson and Thomas entered the ring at approximately 10:45 p.m. Eastern
Daylight Time. Thomas desperately wanted his title back. Mike Tyson wanted to
obliterate the memory of the “Bonecrusher” affair. Tyson had the greater
incentive. The champion from upstate New York attacked the taller fighter
ferociously in round one, intent on ending the brawl quickly and decisively. He
stunned the challenger with a two-fisted attack early in the round. A left hook to
the head hurt the Michigan fighter, and Tyson quickly followed with two more
damaging hooks. It was a blazing start for the newly crowned champion, and he
continued his non-stop rampage into the second minute of the fight. It was
obvious that Mike Tyson was bent on the complete destruction of his more
experienced foe. Pinklon Thomas tried to fight back in center ring, but his feeble
jabs and hooks were ineffective against the Tyson onslaught. Mike literally
overpowered him. As the round drew to a close, a big left hook by Tyson,
thrown out of a crouch, staggered the confused ex-champion, and a following
right drove him into the ropes. In the final 30 seconds, a 15-to 20-punch barrage
by the 20-year-old Catskill native had Thomas on the brink, but failed to put the
rugged heavyweight away. Although it was a big round for the champion, it was
to Thomas’ credit that he survived the frantic three-minute attack. Pinklon
Thomas was a tough, experienced heavyweight who had never been knocked off
Thomas was a tough, experienced heavyweight who had never been knocked off
his feet as a professional. He had a granite chin, a chin that had absorbed some
mighty blows from the best of the heavyweights during his ten years in the ring,
and he showed that side of his character to young Mike Tyson in round one.

As round two progressed, the fight slowed noticeably. Tyson, realizing that his
opponent was not going to cave in at the first opportunity, and mindful of the
oppressive desert heat that beat down incessantly on the exposed ring, decided to
conserve his energy and wait for an opening. Thomas, after seeing Tyson’s
aggressive tactics in round one, also changed his fight plan. He chose to keep
away from Tyson’s heavy artillery, tying his man up whenever the two came to
close quarters. As the rounds ticked away, the tempo of the fight seemed to
swing slowly toward the challenger, Pinklon Thomas. But that was only so much
smoke. Actually Tyson could feel his adversary tiring, and he was determined to
press the advantage in round six. Kevin Rooney implored his young charge to
return to the basics. “Go to the body hard.” But the kid from Brownsville could
smell the end coming. “Give me one more round.” The patient champion stalked
his man for the first minute of the round. Then, as the two fighters lay on each
other’s shoulders, the final act began to unfold. Tyson initiated the old 8–2 as
laid out by Cus D’Amato. A right hook sank deep into the challenger’s rib cage.
At the same instant, the champ took one step back and to the side, and unleashed
a lightning-like right uppercut that drove Thomas’ head skyward. Seconds later,
a sizzling left hook found Thomas’ unprotected chin, knocking him back on his
heels. A follow-up right put the Michigan heavyweight on Queer Street. Now it
was just a matter of time. A vicious 15-punch assault, led by left hooks and right
uppercuts, ensued. Thomas stumbled backward, eyes glazed, hands hanging
helplessly at his side. A final left hook crashed into his jaw, putting the
courageous challenger on his back for the ten count. It was an impressive
performance by the young king of the heavyweights, more so against a man who
had fought the biggest bombers in the division and had never been off his feet.
After the fight, an excited Tyson said, “I knew from watching his previous fights
that he tended to get tired around the seventh round. I had seen him gasping for
air.”12

In the other bout of the evening, Tony “TNT” Tucker became the new IBF
heavyweight champion by knocking out James “Buster” Douglas in the tenth
round of a scheduled 15-rounder. Tucker, fighting out of Houston, Texas, ran his
undefeated skein to 34 straight with his 30th knockout, as he disposed of
Douglas, 23–3–1, a 4–1 underdog, with a furious flurry that left the Ohio
heavyweight defenseless on the ropes. The final fight of the HBO Unification
heavyweight defenseless on the ropes. The final fight of the HBO Unification
Series was now a reality. WBA-WBC king Mike Tyson and IBF Champion
Tony Tucker would square off in the ring at the Las Vegas Hilton on the evening
of August 1 for 15 rounds of boxing—or less. The winner would be the proud
owner, and the sole owner, of all three belts, and would be the undisputed
heavyweight champion of the world. Mike Tyson was sure to be an
overwhelming favorite to own those three belts when the sun rose on August 2.
Time would tell if that scenario would become a reality.

There were many interested observers at the fight, but none more personally
involved than Gerry Cooney and Michael Spinks. Cooney’s manager, Dennis
Rappaport, watched the proceedings with dollar signs reflecting off his eyeballs,
anticipating a possible Tyson-Cooney matchup. “If Tyson keeps knocking out
his opponents, and when Gerry knocks out Spinks, the two will lock horns in
what will be the biggest heavyweight championship fight in boxing history.”
Butch Lewis and Michael Spinks were beating their own drum at the same time.
Spinks, who referred to himself as the “People’s Champion,” scoffed at Tyson’s
titles. “Tyson won a couple of meaningless belts, but the people know who the
real champion is.” Tyson, annoyed at the constant badgering from the Spinks
camp, retaliated, “Anyone who thinks Spinks is the heavyweight champion, you
have to question their mentality.”13

Now that the Tyson-Thomas match was history, “The War at the Shore”
between Michael Spinks and Gerry Cooney hit the front pages of the sports
papers. It was being advertised as the “People’s Championship.” It was hardly
that, but it would produce a bona fide challenger for Tyson’s crown, someone
who could attract a generous gate. The great hype for “The War at the Shore,”
unfortunately, fell far short of its objective. The event turned out to be a financial
disaster. The live gate at the Convention Center was a sellout, but the closed
circuit outlets across the country experienced a lack of fan interest, many of
them cancelling the telecast due to slow ticket sales. One Philadelphia
promoter’s show was typical of the situation across the country. “I sold 80 to 85
percent of all available seats for Hagler-Leonard. If I do 20 percent for this fight,
I’ll be lucky.” Still, all the principals in the boxing business made sure they were
in Atlantic City to witness the battle and to wheel and deal for future attractions.
Mike was there, accompanied by his lady.

As the two combatants made their way to the ring, Cooney was a slight favorite.
The big Irishman, all 6'7" of him, looked to be in excellent condition at a solid
238 pounds. Spinks, at 208¾, was still looked upon as a light heavyweight in
238 pounds. Spinks, at 208¾, was still looked upon as a light heavyweight in
most quarters. The feeling was that his 30–0 record with 20 knockouts wouldn’t
hold up against the big New Yorker. “Gentleman Gerry,” 28–1 with 24 KO’s,
was expected to chop the smaller man down within five rounds. As 15,732 fans
looked on with curiosity and some amusement, the little man showed no respect
for his bigger foe in the opening round. Spinks boxed beautifully, dancing
around the slow-footed Cooney, keeping him at bay with solid, well-timed jabs.
Occasionally, the former IBF champ even stepped in and mixed it up with the
Long Island slugger. It was obvious that Cooney was confused. He didn’t know
how to combat Spinks’ strategy. Spinks was in and out, jabbing and dancing,
then moving in quickly with a flurry of solid shots to the big man’s head.
“Gentleman Gerry” could see openings, but he was too slow to react to them. By
the time he set up to punch, the will-o-the-wisp Spinks was gone.

Rounds one and two went to Spinks easily, as the plodding Cooney followed his
man around the ring helplessly. A clash of heads opened a gash over Spinks’
right eye in round three. Even though the corner controlled the cut effectively,
Spinks fought from a defensive posture in round four, losing the round on all
cards. By round five, the former IBF champion had regrouped mentally and
came out firing at the start of the round. He attacked the big heavyweight with
abandon, raining more than 50 telling punches on Cooney’s body. A right hook
dropped Cooney in a neutral corner for a five count. Spinks was on his man
again, bombarding the disillusioned Irishman with numerous punches to the
head. Again Cooney slumped to the canvas under the accumulation of blows,
only to arise to absorb more punishment. Referee Frank Cappuccino was finally
forced to step in and halt the action as Spinks unleashed a constant barrage of
unanswered punches on his timid opponent.

In less than 15 minutes of boxing, Michael Spinks’ image changed drastically.

No more was he considered to be an inflated light heavyweight. His total
destruction of Gerry Cooney vaulted the Philadelphia fighter into the forefront of
the heavyweights, a logical challenger for Mike Tyson’s crown. Michael Spinks
may have been the smartest fighter in the ring at that time. His philosophy, “I
know I’m going to win. I just don’t know how,” had served him in good stead
through ten years of professional challenges. Spinks liked to get in the ring and
see what his opponent had. Then he did what he had to do to win. Whether that
strategy would suffice against the pressing, hard-punching champion remained
to be seen. Manager Butch Lewis orchestrated Spinks’ escape from the HBO
tournament in order to reap monetary rewards from a Cooney fight, although
most boxing experts felt he had committed a monumental blunder. The victory
vindicated Lewis and cast him as a promotional genius.14

Down the street at the Sands Hotel/Casino, another fistic challenge was in
progress as “Smokin’ Joe” Frazier tangled with Larry Holmes in a clash of
former champions. This time, however, the field of battle was a stage instead of
a ring, and the weapons were microphones and electronic amplifiers instead of
boxing gloves. The two heavyweights exchanged musical jabs and uppercuts for
90 minutes, backed up by their respective groups, the Knockouts and the
Marmalades. Though serious musical talent was lacking on both sides, Frazier’s
greater experience and stage generalship gave him the victory by a wide margin.
The winner happily danced offstage to the mournful cries of “I’m still Smokin’.”

Another potential challenger for Tyson’s crown took his second step forward on
the comeback trail. Big George Foreman, still a flabby 249 pounds, disposed of
club fighter Charlie Hostetter at 2:01 of round three. Foreman looked better than
he had in his previous fight. He was 18 pounds lighter and showed a stiff left jab,
but it was a crushing right uppercut that put Hostetter’s lights out. It was
doubtful that Foreman could ever come back far enough to seriously challenge
Mike Tyson, but the Cruiserweight Champ, Evander Holyfield, was still making
noises in that direction. After disposing of Oscar Ocasio to up his record to 16–0,
the Alabama youngster announced his plans to move up in weight class. He
added a physical fitness expert to his staff to design a program to make him a
full-fledged heavyweight à la Michael Spinks. Carrying 186 pounds on his 6'1"
frame, Holyfield anticipated adding 30 pounds to bring him up to a solid 215
pounds before he challenged Tyson. He launched his first challenge at the
heavyweight king. “I hope nobody busts Mike’s bubble before I get a chance.”

Back in Catskill, Mike Tyson had to listen to more criticism of his boxing
ability. In spite of his sixth-round knockout of Thomas, his performance was still
panned by boxing writers in some quarters. “He doesn’t punch out in clinches.”
“He doesn’t work the body enough.” “He head hunts.” “He doesn’t use the jab
enough.” “He’s a slugger, not a boxer.” His defensive skills were still going
unnoticed, largely because all attention was focused on his electrifying offensive
skills. But Mike Tyson was a superb defensive fighter. After 43 amateur fights
and 31 professional fights, his face was unmarked. As Jim Jacobs was fond of
stating, “If you met Mike immediately after a fight, you wouldn’t know what his
profession was. He carries no scars of battle.”
Rooney taping Tyson’s hands in the gym (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

Six weeks till Unification time. Rooney and Tyson set up camp on Main Street
to begin the champ’s conditioning program. According to the recently
vanquished Pinklon Thomas, Mr. “TNT” Tucker was going to have his hands
full on August 1. “It was the first time I was down. Mike is going to be one
tough cookie to crack.”15 The final weekend of June, the championship team of
Tyson, Rooney, Lott, and Baranski boarded a 3 p.m. flight at La Guardia and
headed west—to Las Vegas—to the Hilton Hotel—and to glory. Along the way,
the heavyweight champion continued to learn the steep price he would be forced
to pay for fame. Each day, in some way or other, he discovered that his private
life was a thing of the past. Every action and comment was put under a
microscope and meticulously dissected by the men and women of the press.
More often than not, these so-called journalists searched in hope of uncovering
some sensational tidbit of information that could be made into an “expose.”
Violence and sex were preferred.
Before starting his final training program in Vegas, the kid from Catskill paid
one last visit to his girlfriend in Hollywood. He and Robin attended a rock
concert at the Greek Theatre, where they were entertained by Run-DMC and the
Beastie Boys. After the show, an incident in the VIP parking lot brought the
champ more unwelcome headlines. Allegedly, the energetic Tyson grabbed a
female parking lot attendant, Tabita Gonzalez, and tried to kiss her. Supervisor
Jonathan Casares heard her screams and raced to her rescue on an electric golf
cart, only to be faced with the menacing visage of the heavyweight champion of
the world. According to Casares, as he attempted to free the girl, Tyson grabbed
him and struck him in the face with the heel of his hand, bloodying his lip and
nose. Casares and Gonzalez filed a complaint with the City Attorney’s Office,
and Tyson was subsequently charged with two counts of assault and battery with
a dangerous weapon—a professional boxer’s hands. A hearing was scheduled
for August 26. In the meantime, the champ was released in his own
recognizance. If found guilty, Mike Tyson faced up to 18 months in jail plus a
fine of $12,000.16

As the newspapers were having a field day with the 21-year-old king of the ring,
manager Bill Cayton raced to his defense. “Things are blown all out of
proportion if there’s a way to make a gain.”17 Mike Tyson himself professed his
innocence. “Anyone can think and say what they want. But those who know me
know what happened. That’s all I have to worry about. Those who I love and
who love me.” The young boxer was glad to get back to Las Vegas. He was well
protected in the training camp, and Kevin Rooney made sure that Mike had an
escort wherever he went. Still, the tight security did not guarantee peace and
quiet. There were rumors of a rift between the fighter and his trainer, a charge
that Rooney strongly denied. “All that talk is bull. It’s like a joke to me. It
doesn’t affect me or Mike. We’re stickin’ to our plan and not lettin’ all the
distractions bother us.”18

On July 24, Mike Tyson mysteriously disappeared from camp, once again giving
the boys in the tabloids new fodder to digest. “Tyson deserts training camp.”
“Tyson and Rooney feud in Vegas.” “Tyson becoming basket case now that he’s
champ.” The men of the press did not know where Mike Tyson was, nor did they
know why he left camp. But they talked like they did. They pieced together
fragments of stories from several different sources. They deduced the events of
the day based on previous rumors. Or they just concocted the stories out of their
vivid imaginations. In any case, the stories would titillate their readers. Their
stories, as usual, were wrong. Mike Tyson’s adopted mother, Camille Ewald,
was sick, bedded down in Catskill with the flu. Mike was worried about her
was sick, bedded down in Catskill with the flu. Mike was worried about her
health and eventually had to tear himself away from camp and go back to
Catskill to visit her. Mike’s friends knew where he was at all times. In fact, the
champ made a surprise guest appearance in the paper hat parade at the Old
Catskill Days street festival on July 26. In spite of all the outside legal problems,
the rumors of a rift between Tyson and Rooney, and the AWOL incident,
business went on as usual in the Tyson compound. Mike Tyson diligently
pursued his quest to unify the heavyweight title.

The Catskill youngster no longer measured himself against his contemporaries,

but against the legends of the ring. His goal was to be recognized as the greatest
fighter of all time. That goal was within his grasp. He would not let it slip away.
Assistant manager Steve Lott praised Mike’s work ethic. “He’s in terrific shape.
We’re boxing 6 to 8 rounds now, but it’s still early. We’ll get up to 10 and 12
rounds, and one day 15.”19 The Tyson camp had a tremendous advantage over
their opponents when it came to attracting sparring partners. In the Tyson camp,
money was no object. They paid top wages and they got the best opponents. As
Kevin Rooney said, “We used to have problems sparrin’ with Mike. But now we
pay them so well, they can’t turn the money down.” The workouts were intense,
and the sparring sessions, with such willing opponents as James Broad, Oscar
Holman, and Anthony Witherspoon, were shockingly violent, as attested to by
the ugly red welts that decorated the bodies of the champ’s adversaries. “You get
in there and it’s war—war at the gym,” said Holman, a journeyman heavyweight
with a 13–7–1 record. “It ain’t no boxing. It’s fighting. It’s different fighting this
guy. He’s just too full of energy and too strong. Believe me, the money has to be
good or I wouldn’t be doing this. I’d get an eight hour a day job rather than take
this punishment.” James Broad echoed the feelings of all the fighters. “Every
time I throw a punch, I try to knock him out.”20

Johnny Tocco’s Gym was sweltering. The perspiration ran off the fighters’
bodies like running water. The outside temperature was 106 degrees, and the
temperature inside was about the same. Mike Tyson wanted to work in the heat
so he’d get used to it. He was anticipating the stifling desert air in the Hilton
parking lot on fight night, and he wanted to be ready to go a hard 12 rounds, heat
or no heat. Anthony Witherspoon was sent to the hospital one day with bruised
ribs. Witherspoon, the brother of “Terrible Tim,” marveled at the power of “Iron
Mike.” “It makes you freeze, getting hit so hard like that. I’ve never been hit so
hard by anyone.” When he returned to the ring wars, young Witherspoon was
decked out in a full flak jacket to protect his tender body. At a different time of
day, in the same city, in the same gym, IBF Champion Tony Tucker was busy
day, in the same city, in the same gym, IBF Champion Tony Tucker was busy
preparing himself for the trial to come. The 6'5", 221-pound Tucker was a
determined fighter. Sporting an undefeated 35–0 record embellished with 30
knockouts, he was not to be taken lightly. He was strong, mobile, and confident,
three traits that spell winner. And he was a champion.

As the days wound down, the rumor mill quieted and the interest centered
around the fight itself. Tyson’s manager reiterated the champ’s strategy for the
fight, saying that it’s the same as it’s always been. “Attack at the sound of the
bell.” The rhetoric emanating from Tucker’s camp prior to the fight was low-key
compared to previous Tyson opponents. Tony Tucker himself expressed quiet
confidence that, when the smoke cleared, he would be crowned champion. “Here
I am, a man who don’t know nothin’ about losin’, and I’m a 12–1 underdog. I
get motivated when I hear these odds. I don’t get mad about it. I’ve got
somethin’ to prove. Somebody’s gonna get rich bettin’ on me.” Kevin Rooney
was another one who respected Tucker’s talents. “Deep down, I feel that Tucker
will come out to fight. He has a snappy right hand, and it could go longer than
most people think, but I will say that it will be an excitin’ fight.”21

As the sun set beyond the stark Nevada desert on the evening of August 1,
referee Mills Lane brought the two champions together in the center of the ring
at the Hilton Center before a near-capacity throng of 8,000. The IBF King and
the WBA-WBC Champion eyed each other warily as they listened to their final
instructions prior to the long-awaited Unification shootout. The HBO Series had
begun over one year ago with three separate titleholders and a dozen or more
claimants to the throne. Now the field had dwindled down to only two, the IBF
Champion, Tony Tucker, and the WBA-WBC King, Mike Tyson. The time had
come to pit champion against champion in the final gladiatorial encounter. Two
gladiators would enter the arena, clad only in sandals and loincloths, unarmed
except for their fists. One of them would emerge as the undisputed king of the
heavyweights.

The fight itself was an exciting one. Tony “TNT” Tucker did, in fact, come to
fight, and he gave a good account of himself. His best moment came only one
minute into the fight, when he caught a pressing Tyson flush on the chin with a
sizzling left uppercut. The force of the blow lifted the smaller man completely
off his feet and drove him back on his heels. A lesser man might have hit the
canvas immediately and called it a night. To his credit, the kid from Catskill
absorbed the blow with his mighty neck and came right back on the attack as if
nothing had happened. As Mike admitted later, “I kind of took him for granted,
and that was a big mistake.” Tucker’s strategy was well thought out and proved
effective against the WBA-WBC Champ in hand-to-hand combat, flurrying for a
few seconds, then dancing out of harm’s way one more time. On those occasions
when Tyson successfully worked his way inside, the Texas heavyweight tied
him up to prevent the patented Tyson body attack from materializing. For his
part, Mike Tyson maintained the pressure constantly, following his man,
working his way inside, and unleashing punches with bad intentions whenever
the opportunity presented itself. There were no knockdowns in the fast-paced
affair, although Tyson landed numerous hard left hooks and jarring rights to
Tucker’s head. For the most part, they were one-shot forays as Tucker’s
clinching tactics stalled the New Yorker’s attempts to initiate multiple
combinations. Tucker’s strategy made the fight interesting but Tyson was still
winning most of the rounds. His punches were the most effective and, little by
little, they wore down the IBF Champion. Tyson noticed a change in the big
slugger as the fight progressed. “But after six or seven rounds, he stopped
fighting and started running. He knew he couldn’t win, so he was just running to
go the distance. He was looking for miracles. There are no miracles here.”22

When the final decision was announced, it was no surprise. Mike Tyson was
declared an easy winner, yielding only two rounds to the former IBF Champion.
The kid from Catskill now stood alone at the top of the heavyweight division,
holding all three crowns, the WBC, WBA, and IBF. August 1, 1987, was a day
to be remembered in boxing history. It was the beginning of the Tyson era. As
soon as all the ringside formalities were completed, Don King staged a garish
coronation ceremony in the hotel ballroom. The champion good-naturedly
attended the festivities and permitted himself to be escorted to the stage via a
long, red carpet. He was seated on his royal throne wearing the purple robe
trimmed with ermine, the royal scepter in his hand. He graciously allowed Don
King to place the ermine crown upon his head, a crown described by the
flamboyant promoter as studded with “baubles, rubies, and fabulous do-dads.”
According to King, “England never had a coronation like this.” Mike’s only
comment was an embarrassed, “I feel like a freak.”23 And he should have felt
like a freak, because on this night he was.

Cus D’Amato must have turned over in his grave at such a disgraceful
exhibition.

Michael Spinks and his mentor, Butch Lewis, watched the Tyson-Tucker fight
from the cheap seats. Lewis got on his soapbox at every opportunity, trying to
from the cheap seats. Lewis got on his soapbox at every opportunity, trying to
sell the public on the ultimate fight—the WBA-WBC-IBF Champion against the
real champion, the “People’s Champion,” his man, Michael Spinks. “This is the
ultimate fight. It’s unpredictable. No one knows how it will turn out.” Jim Jacobs
for one was annoyed at the constant bantering from the Spinks-Lewis duo.

They had their chance to fight Mike Tyson, but they chose to break their
contract with HBO. They withdrew from the tournament to fight Gerry
Cooney. We keep our commitments. We are fighting Tyrell Biggs in
October. We have another match scheduled for January, and we will fight
in Tokyo in March. Michael Spinks is not on our agenda. We have no plans
to fight Michael Spinks, and you can write that with an exclamation point.24

For the first time since he fought for the championship, Mike Tyson would not
be fighting in Las Vegas. The Tyrell Biggs fight would be held on October 16 in
the Trump Plaza in Atlantic City, New Jersey, the first title fight under business
magnate Donald Trump. On Tuesday, August 25, a press conference was held at
the Grand Hyatt Hotel in New York City to announce the fight formally, to
present the new boxing entrepreneur Donald Trump, and to introduce the
combatants in what Don King called “The Clash for The Crown.” Six days later,
the sports world was saddened by the death of one of its legendary sports
columnists, Dick Young of the New York Daily News and New York Post.
Young, who spent 50 years behind a typewriter, had covered such magical
names as DiMaggio, Louis, Williams, Marciano, and Man O War. The king is
dead. Long live the king.

A major concern permeated the offices of Big Fights, Inc. during the early days
of autumn: how badly Mike Tyson’s image was damaged by the Greek Theatre
incident in June. The whole ugly episode was dragged through the papers again
on September 29 when Los Angeles judge Maral Kirakosian dismissed the
charges after Tabita Gonzalez and Jonathan Casares, the alleged victims, said
Tyson had paid them damages. It was reported that the champ had paid the two
in excess of $60,000 not to pursue the criminal charges. One source close to the
Tyson camp said, “Forget the cover of the Wheaties box now. This will cost him
millions.” Not so, said Wheaties spokesman Bill Schaeffer, who was quoted as
saying that the Wheaties policy did not infringe on athlete’s private lives, but on
the individual athlete’s outstanding sports accomplishments. “It’s how a
champion handles adversity in their sport, not in their private lives,” insisted
Schaeffer. “No question, he’s a champion athlete. Tyson could very well be the
winner of the Wheaties award some day.”25

Meanwhile, back on the fight scene, things were heating up at the Trump Plaza
press conference in Atlantic City as Jim Jacobs and Lou Duva went head to
head. Don King couldn’t have written a better script. “These two teams don’t
like each other,” he said as Jim Jacobs and Lou Duva traded barbs. Duva jumped
to the front as he predicted victory for his fighter. “Biggs would have beaten you
if you two had met in the amateurs and now he will beat you and beat you good
in the professionals.” Jacobs countered Duva’s attack on his fighter, revealing
that members of the Biggs camp called their number one contender a “mental
case.” Biggs added, “I’m already an admitted drug addict if that makes me a
mental case,“ but he promised, “We’re going to see a whole different Mike
Tyson when he feels my punches. He hasn’t really fought the caliber of fighters
that I have. Mike could barely knock out guys who could barely stand up in the
beginning. All the pre-fight hype, I’ve had it. I’m ready to fight.” Tyson’s
response was short and sweet. “I don’t think there’s a human being on this planet
that can kick my butt.” As usual, Kevin Rooney had the last word. “Talk is
cheap. I hope and pray Tyrell Biggs comes to fight and we’ll find out just what
he’s made of.”26

As Mike Tyson’s training camp got under way in Atlantic City, it focused
attention on the struggle between the two great gambling meccas, Atlantic City
and Las Vegas, for control of the major championship boxing extravaganzas. For
ten years, Las Vegas had controlled the big fight purses. Now it was a toss-up,
with a slight edge going to the east coast. The sudden shift in location came
about with the arrival of millionaire business magnate Donald Trump on the
scene. Trump, a self-made tycoon from New York City, purchased land adjacent
to the 20,000-seat Atlantic City Convention Center in 1986. There he
constructed the magnificent 39-story Trump Hotel and Casino. And there he
threw his hat in the ring to attract major boxing events to the city, because
boxing fans are reputed to be notorious gamblers and, more important, gamblers
that lose big! Boxing and gambling have always gone hand In hand. Trump’s
first big coup was staging the Spinks-Cooney match, the much publicized “War
at the Shore.” Although the fight was a major disaster for the closed circuit TV
business, it was a financial success for Donald Trump and Atlantic City. The
Convention Center was a complete sellout, and the boxing crowd dropped
millions at the tables. Now Trump had cornered the popular Tyson-Biggs
confrontation, and he was determined to use this match as a launching pad from
which to attract more such events in the future.
Trump and the Jacobs/Cayton duo got along well together. They trusted each
other and enjoyed their business relationship. Donald Trump hoped that such a
feeling of mutual respect would allow him to stage many more Tyson fights in
the years to come. In addition to Trump, Atlantic City had many other
advantages to offer Mike Tyson and boxing fans. It was close to Tyson’s home
town of Catskill, New York, making it easy for him to commute back and forth
if he so desired. It was also in the middle of the country’s major metropolitan
area and was easily accessible from New York or Philadelphia. Once settled in
Atlantic City, Mike Tyson quickly became involved with one of his pet projects.
He visited the local Hospital for Disabled Children, to be with the kids, to give
them hope, and to bring smiles to their faces. “When I see them, I feel so bad for
them, and I realize that I really shouldn’t complain about things like I do, or take
things for granted. And I say, damn, I don’t have any problems like them. No
one has problems like they do.” The nurses smiled as they watched the
heavyweight champion of the world, dressed in a gray warm-up suit, sitting on
the hospital floor playing with the kids, holding them and hugging them. It was
incongruous, this picture of “The Baddest Man on the Planet,” the heavyweight
assassin, gently distributing love and affection to those less fortunate than he.
Mike Tyson, the fighter, stepped into the ring with only one thought in mind, to
physically destroy his opponent, to hurt him and make him quit. But Mike
Tyson, the man, was concerned about the underprivileged and disabled people in
the world, particularly the children. He committed his private life to helping
those children whenever and however he could.27

The “Tyson Team” this time around included several new sparring partners:
Glenn McCrory, Melvin Epps, “Quick” Tillis, and young Oliver McCall. McCall
was a strapping 6'2", 227-pound heavyweight whose 11–1 professional record
and outspoken personality had intrigued Tyson and Jacobs. The two had seen
McCall when they attended the Edwin “Chapo” Rosario match. McCall KO’d
Richard Scott on the undercard that night and, following his knockout, he raced
over to the side of the ring where Tyson was sitting and yelled at him, “I’ll whip
you too. You’re next.” Three weeks later, Jacobs invited McCall to Atlantic
City. McCall, in fact, caused some consternation in the Tyson camp. The 22-
year-old Chicago boxer, known as the “Atomic Bull,” sparred 22 rounds with the
champ, landing some good punches along the way. One week before the fight,
he caught the champ flush on the nose with a right hook, splattering blood all
over the ring and turning Tyson’s gray warm-up a bright crimson. The cocky
McCall immediately corralled the reporters, being his own best PR man. “I’m
gonna get Mike Tyson. I can beat both Tyson and Spinks in the same month.”
Tillis, Epps, McCrory, and McCall prepared the champ well for the Biggs fight,
showing him good hand speed and excellent lateral movement. Rooney was
impressed with Tyson’s conditioning, as evidenced by the muscle tone in the
champ’s stomach. He appeared to be in better shape for this fight than for any of
his previous title matches. Pointing to the six protruding stomach muscles that
Robin Givens fondly called “his washboard,” Rooney noted, “It’s about there.
You can see ’em.” The intensity in the champ’s training camp continued right up
to the last day. The makeshift gym in the theatre section on the fourth floor of
the Trump Hotel bustled with activity as a half-dozen fighters went through their
training regimen. The rat-a-tat-tat of the speed bag was constant as it was
attacked by one fighter after another. In the ring, Tyson faced two, three, and
four opponents a day, all bent on bringing him to his knees. “Quick” Tillis,
dressed in enough armor to mount a S.W.A.T attack, blasted away at the champ
for four rounds. The head gear, groin protector, and flak jacket provided the
challenger with an excess of courage. Mike Tyson, whose only protection was
the specially designed mini-headgear, had to be a defensive specialist in order to
keep his sparring partners from putting serious hurt on him. Melvin Epps danced
and survived two rounds. Glenn McCrory moved in and out, harassing the
champ and trying to avoid his heavy artillery. Inside the dressing room, Steve
Lott flipped on the TV and grabbed a Perrier. The weary Tyson slumped in a
chair and gulped water from an ice bucket. “Steve, turn it to MTV.” After three
songs, the champ pulled himself up, showered, and dressed. It was a good day.
The workout had been brisk and challenging. Lott, Baranski, and Rooney were
all satisfied with their boxer’s progress. The champ was ready.

All was well with “Team Tyson” except for the venomous sounds emanating
from the Biggs camp. Headlines abounded nationwide as the bad blood between
the camps simmered and boiled. Don King and co-promoter Donald Trump
drooled at the verbal conflict between Jacobs and Duva. Publicity of a hostile
nature could only ensure a blockbuster gate on fight night. Poor Lou Duva
should have followed Mike Tyson’s career more closely, as any good manager
would. If he had, he would have known that whenever Tyson was verbally
assaulted and insulted prior to a match, he entered the ring in a fit of rage and
proceeded to dismember the opponent as the mood suited him. In Marvis
Frazier’s case, he destroyed the challenger in just 30 seconds flat. When Mitch
Green derided the Catskill boxer, however, Tyson punished the Bronx bully for
ten full rounds, choosing to administer a severe beating to him rather than knock
him out. It was certain that Duva’s remarks and insults would bode ill for his
fighter. Based on past performances, the only question was whether Mike Tyson
would choose to take his revenge quickly or would ration it out painfully over a
would choose to take his revenge quickly or would ration it out painfully over a
number of rounds before applying the coup de grace.

After the press conference, Tyson was whisked away to a local studio to film a
promo for the upcoming fight, all part of the Don King razzle dazzle for the
“Clash for the Crown.” Shown in a gymnasium setting, a confident Mike Tyson
faced the camera. “Hi. I’m Mike Tyson. One day I’d like to be associated with
boxing greats like John L. Sullivan, Rocky Marciano, and Joe Louis. Names like
Tyrell Biggs, I have no use for. So on Friday October 16, I’m going to the
Trump Plaza with bad intentions to put Tyrell Biggs in his proper place in
boxing history—great amateur career—Olympic Gold Medalist—got creamed
by Mike Tyson.”28

Mike spent the last two days lounging around the boardwalk and the hotel. He
strolled through the casino amidst a sea of well-wishers. “Good luck, son,” said
one old gentleman. “Would you sign this please?” asked another. The young
champion approached his public with the aplomb of a veteran. Twelve months in
the spotlight had taught Mike Tyson how to relax amid all the fanfare, how to
mingle with his fans on a one-on-one basis, and how to deal with the constant
media attention that dogged his footsteps. He was now a major celebrity, and his
time was in constant demand. But he was in control. He could deal with the
pressures and the public attention like a true champion. As Rudyard Kipling
wrote in his famous poem “If,” “If you can talk with crowds and keep your
virtue—or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch—yours is the earth and
everything that’s in it and—which is more, you’ll be a man, my son.” Mike
Tyson was a man.

The men of the press cornered Kevin Rooney in the lobby to get his assessment
of the fight. “My guy is goin’ after him. We’re ready to roll. We’ll find out if
Biggs has a mature heart or if he has some dog in him.” Tyson, still fuming at
Duva’s remarks, muttered to Baranski, “If I don’t kill him it doesn’t count.”29
The two fighters found it difficult to keep their minds on their training regimen
with all the distractions around them, the interviews, the publicity photos, and
the press conferences. It was to the credit of both Tyson and Biggs that they
arrived at the Convention Center on fight night in tip-top physical condition. As
fight time approached, the champ was a study in relaxation. Sitting casually on
the rubbing table in his makeshift dressing room, the Brooklyn-born boxer,
attired in a hooded gray warm-up suit, quietly listened to the music of Sam
Cooke. He nonchalantly kicked his legs back and forth to the strains of “You
Send Me.”

At precisely 10:20, the door opened and a visitor peered in. “Mike, you’re on.”
The champ smiled, gave him a thumbs-up sign and a wink, and slipped off the
table. “Let’s go.” Matt Baranski grabbed his bag and quickly checked it to be
sure he had everything he would need in case Mike got hurt. Fresh adrenaline …
coagulants … Thrombin and Avitene … an ice bag … surgical scissors … gauze
pads … Q-tips … and a pressure plate to help reduce swelling or to move blood
away from a critical area, such as a swollen eye. As the champ moved toward
the door, his expression suddenly changed from one of contentment to one of
hate. It was as if a dark cloud had passed across his face. His thoughts became
instantaneously focused on only one thing, destroying his opponent as quickly as
possible.

Tyrell Biggs slipped from his dressing room almost apprehensively and
descended the stairs to the Convention Center surrounded by a large entourage
of handlers and security people. He was decked out in a white satin Nehru shirt,
with his name and the logo “realize your potential” emblazoned across the back
in bright red letters. Outwardly, the Philadelphia fighter looked fit and ready, but
as the great Roman orator, Marcus Tullius Cicero, once noted, “the eyes are the
windows of the soul.” And Tyrell Biggs’ eyes gave him away. They revealed to
the world what was lurking in the deep recesses of the challenger’s soul as he
climbed into the ring to do battle with the heavyweight champion. The emotion
that Biggs felt was fear. “Iron Mike” almost ran to the ring, so anxious was he to
get his hands on his amateur nemesis. Tyson’s somber appearance, in his black
sockless and robeless dress, stood out in dark contrast to the challenger’s flashy
attire. It was only in their eyes where the champion had the advantage, the eyes
and the head.

As round one got underway, the challenger showed excellent lateral movement
and a stinging jab, two weapons that could give Tyson trouble over the distance
if they could be maintained. Tyson was out fast, as usual, applying immediate
pressure on the challenger. A hard right to the ribcage drove Biggs across the
ring at the start of the round. Biggs was on the balls of his feet, backpedaling
away from the champion’s advances, trying to throw him off balance with
constant movement. Tyson patiently stalked his man, bobbing and weaving from
a low crouch, trying to work his way inside the tall Philadelphian’s defenses. It
became obvious early that Biggs had one serious weakness that could be
exploited by the Catskill assassin and result in the challenger’s early exit from
the fight. Biggs carried his left hand very low, down by his waist, offering an
the fight. Biggs carried his left hand very low, down by his waist, offering an
inviting target for a Tyson right hook. Biggs kept his man at bay successfully
throughout the early part of the round with his side-to-side maneuvers and his
ability to stay at long range and not allow Tyson to trap him on the ropes. Tyson
maintained his low peek-a-boo crouch like a well-disciplined student. A stinging
right cross brought blood from Biggs’ mouth as the round neared an end. Biggs
had already slowed noticeably under the Tyson attack and, inexplicably, stopped
dancing after the first two minutes. In a pre-fight press conference, the Olympic
champion told reporters he had a plan to defeat the champion, whereby Tyson
remarked, “They all have a plan until they get hit the first time.”

Apparently, that’s what happened to Biggs in round one. As soon as he took one
good shot from the champion, he forgot his fight plan and fought just to survive.
At a post-fight interview, Biggs stated that he lost his confidence in round one.
The truth is that he never had any confidence. It was the one chink in his athletic
armor, a weakness that haunted him throughout his career. The big man had
plenty of heart and an abundance of talent, but he lacked the confidence
necessary to become a champion. Heart allows a person to absorb tremendous
punishment, to survive. But confidence is that special trait that makes a person a
winner. When you know you are going to win, you will do whatever it takes to
win. Tyrell Biggs was a courageous fighter, a survivor. But Mike Tyson was a
winner. The Philadelphia fighter began to unravel in round two, pushing his jab
instead of throwing it, and forgetting all about alternating his line of retreat. The
outcome of the fight soon became a foregone conclusion. Tyrell Biggs was
emotionally overwhelmed by the determined champion. His effort lacked
enthusiasm, and he seemed bent on surviving rather than on winning. If Tyrell
Biggs could regroup and begin moving and jabbing, he could still win the fight.
But as a stationary target, he couldn’t hope to survive 15 rounds. It was only a
matter of time before Mike Tyson recorded his 28th knockout.

The kid from Catskill took the challenger apart methodically round after round,
thrashing him with crushing body shots, then shifting to the head with stunning
left hooks to Biggs’ unprotected chin. Blood had flowed from Biggs’ mouth
after Tyson split his lip in the first round, and a nasty gash was opened over his
left eye in round three. It was the same eye David Bey had slashed open on
March 7. The wound would require more than 20 stitches to close. Biggs’ chest
and trunks were covered with his own blood as he came out to face the onslaught
in round four. He desperately grabbed the champion around the ears with both
gloves in an effort to stop the punishment. But Kid Dynamite continued to dish
out a systematic beating. Between rounds four and five, trainer Kevin Rooney
out a systematic beating. Between rounds four and five, trainer Kevin Rooney
admonished the champion. “You’re layin’ back. Takin’ it easy. You can’t take it
easy with this guy. You gotta keep the pressure on. You gotta move your hands.
You gotta throw the combinations. You gotta put 2,3,4, punches together. Do
you unnerstan’ what I’m sayin?’” Across the ring, Lou Duva tried to encourage
the embattled challenger. “One more round, he won’t be there baby.” Both
fighter and trainer knew the emptiness of that statement.

Tyson started the fifth round by walking straight across the ring and unloading a
thunderous right to the side of Biggs’ head, buckling the big man’s knees. Duva
was still inside the ring when the punch landed. The pummeling continued
throughout the round as the stronger Tyson overpowered the game but
outgunned Olympic champ. Biggs tried to fight back, but his punches fell like
harmless drops on the body of the former Brownsville street kid. A solid Tyson
right hand found its target at the 1:30 mark, and a short, chopping right to the
ribs caused the Philadelphia fighter to wince in obvious discomfort. Biggs’ face
looked like something that had gone through a meat grinder. In addition to the
bloody mass above his left eye, an ugly swelling appeared underneath his right
eye, and a constant trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. Biggs
corner worked frantically to inspire their charge between rounds, but it was all in
vain. Duva pleaded with his fighter, “Now look, don’t give in to this kid. Keep
your hands up when you jive. Don’t trust the guy.”

Round six began like every other round, Tyson walking through Biggs’ defense
to score with combinations to the head and body. The champ’s punches were
landing with increasing ferocity and accuracy as he stalked his man like a jungle
predator. A sizzling right cross to the temple was followed by a similar punch
from the left side. Tyson advanced on his man with 37 seconds left in the round
and unloaded a flurry of punches to the head and body, each punch thrown with
bad intentions. Biggs had a look of panic on his face as the round came to an
end. Rooney implored his man to step up the attack. “More 7’s. 6–5–1, 6–5–2–1.
Get to the side. Play with this guy now. You unnerstan?’ This guys got nothin’.
Give him a fake. Step to the side.” In the Biggs corner, the attempt to rebuild the
challenger’s destroyed confidence continued. “You’ve taken the best he’s got, so
what the hell’s wrong with you? C’mon, this guy’s gone. C’mon, you’re a better
fighter than him. If you got no legs, fight him inside.”

As the two fighters clinched at the beginning of round seven, Tyson came up
with a forearm that knocked Biggs’ mouthpiece into the second row of
spectators. Biggs’ legs appeared to be gone, and Tyson pummeled the stationary
target around the ring with an avalanche of blows. The champ moved in low,
target around the ring with an avalanche of blows. The champ moved in low,
bobbing and weaving to avoid the challenger’s jabs. The pain of the fight was
evident in Biggs’ actions, as he frequently covered up in anticipation of a Tyson
barrage, even when one was not forthcoming. This action was the ultimate
admission of intimidation on Biggs’ part. The challenger tried to get inside
Tyson’s hooks, hoping to land a lucky punch, but he was no match for the
energetic New Yorker. With 32 seconds left in the round, Tyson caught Biggs
with a glancing left hook to the temple, similar to the punch that destroyed
Berbick. The big heavyweight toppled backwards through the ropes, onto the
apron of the ring, with Tyson falling against the upper strands, straddling the
fallen fighter. Biggs’ face was a study in pain and disbelief. His body and trunks
were drenched in his own blood as it gushed from the jagged wound above his
left eye. He valiantly volunteered to continue the battle, but it was a foolhardy
gesture. Six seconds later, a thundering roundhouse right put Biggs on Queer
Street, and a follow-up left hook to the point of the chin found its mark. The
challenger stumbled back several feet before collapsing in a neutral corner, his
head resting comfortably on the bottom strand of ropes. Referee Tony Orlando
immediately stopped the fight without a count, fearing for the safety of the
Philadelphia fighter.

At the post-fight interview with HBO analyst Larry Merchant, the champion
brimmed with confidence. “I was havin’ a great time out there. I felt good. I was
in the best condition of my life, and I did what I was supposed to do. I hurt him
with body punches. Actually he was cryin’ in there, makin’ woman gestures like
‘oo—oo.’ I knew he was breakin’ down—perhaps from the fourth round on.”30
It was obvious that Mike Tyson was maturing as a boxer with each fight. In this
match, he exhibited a good left hook, better use of his jab, and more body
punches than in recent outings.

He had just won his fifth championship fight in a little less than 11 months, and
he deserved a long rest. But there was no rest for the champ yet. He had
promised his fans he would be a fighting champion, and he was already
scheduled to meet four new opponents in the next year. Mike Tyson, the
youngest champion in heavyweight history, had set his sights on a new goal. He
wanted to be recognized as the greatest heavyweight champion of all time.
 11

The People’s Champion—June 27, 1988

The headline on October 17 trumpeted the news: “Tyson Carves Up Biggs to

Win in 7th.” The defeated manager, Lou Duva, solemnly read the eulogy.
“[Tyrell Biggs] lost confidence in the second or third round. He didn’t quit in his
heart. He quit in his head.” On the sidelines, several interested spectators sought
out the media. Larry Holmes, anticipating a title fight in the near future, spoke of
dirty tactics on the champ’s part and threatened retaliation if the champ
attempted to use those tactics on him. “Tyson was dirtier than I’ve ever seen
him. Whatever he does to me, I’ll do back. He’s going to think it’s Hulk Hogan
vs the Junkyard Dog.”1

The Spinks-Lewis duo were visible and vocal as usual, trying to force the Tyson
camp into a match. Jim Jacobs reemphasized the champion’s agenda. “Michael
Spinks is certainly in our future, but not our immediate future.” He did propose a
winner-take-all match between his fighter and Spinks, with the loser taking
home $1 million and the winner getting the bulk of the purse, as much as $20
million. Michael Spinks quickly shrugged off that suggestion. “What if I lose? I
got to go home sad and poor too.”2

As the renowned boxing historian Jim Jacobs saw it, Mike Tyson had to meet
these two adversaries in the ring before he could take his rightful place alongside
boxing’s legends. First, he had to defend his crown successfully against the “old
guard,” Larry Holmes. Then he had to defeat Michael Spinks, the so-called
“People’s Champion,” and Ring Magazine’s heavyweight titleholder. Jacobs, a
stickler for the line of succession, admitted that Spinks won the true
championship when he beat Larry Holmes for the IBF crown, since Holmes’
lineage could be traced all the way back to John L. Sullivan. In the manager’s
eyes, a champion can only lose his title in the ring, not have it stripped away by
some petulant boxing authority. Therefore, Mike Tyson had to take the “real”
title from Michael Spinks in the ring before he could follow in the footsteps of
the great John L.

Even though Larry Holmes appeared to be the next man who would climb into
the ring with the heavyweight champion, the countdown had already begun on
an eventual Tyson-Spinks confrontation. The media propaganda increased daily
as the big city publications heralded the credentials of the two men, the
champion Mike Tyson standing astride the boxing world with a record of 32–0,
and the challenger, the undefeated former light heavyweight and IBF
heavyweight champion of the world, Michael Spinks, sporting an equally
impressive 31–0 mark. The tall, lanky Spinks was certainly a deserving
challenger, equally effective attacking or counterpunching. His awkward style
confused his opponents and created openings for his two-handed combinations.
Ring Magazine championed boxing tradition by recognizing Michael Spinks as
the true heavyweight champion by reason of the revered “line of succession”
from John L. Sullivan to Larry Holmes. Assuming that the Tyson camp kept its
pledge to fight in Japan in March, it would be possible for a Tyson-Spinks match
to take place later in 1988, possibly as early as June.

But first things first. Before the heavyweight king could even begin to think
about tangling with Michael Spinks, he first had to get by Larry Holmes and
then possibly Tony “TNT” Tubbs in Tokyo. The Holmes fight was scheduled for
the Atlantic City Convention Center on January 22, only three months after the
Biggs demolition. Before returning to his training regimen, however, Mike
Tyson had a personal commitment to keep, helping his old friend, Father George
Clements of Holy Angels Church in Chicago. Father Clements, a maverick inner
city priest, had for years kept the Catholic Church’s Chicago diocese in an
uproar with his unorthodox behavior. The good Father worked with the poor and
neglected people of the Windy City, helping them become useful citizens.
Although some of Father Clements methods were unconventional—he strove to
educate the citizens in their voter registration rights, for instance—they were
results oriented. Over the years, the black priest became such a champion of
people’s rights that a TV movie, starring Lou Gossett, Jr., was made about him.

Father Clements had the painful experience of watching his beloved church burn
to the ground on June 9, 1986. Shortly thereafter, friends of the good Father
began a drive to raise the necessary funds to rebuild the structure. As part of that
drive, a professional boxing program was held at De Paul University’s Alumni
Hall on the evening of November 13, 1987. Heading the impressive card was a
seven-round heavyweight exhibition match between champion Mike Tyson and
his old adversary, James “Quick” Tillis. By all accounts, the match was a
competitive one. Even though the champ wore headgear for this one, the
encounter was described as a typical Tyson war. There were no official
scorecards kept, but Tillis gave a good account of himself, even carrying the
fight to the champion in the final two rounds. Thanks to the efforts of people like
Tyson and Tillis, the event drew 5,000 fans to Alumni Hall and added over
$50,000 to the church fund.3

Two weeks later, the promotion for the Tyson-Holmes match began in earnest. A
press conference was held in the ballroom of the Grand Hyatt Hotel in New
York City to kick off the event, labeled “Heavyweight History” by the pugilistic
huckster, Don King. Mike Tyson was first on the scene and politely posed for
photographs with Meghan Coutineri, the March of Dimes Poster Child.
Meghan’s mother said later that “Mike came right over and hugged her. She told
me afterwards that she liked him.” Mike Tyson liked Meghan also—but he
didn’t like Larry Holmes. He thought Holmes had a bad attitude and was rude
and petty. Holmes’ behavior on this day only served to reinforce that opinion.
The “Easton Assassin” kept everyone waiting for over an hour. When he finally
did enter the ballroom, an angry Mike Tyson refused to shake his hand. Once at
the podium, Tyson was asked why he hadn’t welcomed Holmes to the affair. His
reply was curt and to the point. “Because I didn’t want to. I don’t like Larry
Holmes.” That was all Don King and the media representatives needed. The
reports of bad blood between the two combatants were like music to the ears of
the promoter and the men of the press. Stories of the hate war were fed to the
fans on a daily basis. For eight weeks, the press corps kept up the barrage,
reporting on the hostility that existed between the two boxers and their camps.4

In mid–December, the Tyson team moved its base of operations from Catskill to
Atlantic City and set up operations in the Beach Club condominium on the
Boardwalk. Tyson brought about a dozen old photographs of former boxing
greats with him, and he spent the better part of the first afternoon taping them to
the walls of the apartment. The action photos of great fighters like Jack Johnson,
Henry Armstrong, and Battling Nelson would constantly remind the young
champ of the dedication and discipline required to be the best. They would be
his motivation, his driving force, for the next six weeks. Once the young slugger
geared himself to the training regimen, he blocked out all outside distractions,
maintaining perfect tunnel vision on the job at hand. “New Year’s Eve is on
Thursday night,” Rooney explained. “We have a workday on Friday with
sparring. It’ll be a quiet New Year’s Eve this time. We’ll do our celebrating after
the fight.”5 Rooney added, “We’re gonna have Mike sparrin’ as much as we can.
Cus always said that the best way to prepare for a fight is to spar as much as
possible. We teach our fighters to avoid punches. As long as our fighters don’t
get hit, sparrin’ can only help. Plus Mike loves to fight. Some of these guys enter
the ring only once a year. There’s no way you can reach your peak doin’ that.”
Including sparring sessions, Mike Tyson entered the ring more than 150 times a
year.6

(Left to right) Donald Trump, Don King, Bill Cayton and Tyson at the
Tyson-Holmes press conference (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

Training camp life can be dreadfully tedious, particularly in a Spartan

atmosphere like Tyson had. Mike’s day began at 4 a.m. long before the sun
made its appearance over the Atlantic horizon. Within 20 minutes, the kid from
Catskill was doing his three-mile run along the boardwalk and white sandy
beach of the seaside resort. Some days he relaxed briefly by feeding the seagulls,
from two loaves of bread he brought with him. After a light breakfast, the champ
and his roommates, Rooney and Lott, killed the morning flipping through
newspapers and magazines. At noon, the three men motored to the Pleasantville
Recreation Center for the daily two-hour workout. They were joined there by
Matt Baranski and sparring partners “Quick” Tills, Oliver McCall, and James
Broad. By mid-afternoon, the 21-year-old was back in his condo, pacing the
floor like a prison inmate. Even the meals were eaten in, to protect the
heavyweight king from his adoring but disruptive fans. In the evening, the group
either rented videos or analyzed video tapes of the day’s training camp activities.
“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man, healthy, wealthy, and wise,” goes the
old saying. For Mike Tyson that meant hitting the sheets no later than 9 o’clock.
Soon it would be 4 a.m. and the cycle would begin all over again.7

As the days wound down, the champion’s mental and physical condition was
honed to a fine edge by Rooney. Tyson, particularly, was happy to see fight day
approach.

80 percent of the trainin’ is all emotional. I try not to think about the fight
… but when I’m trainin’, I would think about the fight, and I always dream
that I lose, and it’s very scary. I’d say “Oh, my god, what am I gonna do
now?” It’s funny when you dream you lose. You wake up and you wake up
thinkin’ that you lost. It’s scary. The most difficult part of fightin’ is the
trainin’. Believe it or not, the easy part of fightin’ is the fightin’.8

On fight night, both boxers were in a determined mood and ready to mix it up.
The 21-year-old champ tipped the scales at a svelte 215¾ pounds, his lowest
weight in many months. The aging former heavyweight king, now 38 years old,
was also well prepared, carrying a tight 225¾ pounds on his 6'3" frame. The big
question in the Holmes camp was how many rounds his old legs would carry
him. At his age, it would be a question of stamina. Unfortunately for the Easton
Assassin, he made a strategic blunder just before the match. Like Joe Frazier and
Lou Duva before him, Larry Holmes decided to play a mind game with Mike
Tyson. As it always had in the past, it backfired. The former champ refused to
make his entrance into the cavernous arena at the specified time, choosing to
keep the champion waiting an extra 15 minutes. That final rudeness on Holmes’
part threw the champion into a rage. An angry Tyson threw a savage left hook at
the locker room wall, as reported by most news outlets. The flimsy wallboard
shattered before his explosive fist, sending plaster dust in all directions. A
gaping hole suddenly appeared through the haze, exposing the outside world. As
gaping hole suddenly appeared through the haze, exposing the outside world. As
the team of Rooney, Lott, and Baranski stood in shocked silence, cars and
pedestrians could be seen through the hole, moving briskly along Pacific
Avenue. A stunned Tyson just hung his head in embarrassment, while a handler
whispered, “My God, he broke the wall.”

Holmes parade to the ring was quiet but nostalgic as the PA system blared his
familiar pre-fight tune, “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now.” As soon as Holmes
stepped through the ropes, the Tyson team entered the great hall, anxious to get
on with the match. The stare-down during the referee’s instructions was a draw
as both Holmes and Tyson wore their meanest faces. Tyson was an angry young
man. He disliked Holmes as a person and he resented being kept waiting in his
dressing room. Now he would get even. He would make Holmes pay for his
behavior.

The kid from Catskill was out fast at the bell and pinned the 38-year-old Holmes
on the ropes, unleashing a flurry of punches. The cagey old pro tied up the
young champion before any damage could be done. Holmes’ strategy quickly
became evident. He intended to keep the shorter man at a distance by utilizing
his reach advantage, constantly keeping his left in Tyson’s face. Most of the
time, he simply used a straight arm to fend off the champion rather than employ
his famous snapping jab. Holmes kept out of harm’s way by circling to the right.
This maneuver prevented Tyson from throwing a right hand over the Holmes left
which he always carried waist-high, and which left him vulnerable to a right
hand lead. That flaw in Holmes’ style resulted in three knockdowns during his
reign, by such sluggers as Renaldo Snipes and Ernie Shavers.
Tyson stalking Holmes, the former champion (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

The champion ran across the ring and started dancing as he pursued the former
champ in round two. Holmes was still not ready to mix it up with the young New
Yorker, choosing instead to conserve his energy. His only sign of aggression was
trying to nail Tyson with a right hand when the champ moved in, a strategy that
had been attempted by other Tyson opponents. Thomas, Tucker, and Biggs had
all tried to time their right hands against a charging Tyson. All failed to land a
solid punch against the bobbing and weaving champion. As usual, Tyson proved
to be elusive, constantly slipping Holmes’ jabs. He picked up the pace in round
two, scoring with several punishing left hooks to the head as well as some
crunching body shots. Holmes’ infrequent attempts at retaliation were ineffective
as the champ deftly avoided the blows. Round three was another slow round,
with Tyson chasing his man and Holmes circling and keeping a stiff left jab in
the champ’s face. Tyson caught the Easton Assassin with a big right hand at the
bell and followed up with a left hook before referee Cortez could jump in and
separate the fighters. Between rounds, Larry Holmes realized he didn’t have the
stamina to maintain good lateral movement for a full 12 rounds. His legs were
stamina to maintain good lateral movement for a full 12 rounds. His legs were
already giving out on him. The moment of truth had arrived for the cagey
veteran, and he decided to make his stand now. Round four would be the last
round, one way or the other.

To everyone’s surprise, Holmes came out on his toes at the bell and danced like
a 20-year-old kid. The crowd screamed in anticipation. The old Holmes jab was
evident once more, snapping Tyson’s head back when the champ tried to move
inside. This looked like the Larry Holmes who ruled the heavyweight division
for seven years, the man who destroyed all challengers to his title, including Ali
himself. Holmes was determined to carry the fight to the young champion in this
round. His strength was gradually slipping away and it was obvious to him that
he could not last much longer. If he were to win, it would have to be by an early
KO. At the one-minute mark, the kid from Catskill caught Holmes standing
straight up, resting against the ropes, his left hand low. The alert champ
immediately sent the big man reeling backward with a solid left hook. Seconds
later, Tyson parried with a soft left, then came across with a lightning-like right
hook that broke through Holmes’ guard and smashed against his left temple, just
above and behind the eye. Holmes wobbled momentarily and then toppled
backward like a giant redwood, his equilibrium gone. It was reminiscent of the
blow that spelled lights out for Trevor Berbick. The gallant challenger rose
quickly, but it was obvious he was in serious trouble. He stood in the corner,
shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, as Cortez tolled the mandatory eight
count. Holmes would note later that the punch destroyed his balance, and he was
never able to recover fully.

With his legs gone, the former champion could not avoid the determined young
slugger. His only hope was to stand still and try to tie his man up. But Tyson
would not be denied. He was in quickly, throwing punches in bunches. Even
though none of them landed cleanly, a glancing right to Holmes’ head sent the
unsteady challenger to the canvas a second time. As he tried to rise on shaky
pins, he fell backward into the ropes. A concerned Cortez wiped off the old
champion’s gloves and took a good look at his eyes. He bade the fight go on,
allowing an embattled Holmes to leave the ring on his shield. There was still one
minute to go in the round, and the fired-up champion pursued his man around
the ring. For 35 precious seconds, the proud Holmes absorbed a fusillade of
punches, but he would not quit. Just when it seemed he might survive the
onslaught, Tyson backed him against the ropes and stunned him with a
paralyzing right to the side of the head. Holmes’ instincts told him to cover up,
but he was no match for the strong, young champion. Tyson smashed a left hook
but he was no match for the strong, young champion. Tyson smashed a left hook
to Holmes’ unprotected jaw, then dug a hard right to the challenger’s rib cage.
The champion immediately stepped to the side as he had done a thousand times
in the gym under the watchful eye of Cus D’Amato. He unleashed a powerful
right hook, thrown with all the bad intentions he could generate. The punch
barely grazed the side of Holmes’ head, but a swift follow-up right hand caught
the old pro on the point of the chin, snapping his head violently to the right and
dropping him straight down as if his legs had been cut out from under him.
There was no count. Referee Joe Cortez, realizing that the former champion was
unconscious, signaled an end to the carnage.

It was a good outing for Mike Tyson. He overcame frustration, learned patience,
and followed his trainer’s between-rounds instructions. He had fought a wily old
ex-champion who knew all the tricks. He learned from the older man, he
benefitted from the lesson, and he came away victorious. At the post-fight press
conference, the undefeated champion was matter-of-fact about the significance
of the fight. “I made it clear to Larry Holmes that his career is unquestionably
over. Larry was a great champion during his time, but this isn’t his time
anymore. He had his reign, and his reign is over. This is my era now.”9

While Cayton and Jacobs struggled to put together a Tyson-Spinks match for
early summer, a warm-up fight was scheduled for Tokyo, Japan, on the evening
of March 21. The fight was part of a week-long celebration to dedicate the
capital city’s new domed arena. Korakuen Stadium, labeled “The Big Egg” by
the natives because of its enormous white oval roof, could accommodate 65,000
spectators. The Japanese promoter, Akihiko Honda, specifically chose Tony
Tubbs to be Mike Tyson’s next opponent because of his durability as well as his
ring prowess. He had never been knocked out in eight years as a pro and had
compiled a solid 24–1 record along the way. The former WBA champion had
fought ten rounds or more on seven different occasions, his only loss coming on
a close 15-round decision to “Terrible Tim” Witherspoon. Honda, ever mindful
of the 1973 title fight between George Foreman and Jose “King” Roman, an
embarrassing two-minute fiasco, and realizing Mike Tyson’s proclivity toward
early knockouts, wanted to assure himself of the longest and most competitive
fight possible; hence Tony “TNT” Tubbs.

Jim Jacobs and Bill Cayton started negotiations with Butch Lewis for a Tyson-
Spinks matchup while Iron Mike was preparing for his January title defense
against Holmes. The big stumbling block in the deal was money, as usual. On
Saturday, January 23, Team Tyson offered Lewis $10.8 million compared with
$16.2 million for Tyson. Lewis threw his nose up at that offer, blatantly holding
out for $15 million. Cayton was livid. “You mean if you don’t get $15 million,
there’s no fight?” he screamed. “That’s it,” said Lewis as he headed for the door.
Cayton’s eyes followed him closely. “If you walk out, don’t come back.” Butch
Lewis slammed the door in his face. Getting the two premier heavyweights
together in the same ring appeared to be about as easy as getting President
Reagan and the Ayatollah Khomeini to dine together in Jerusalem. The
personalities of the principals, particularly Jacobs and Lewis, were incompatible,
and their participation in the negotiations exacerbated an already delicate
situation. Enter one Shelley Finkel. The smooth-working promoter was rushed
into the negotiations by Bill Cayton to formulate a package acceptable to both
parties. Working like a fine diamond cutter, Finkel did just that. Stroking
everyone’s ego, the erudite businessman actually had Lewis and Jacobs smiling
and shaking hands in a matter of days. The finished arrangement had Tyson
guaranteed a minimum of $17 million and Spinks $13.5 million. Both fighters
could add to their take depending on the closed circuit television revenues.10

Donald Trump, with some fancy footwork of his own, obtained the rights to the
fight without having to engage in a bidding war with Las Vegas. Trump had
been massaging the Tyson group for many months, going all the way back to the
Ribalta fight in September 1986. The New York millionaire paid an exorbitant
price to snare the Ribalta match, but he established a good rapport with Jacobs
and Cayton along the way. The two groups worked well together and, most
importantly, they trusted each other. When Trump purchased the rights to the
Holmes fight, he also received the right of first refusal to any future Michael
Spinks match. Don King subsequently offered the Spinks fight to Donald Trump
for the astronomical price tag of $11 million. If Trump refused the offer, King
could peddle it on the open market for the same amount. Trump quickly
accepted the deal. The long awaited heavyweight battle would take place in the
Atlantic City Convention Center adjacent to the Trump Hotel and Casino on
June 27.

A vacationing Mike Tyson wasn’t interested in the business aspects of the fight.
He just wanted to get Michael Spinks in the ring. The histrionics of Lewis and
Spinks disgusted the young champion to the point where he once remarked,
“Sometimes I just wanna take him [Spinks] and slap him alongside the head.”
Another time, he suggested, “We’ll both go down into a cellar, and the one that
comes out is the champion.” Naturally Spinks declined the offer. Before the final
chapter of the Tyson-Spinks saga could unfold, however, the champion first had
to fulfill the commitment with Tony Tubbs in Tokyo, a bout that was considered
to fulfill the commitment with Tony Tubbs in Tokyo, a bout that was considered
to be nothing more than a showcase event, to present Tyson to his millions of
admiring fans in the “Land of the Rising Sun.”

One week before Tyson’s scheduled departure for Japan, however, the young
champion’s world was turned upside down, and things would never again be the
same. On Sunday morning, February 7, Tyson and girlfriend Robin Givens
planed to Chicago to attend the annual NBA All-Star Game. They watched in
admiration as the top players in the game put on an incredible ball handling and
scoring exhibition, led by Givens’ old boyfriend, Michael Jordan. “‘Air” Jordan,
as he was reverently referred to by the fans, waltzed off with the Most Valuable
Player award after netting a game-high 40 points. Still, the prolific East All-Stars
hung on to win the game by a 138–133 margin. As the crowd filed out of the
huge arena, Mike Tyson suddenly grabbed Givens by the arm and started
dragging her toward the exit. “Let’s get married,” he whispered nervously.
Caught up in the excitement of the moment, Givens nodded assent, and the two
youngsters raced for a cab. They sought out Mike’s old friend, Father George
Clements, who agreed to marry them in the chapel of the Holy Angels rectory.
Before half a dozen witnesses, gathered together hurriedly, the 21-year-old
Tyson and the strikingly beautiful 23-year-old Givens were united in holy
matrimony.

Immediately after the final blessing, the newlyweds sped to O’Hare Airport to
catch the return flight to the Big Apple. On the way, Mike made a hurried
telephone call to Camille with the good news, and she, in turn, informed his
manager. Jim Jacobs was caught completely off guard. “Bill and I are surprised
by the move. It’s sort of a shock.” As an afterthought, Jacobs confirmed Mike’s
schedule for the Tubbs fight. “Mike’s training will go on schedule. He will leave
the U.S. on February 16. I’m not sure if Robin is going, but if she does, it won’t
be a problem.”11 The Tysons were married a second time in New York, two days
later, this time in a civil ceremony performed by Judge Charles E. Ramos in the
City Clerk’s office. In spite of the recent change in the champ’s marital status,
the Tyson entourage departed Kennedy Airport as planned and began their grand
adventure to the Far East. After 14 hours in the air, a weary and disheveled
Tyson, wearing a fleece-lined brown leather flight jacket, walked through the
gates of Tokyo’s Narita Airport, to be greeted by a sight as incredible as man’s
first moon walk. Hundreds of reporters and photographers had spent the night in
the terminal awaiting their hero’s arrival. Now they swarmed all over him,
bombarding him with questions in a mish-mash of Japanese and pigeon–English.
Flashbulbs popped continuously as the Tyson-hungry media representatives
frantically struggled to satisfy the demands of their editors. At the ensuing press
conference, reporters continued to deluge the young American with dozens of
questions, all of them in Japanese. A quizzical smile played on Tyson’s face as
he whispered to his trainer, Kevin Rooney, “No one here speaks English.”

Tyson and Robin Givens (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

Tyson and Rooney at the Tyson-Tubbs press conference in Tokyo March
1988 (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

The circus atmosphere at Narita Airport carried over into Tyson’s everyday
activities. The adulation bestowed upon the world’s heavyweight boxing
champion by the Japanese people continued unabated right up to fight time.
Wherever the young American went, he was surrounded by hundreds of adoring
fans, both young and old, male and female. The men admired his strength. The
women thought he was sexy. Even his 4 a.m. runs through darkened Tokyo
streets brought out droves of photographers, who either ran with him or followed
on bicycles or in autos. The city kid from Brownsville was bewildered. “It’s
scary. It’s frightening to me because I never wanted to be a superstar. I just
wanted to be champion of the world. I feel like I left earth and went to another
planet. I never experienced anything like that before in my life.”12

In spite of the many distractions, Kevin Rooney made sure his intense training
program was followed to the letter. There was no letup in the gymnasium
workouts or in the sparring sessions. When the bell rang for round one on the
evening of March 21, Mike Tyson would be ready. Even so, the training camp
was not as Spartan as in previous Tyson camps. This time, the kid from Catskill
found time to tour Tokyo with his new bride—and five security guards, all
found time to tour Tokyo with his new bride—and five security guards, all
karate experts. They visited the Ueno Zoo several times, strolled through many
of the colorful gardens that decorate the capital city, and paid homage to the
famous old Tokyo boxing arena, Korakuen Hall. Along the way, the Tysons
visited the children’s hospital and made an appearance at the sumo wrestlers
gym, where photographers had a field day snapping pictures of the heavyweight
champion facing off in the ring against the 400-pound Hawaiian sumo wrestler,
Sally Konishiki. Bill Cayton arrived in Tokyo just eight days before the fight,
but he came alone. His partner, Jim Jacobs, for the first time in his life, was
unable to attend one of Mike’s professional fights. Jim remained in New York,
reportedly recovering from a minor illness. Korakuen Stadium was buzzing with
anticipation as fight time neared. The champion appeared ready to go, weighing
in at a trim 216 pounds. The challenger, for all his good intentions, came in
carrying a blubbery 238 pounds on his 6'3" frame. Although Tubbs, a former
WBA champion, had impressive ring credentials, his poor physical condition
prevented this fight from being a major pugilistic event.

A great, noisy welcome ushered the kid from Brownsville into the huge arena.
Clad in his usual somber black attire, the champion looked calm and peaceful as
he walked down the aisle but, by the time he reached the ring, his expression had
darkened and he was once again a man whose mission was to search and
destroy. The bald spot that had once decorated the front of Tyson’s scalp was no
longer visible. Now he knew who he was. He was the champion, and he was
comfortable in his new position. The nervous tension that accompanied Tyson’s
rapid rise to the top of the professional ranks and had caused the temporary
baldness was a thing of the past. It had been replaced by confidence and self-
assurance.

The first 30 seconds of round one was a feeling-out process, with each fighter
sizing up the other. Tubbs, showing a stiff left jab and good lateral movement,
had come to fight, not to run. It was obvious that Tubbs was not intimidated by
the champion’s press clippings. He treated Tyson just like any other opponent.
Both fighters landed some good exchanges as the action was brisk in an even
round. Midway through round two, the “Baddest Man on the Planet” caught
Tubbs with the old 8–2, the uppercut jolting the challenger, who fought back
with a stiff uppercut of his own. The two fighters mauled each other at close
quarters. Then Tyson unloaded a short left hook to the side of the head that
rocked Tubbs. He immediately drove the Ohio fighter to the ropes and worked
the body with a series of left-right combinations. A hard left to the top of Tubbs’
head stunned the big man. In center ring once more, Tubbs fired a three-punch
combination, but failed to slow down the champ. Once again Tyson scored with
combination, but failed to slow down the champ. Once again Tyson scored with
a vicious 8–2 combination, causing Tubbs to hold on. As soon as the action
resumed, Tyson exploded a short, chopping left hook to the temple. Tubbs’
hands went up to his head immediately and he turned his back on his tormentor,
blood gushing from a nasty cut over his right eye. He stumbled toward a neutral
corner on wobbly legs and, with Tyson in hot pursuit, made a grab for the ring
rope, missed, and collapsed in a heap on his back. Trainer Odell Hadley was in
the ring in a flash, stopping the contest without a count at the 2:54 mark.

Tony Tubbs was no match for Iron Mike (courtesy Paul Antonelli).
Commentator Jim Lampley informed the television audience that “the fight
ended with stunning swiftness.” Mike Tyson had successfully defended his title
for the sixth time, ending it with another paralyzing punch to the temple, much
like the blows that destroyed the equilibrium of both Trevor Berbick and Larry
Holmes. The champion himself was surprised at the way the fight ended. “He’s
very crafty. When I hit him, I thought he was like one of those cute guys who
appear shaken, but don’t fall.” He also took time out to make a promise to the
“People’s Champion,” Michael Spinks. “Michael Spinks knows what he’s got
comin’. I’m comin’ after him.”13

Two days after the Tubbs fight, tragedy struck the Tyson household. Manager
Jim Jacobs succumbed to pneumonia in New York’s Mt. Sinai Hospital at the
age of 57. Jacobs had been suffering from chronic lymphocytic leukemia for
nine years, a fact known only to his wife Lorraine, his partner Bill Cayton,
Camille Ewald, and Kevin Rooney. The ugly truth had been kept from Mike
Tyson in order to let him concentrate on his career without the traumatic
distractions of the impending death of a loved one. The bereaved champion went
into seclusion for several days, trying to deal with and accept the loss of his
closest friend and advisor. Cayton was the spokesman. “He’s not up to making
any statements. He’s totally distraught.” Assistant manager Steve Lott eulogized
his employer as an honest and decent human being. “After Cus died, the only
person with Cus’s information was Jim. But what Cus had was character, and
Jimmy had that same unwavering character. Whatever was proper, no matter
what other people thought about it, was the right thing to do. And he would
never veer from that.”14

With the death of Jim Jacobs, the umbilical cord connecting Cus D’Amato to
Mike Tyson was finally severed. Jim Jacobs had been an extension of the fabled
trainer. Now the young champion was on his own for the first time. Just when
the man-child had reached the top of his profession, just when he had scaled the
summit of Mt. Olympus, the gods suddenly deserted him. He had proven himself
in the boxing ring and he was the champion of the world. Now the gods seemed
determined to test his mettle as a man. It would turn out to be a long and
torturous journey. After Jacobs’ funeral, Tyson tried to pick up the pieces, but
family problems only added to his despair. His wife, Robin Givens, who had
promised to bring peace of mind to his life, brought turmoil instead. With her
mother, Ruth Roper, and the professional agitator, Don King, Givens lashed out
at manager Bill Cayton, accusing him of mishandling Mike’s financial affairs.
The two women demanded that Cayton provide them with a complete
accounting of Mike’s finances. Soon after, they sought to cancel Mike’s
accounting of Mike’s finances. Soon after, they sought to cancel Mike’s
managerial contract with the elderly advisor.

As the weeks passed, the accusations from the Roper-King group increased until
everyone in the Tyson-Roper family was embroiled in the dispute. The
newspapers, TV networks, and pulp magazines had a field day, reporting on all
aspects of the Tysons’ private lives. The headlines that leaped from the
newsstands were generally uncomplimentary to the motives of Robin and her
mother. The two women were vilified as gold diggers—and worse. At one point,
one week before the Spinks fight, photographs of Mike and Robin appeared on
dozen or more magazines, including such popular non-sports magazines as Time,
Life, and People Weekly. In the Bible, Samson was bewitched by a single
woman, Delilah. Mike Tyson had inherited three Delilahs. Their names were
Ruth, Robin, and Stephanie. The champ took the adverse publicity extremely
hard, becoming very defensive and protective of his family. He cut short several
interviews when the questioning infringed on his private life. Boxing experts
feared the out-of-thering distractions might affect the champ’s performance
against Michael Spinks. The odds on the fight reflected this uncertainty, falling
from 7–1 to 3½–1 by fight time. In spite of all the notoriety surrounding his new
family and his managerial problems, the kid from Catskill still had to prepare
himself to meet the “People’s Champion,” Michael Spinks, in the richest match
in boxing history, an estimated $80 million.
Michael Spinks working the heavy bag (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

The super fight was labeled “Once and for All” by promoters Don King and
Donald Trump, and the ticket prices reflected the popularity of the confrontation.
Ringside seats went for the staggering sum of $1,500, while the cheap seats sold
for a lofty $100. Needless to say, the cheap seats were sold out within an hour of
being put on sale. Many of the $1,500 seats were purchased by the gambling
casinos, who distributed them to their favored high rollers to entice them back to
the gaming tables. Other ringside seats were handed out to popular celebrities in
order to create a Hollywood-style atmosphere around the gala event. The diehard
boxing fan was forced to pay at least $300 to witness the extravaganza in person.
Preparations for the fight went surprisingly smoothly considering Mike’s
personal situation. His legal and managerial problems kept the champ in
California longer than expected, and he arrived in Catskill two weeks late. When
he finally did report to the Cus D’Amato Gym, he was a bloated 242 pounds.
Kevin Rooney had only six weeks to melt away the fat and get the heavyweight
king razor sharp for the toughest fight of his life, a seemingly impossible task.
Insiders predicted that Mike would enter the ring at something over 222 pounds,
the heaviest of his career. But Tyson and Rooney had other ideas.

The two D’Amato protégés fooled the experts. Tyson showed the public what it
means to be a champion. Once inside the confines of Cus’s gym, “Iron Mike”
was back in his own element—where he was king. Blocking out all his outside
problems, the Brooklyn native drove himself as never before, putting everything
he had into his gym programs and his sparring sessions. He gave himself body
and soul to his tyrannical trainer, Kevin Rooney, and vowed to adhere to
Rooney’s stringent conditioning program. Nothing was left to chance. Mike did
his usual three rounds on the slip bag daily as Rooney monitored the action.
“The purpose of the slip bag is to get a fighter movin’ his head, to get him in the
habit of movin’ his head correctly. You have to try to be elusive. As long as a
fighter’s tryna be elusive, he’s gonna be all right. That’s what I emphasize.
That’s what we’ve got over everybody else.” Tyson stood in the path of the slip
bag, bobbing and weaving to avoid the sand-filled cylinder as it completed its
pendulum route, back and forth, back and forth. He bobbed and weaved as the
bag passed, then ducked under the return pass and quickly sidestepped to his left,
out of the path of the bag. Jumping back into the swing line once more, the
champ spit out a series of jabs while dodging the teardrop-shaped bag, then
executed a side-to-side maneuver as if facing an actual opponent. Moving over
to the heavy bag, the kid from Catskill received more instructions from his
trainer, who noted, “I work on his form on the heavy bag. I tell him, ‘You’re not
movin’ enough ’cause you gotta move at least three times. You throw a straight
punch, you move three times. You throw a hook, you move twice.’”15

The Tyson-Spinks press conference (courtesy Paul Antonelli).

At the pre-fight press conference, Bill Cayton dedicated the match to his
deceased partner, Jim Jacobs. “This is really Jimmy’s fight. He often talked to
me about tracing champions and how titles should be won and lost in the ring.
Tyson holds all three belts but boxing historians claim Spinks is the real
champion because he took the title from Larry Holmes, who was in a direct line
of succession from John L. Sullivan.” The “People’s Champion,” Michael
Spinks, appeared apprehensive about the confrontation. Obviously nervous, the
St. Louis fighter tried to mask his feelings by putting on an act, grabbing the
microphone and screaming in fear, “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go.” On
the serious side, Spinks admitted, “It’ll be a nervous fight for me. But this is one
that must happen. I think the public wants it.” The most confident person in the
room was the undisputed heavyweight champion, who promised, “I don’t know
how to lose and I can assure you this fight will not go the distance. There’s
nobody on this planet who can beat me.”16

Two days before the fight, the combatants journeyed to the Trump Plaza for the
official weighin. Mike Tyson astounded everyone by coming in at 218 pounds,
only six pounds more than the challenger. Speaking with perfect tunnel vision,
Mike Tyson exuded supreme confidence about the upcoming encounter. “My
objective is to knock him out and to win in spectacular fashion. People that
believe it’s going to be the fight of the century are going to be disappointed. It
won’t go the distance.” The fight itself almost took a back seat to the glitzy
sideshow that had been arranged by King and Trump. The evening was a major
media event, an extravaganza unequalled in the history of Atlantic City. In
addition to the magazine coverage and daily newspaper articles, the three
principal television networks carried live reports from the fight capital on their
morning shows, Today on NBC, CBS Morning News, and ABC’s Good Morning
America. Thirteen hundred press credentials were issued to reporters from over
40 countries, and hundreds more were denied. Gambling casinos anticipated
record takes as the three-day weekend was expected to gross $80 million at the
gaming tables.

The celebrity list grew daily with more than 40 superstars from the worlds of
business, politics, sports, and entertainment planning to attend the Hollywood-
like affair. Big names included Jack Nicholson, Jesse Jackson, Frank Sinatra,
Malcolm Forbes, Walter Payton, and Bjorn Borg. Mike Tyson appeared more
relaxed as the big hour neared. As he had said more than once, “Fightin’s the
easy part. I enjoy that.” By 7:30 on fight night, the Convention Center resembled
an Academy Awards celebration. Crowds of excited people-watchers gathered
outside the great arena to catch a glimpse of their idols. Celebrities arrived in a
steady stream of stretch limousines. The men, in their usual formal tuxedos,
looked like so many penguins, but the women alighted from their carriages in a
variety of glamorous designer creations that brought whistles and cheers from
the male spectators and oohs and ahs from the envious ladies present. Spotlights
raked the Boardwalk and flashbulbs popped endlessly as the parade of celebrities
made their way into the great hall. The Boardwalk buzzed with activity as a
circus atmosphere pervaded the seaside resort. Souvenirs of the fight sold like
circus atmosphere pervaded the seaside resort. Souvenirs of the fight sold like
hotcakes. Gold-laden professional athletes strutted their affluence like brilliantly
colored peacocks, and every first class pickpocket east of the Mississippi roamed
the promenade with visions of a record nightly take dancing in his head.

The champion nervously paced his dressing room in anticipation of the long-
awaited battle. As dangerous as Tyson was, Butch Lewis played into his hands
even more by throwing a temper tantrum in Spinks’ dressing room. First he
complained that his representative was not present to witness the taping of
Tyson’s hands. Then he announced that Spinks would not enter the Convention
Center first, but would wait for Tyson to go. The delay dragged on for almost 30
minutes while Tyson fumed. Even the casual fan could have told Butch Lewis
that it was suicide to antagonize Tyson prior to a match. Just ask Mitch Green,
Marvis Frazier, Lou Duva, or Tyrell Biggs about that. Further, history showed
that, when Mike Tyson was mad at the fighter’s manager, he took the fighter out
quick. When “Smokin’ Joe” Frazier made derogatory remarks about his boxing
ability, the champ disposed of son Marvis in just 30 seconds. On the other hand,
when the champion was angry at the fighter himself, he extended the fight in
order to punish his opponent before putting him away. He pummeled Tyrell
Biggs for seven rounds before knocking out the former Olympic champion. He
disliked Mitch Green even more, so he carried the tough heavyweight for ten
agonizing rounds, determined not to inflict the final coup de grace on the Bronx
braggart. As Tyson explained, ”If Green wants out, he’ll have to quit. I’m not
gonna go for a knockout.” Based on these facts and Butch Lewis’ poorly timed
theatrics, Michael Spinks might have expected a short night in the trenches.

Michael Buffer brought the Convention Center crowd to a fever pitch with his
long-awaited announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get ready to rumble!”
As referee Frank Cappuccino brought the two fighters together, the champion
oozed confidence and determination, while the challenger appeared
apprehensive, almost resigned to his fate. Mike Tyson danced out quickly when
the bell sounded, throwing a flurry of lefts and rights to the body and head of
Spinks, who moved along the ropes and escaped. Spinks tried to catch the
aggressive champion with a sneaky right hand as the champ moved in, but the
punch fell short of its mark. Another right failed to connect as the two fighters
mixed it up. Spinks seemed demoralized as Tyson chased him around the ring.
The young champion was more elusive than Spinks thought he would be. Mike
Tyson was aggressive and active, but he always fought under control. He
practiced what Cus D’Amato preached, “It’s always better when you can hit him
and he can’t hit you.” Two hard rights to the head preceded a Tyson barrage that
drove a confused Spinks along the ropes. A bone-jarring uppercut found Spinks’
jaw, stunning the St. Louis fighter, who went into a crouch and covered up,
trying to forestall the inevitable. A crunching right hand just below the heart
dropped Spinks to one knee at the 1:02 mark. It took Tyson just three seconds to
finish the job once the fight resumed. As the combatants approached each other,
Spinks let fly a right hand, then ducked into Tyson just as the champion threw a
vicious right uppercut. The punch caught Spinks on the right side of the head,
knocking him straight back to the canvas. His head bounced off the floor with a
sickening thud; his legs twitching convulsively in an eerie dance of distress.
Cappuccino leaned over the fallen fighter and began the count. The dazed
challenger attempted to rise, but as he got to his hands and knees, he slumped
forward across the bottom strand of ropes. It was officially a one minute 31-
second knockout, the fourth shortest in heavyweight history. Tyson was across
the ring quickly to console his defeated opponent.17

With the electrifying knockout of Michael Spinks, young Mike Tyson had
completed a dizzying attack on the heavyweight ranks—eight title fights in just
19 months, including seven against heavyweight champions or former
champions. He found the heavyweight division in chaos. He left it in a shambles.
At the tender age of 22 he was proclaimed “The People’s Champion.”
 Epilogue

The Mike Tyson of the Cus D’Amato, Jim Jacobs, Bill Cayton, and Kevin
Rooney era was the real Mike Tyson, and he may have been the greatest
heavyweight boxing champion of all time. His 35–0 record, his explosive
knockouts, many of them in the first round, and the complete domination of his
opponents, where he won 109 of 120 rounds fought, produced 35 fights that
lasted less than three rounds on average. The Catskill slugger was ring smart, the
sport’s most powerful puncher, and a superior defensive fighter as well. He was
well spoken and polite to everyone, even during press conferences and
interviews. He refused to get dragged into verbal confrontations with opposing
boxers or their managers, instead letting his fists do the talking. And he was
always concerned for the health of his opponent, frequently rushing across the
ring to hug him at the end of the fight and to thank him for his effort.

Mike Tyson continued to fight for another 17 years after leaving his manager,
Bill Cayton, for Don King following the Spinks fight, but he was never again the
same man. His life inside the ring and outside the ring spiraled out of control,
degenerating into a violent, vulgar spectacle that left him disgraced and broke.
He lost all his titles to Buster Douglas in February 1990, and spent three years in
prison for rape before staging a comeback in 1995. After four tune-up fights,
including a victorious WBA Heavyweight Championship bout against Bruce
Seldon, he met Evander Holyfield in Las Vegas on November 9, 1996, losing his
WBA title on an 11th-round TKO. He was disqualified in the rematch with
Holyfield when he bit the champion’s ear, lost a title fight to Lennox Lewis five
years later, and retired from the ring after knockout losses to two nondescript
fighters. His last fight was a six-round TKO loss at the hands of Kevin McBride
in the MCI Center in Washington, D.C., on June 11, 2005. He was 39 years old.

Tyson’s final career record was 50–6–2 with 44 knockouts. He was elected to
the International Boxing Hall of Fame on June 12, 2011, and is generally
regarded as one of the greatest fighters of all time. Certainly the self-proclaimed
“Baddest Man on the Planet” engineered the most brutal and exciting period in
the history of professional boxing as he ran off 35 consecutive victories up to
and including the Michael Spinks fight. His fights lasted just under three rounds,
and including the Michael Spinks fight. His fights lasted just under three rounds,
with 88 percent of his victories coming by way of a knockout, half of them
electrifying first-round executions.

Mike Tyson’s record for his first 35 fights compares favorably with the top
heavyweight champions, as shown in the appendix. His record is on par with that
of George Foreman, who was also a devastating puncher, but in Tyson’s case,
his 35 matches included seven with world champions or former world
champions, while Foreman’s record did not include any world class boxers.
 Appendix

The Complete Amateur and Professional Boxing Record to June

27, 1988

Amateur Career
 Mike Tyson’s Amateur Record

Honors

Professional Record Through June 27, 1988

Mike Tyson vs. Boxing’s Greatest Heavyweight Champions Over Their First 35 Fights
 Chapter Notes

Chapter 1

1. NYTimes.com, May 21, 2002.

2. Wikiquote.org, January 1, 2012.

3. Clinton Mollett, Eastsideboxing.com, January 1, 2012.

4. Michelle, Dolores, and Grace Rattley, interview with the author, August 11,
1988.

5. The Oprah Winfrey Show, October 12, 2009.

6. Clinton Mollett, Eastsideboxing.com, January 1, 2012.

7. Bill Heller, Capital Region Magazine, February 1986, 42.

8. Wikiquote.org, January 1, 2012.

9. Ibid.

10. Clinton Mollett, Eastsideboxing.com, January 1, 2012.

11. Peter Heller, Bad Intentions: The Mike Tyson Story (New York: New
American Library, 1989), 14.

12. Ibid.

13. Bill Heller, Capital Region Magazine, February 1986, 42.

14. Peter Heller, Bad Intentions, 15.

15. Bill Heller, Capital Region Magazine, February 1986, 42.

16. Ibid.

17. Catskill Daily Mail, 1980.

18. William Plummer, People Weekly, July 15, 1985, 78.

19. Ibid.

Chapter 2

1. William Plummer, People Weekly, 80.

2. Ibid.

3. Cus D’Amato tape, Sept. 13, 1985.

4. Ibid.

5. Ibid.

6. Roger Sala, interview with the author, September 1985.

7. Ibid.

8. Cus D’Amato tape, Sept. 13, 1985.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Ibid.

15. Ibid.
16. Peter Heller, In This Corner (London: Robson Books, 1973), 417.

Chapter 3

1. Teddy Atlas and Peter Alson, Atlas (New York: HarperCollins, 2006), 70.

2. Michael Marton, Watch Me Now, TV documentary, 1983.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid.

5. Cus D’Amato tape, 1985.

6. Ibid.

7. Watch Me Now, 1983.

8. Ibid.

9. Cus D’Amato tape, 1985.

10. Ibid.

11. John Chetti, interview with the author, August 1986.

12. Cus D’Amato tape, 1985.

13. Atlas and Alson, 81.

14. Cus D’Amato tape, 1985.

15. Dick Stickles, interview with the author, August 1986.

16. Catskill Daily Mail, May 19, 1981.

17. Watch Me Now, 1983.

18. Catskill Daily Mail, May 1981.

19. Watch Me Now, 1983.

20. Catskill Daily Mail, March 6, 1985.

21. John Chetti, interview with the author, August 1986.

22. Catskill Daily Mail, May 1981.

Chapter 4

1. Watch Me Now, 1983.

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid.

5. Ibid.

6. Ibid.

7. John Chetti, interview with the author, August 1986.

8. Catskill Daily Mail, May 1982.

9. Catskill Daily Mail, August 1982.

10. Ibid.

11. Watch Me Now, 1983.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Ibid.

15. Catskill Daily Mail, June 27, 1982.

16. Watch Me Now, 1983.

17. Ibid.

18. John Chetti, interview with the author.

19. Catskill Daily Mail, November 22, 1982.

20. Ibid.

21. Catskill Daily Mail, November 25, 1982.

22. Catskill Daily Mail, November 1982.

23. Atlas and Alson, 104.

24. Catskill Daily Mail, December 10, 1982.

Chapter 5

1. Watch Me Now, 1983.

2. Ibid.

3. Catskill Daily Mail, February 14, 1983.

4. Catskill Daily Mail, February 16, 1983.

5. Catskill Daily Mail, March 26, 1983.

6. Mike Murphy, interview with the author, 1986.

7. Jim Murphy, interview with the author, 1986.

8. Bill Heller, Capital Region, February 1986, 43.

9. Catskill Daily Mail, May 23, 1983.

10. Jack Dempsey with Barbara Piatelli Dempsey, Dempsey (New York: Harper
& Row, 1977), 204.

11. Catskill Daily Mail, August 14, 1983.

12. Catskill Daily Mail, August 19, 1983.

13. Catskill Daily Mail, August 22, 1983.

14. Catskill Daily Mail, September 15, 1983

15. Catskill Daily Mail, September 20, 1983.

16. Catskill Daily Mail, October 22, 1983.

17. Catskill Daily Mail, November 8, 1983.

18. Catskill Daily Mail, November 9, 1983.

19. William Plummer, People Weekly, July 15, 1985, 78.

20. Cus D’Amato tape, 1985.

Chapter 6

1. Michael Marley, Boxing Scene, 51–54.

2. Watch Me Now, 1983.

3. Catskill Daily Mail, February 16, 1984.

4. Watch Me Now, 1983.

5. Catskill Daily Mail, April 4, 1984.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. Catskill Daily Mail, May 29, 1984

9. Catskill Daily Mail, June 1984.

10. Catskill Daily Mail, July 6, 1984.

11. Catskill Daily Mail, August 18, 1984.

12. Catskill Daily Mail, August 27, 1984.

13. Catskill Daily Mail, October 2, 1984.

14. Catskill Daily Mail, October 12, 1984.

15. Catskill Daily Mail, October 1984.

16. Catskill Daily Mail, November 29, 1984.

17. Catskill Daily Mail, December 4, 1984.

18. Catskill Daily Mail, December 28, 1984.

Chapter 7

1. Boxing Scene, December 1986, 51–54.

2. John Turek, interview with the author, August 1986.

3. Catskill Daily Mail, February 19, 1985.

4. Catskill Daily Mail, February 28, 1985.

5. Eric Bottjer, The Ring Extra, 1996, 6.

6. People Weekly, July 15, 1985, 77.

7. Catskill Daily Mail, March 7, 1985.

8. Cus D’Amato tape, September 13, 1985.

9. Author on site, May 23, 1985.

10. John Chetti, interview with the author, August 1986.

11. People Weekly, July 15, 1985, 78.

12. Catskill Daily Mail, May 26, 1985.

13. Catskill Daily Mail, June 22, 1985.

14. Catskill Daily Mail, July 12, 1985.

15. HBO, July 12, 1985.

16. Catskill Daily Mail, July 16, 1985.

17. The Greene County News, July 1985.

18. Cus D’Amato tape, September 13, 1985.

19. Paul Post, Catskill Daily Mail, October 10, 1985.

20. Sports Illustrated, January 6, 1986.

21. Catskill Daily Mail, November 2, 1985.

22. Catskill Daily Mail, November 5, 1985.

23. The Greene County News, November 14, 1985, 6A.

24. Sports Illustrated, January 6, 1986.

25. Paul Post, Catskill Daily Mail, November 1985.

26. Catskill Daily Mail, November 23, 1985.

27. KO, 1986.

28. Sports Illustrated, January 6, 1986.

29. Bryant Gumbel, Today Show, NBC, December 1985.

30. Jeff Ryan, KO, July 1986, 39.

Chapter 8

1. Author on site, January 11, 1986.

2. Roy Johnson, Penthouse, December 1986, 204.

3. Catskill Daily Mail, January 27, 1986.

4. Jeff Ryan, World Boxing, December 1986.

5. Author on site, February 16, 1986.

6. ABC Sports, Febrary 16, 1986

7. Bill White, meeting with the author, April 2, 1987.

8. Paul Post, Catskill Daily Mail, March 11, 1986.

9. Jay Kimiecik, Times Herald-Record, Middletown, N.Y., May 8, 1986.

10. Robert Smith, Catskill Daily Mail, May 3, 1986.

11. HBO, May 19, 1986.

12. HBO, May 20, 1986.

13. Mike Tyson, the Inside Story, 1995.

14. Robert Smith, Catskill Daily Mail, June 4, 1986.

15. The Ring, September 1986.

16. Robert Smith, Catskill Daily Mail, June 16, 1986.

17. WNYT, CH-13 News, Albany, N.Y., June 28, 1986.

18. UPI, June 28, 1986.

Chapter 9

1. Robert Smith, Catskill Daily Mail, July 23, 1986.

2. Times Herald-Record, Middletown, N.Y., July 25, 1986.

3. Tim Layden, Albany Times Union, July 26, 1986.

4. Terry Egan, Middletown Sunday Record, July 27, 1986.

5. Gene Levy, Sunday Times Union, Albany, N.Y. July 27, 1986.

6. Terry Egan, Sunday Record Sports, Middletown, N. Y. July 27, 1986.

7. Gene Levy, Albany Times Union, August 17, 1986.

8. Peter Richmond, Times Herald-Record, Middletown, N.Y., August 18, 1986.

9. Tim Wilkins, Albany Times Union, September 4, 1986.

10. HBO, September 4, 1986.

11. HBO, September 6, 1986.

12. Bill Lyon, Albany Times Union, September 9, 1986.

13. UPI, September 8, 1986.

14. Ken Cohen, Middletown Record, September 1986.

15. AP, September 18, 1986.

16. Robert C. Smith, Catskill Daily Mail, October 1, 1986.

17. Albany Times Union, October 1986.

18. Bill White, Catskill Daily Mail, October 17, 1986.

19. The Joan Rivers Show, Los Angeles, November 5, 1986.

20. Catskill Daily Mail, November 8, 1986.

21. Raymond Pignone, Catskill Daily Mail, November 18, 1986.

22. UPI, November 19, 1986.

23. Bill White III, Catskill Daily Mail, November 24, 1986.

24. HBO, November 22, 1986.

25. Ibid.

Chapter 10

1. HBO, January 1987.

2. William H. White III, Catskill Daily Mail, February 3, 1987.

3. Ibid.

4. HBO, February 1987.

5. William H. White III, Catskill Daily Mail, February 6, 1987.

6. Catskill Daily Mail, March 5, 1987.

7. Catskill Daily Mail, March 9, 1987.

8. Ibid.

9. Catskill Daily Mail, March 12, 1987.

10. Paul Antonelli, Catskill Daily Mail, May 29, 1987.

11. Ibid.

12. Ed Schuyler, AP, June 1, 1987.

13. Paul Antonelli, Catskill Daily Mail, June 1, 1987.

14. Catskill Daily Mail, June 16, 1987.

15. UPI, June 1, 1987.

16. UPI, July 1987.

17. WNYT, CH-13, Albany, N.Y.

18. William H. White III, Catskill Daily Mail, July 10, 1987.

19. Ibid.

20. Tim Dahlberg, AP, July 1987.

21. UPI, July 31, 1987.

22. Ron Borges, Boston Globe, August 3, 1987.

23. UPI, August 1, 1987.

24. UPI, Ibid.

25. William H. White III, Catskill Daily Mail, July 10, 1987.

26. William H. White III, Catskill Daily Mail, September 15, 1987.

27. William H. White III, Catskill Daily Mail, October 9, 1987.

28. Catskill Daily Mail, October 5, 1987.

29. Catskill Daily Mail, October 16, 1987.

30. HBO, October 16, 1987.

Chapter 11

1. UPI, October 19, 1987.

2. Ibid.

3. Brown on Boxing (Knob Noster, MO: Crown Books, 1987).

4. Paul Antonelli and William White III, Catskill Daily Mail, December 2, 1987.

5. HBO, January 22, 1988.

6. Paul Antonelli, Catskill Daily Mail, December 16, 1987.

7. HBO, January 22, 1988.

8. Ibid.

9. Paul Antonelli, Catskill Daily Mail, January 25, 1988.

10. Ibid.

11. Catskill Daily Mail, February 9, 1988.

12. HBO, February 18, 1988.

13. Paul Antonelli, Catskill Daily Mail, March 21, 1988.

14. Tim Layden, Albany Times Union, March 24, 1988.

15. HBO, May 12, 1988.

16. Paul Antonelli, Catskill Daily Mail, March 31, 1988.

17. Author on site, January 27, 1988.

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1989.

Mike Tyson: The Inside Story. The Big Fights, Inc., 1995.

Mollett, Clinton. Eastsideboxing.com, January 1, 2012.

Murphy, Mike. Interview with the author, August 1986.

Nack, William. “Ready to Soar to the Very Top.” Sports Illustrated, January 6,
1986.

The Oprah Winfrey Show. “The Life of Mike Tyson.” October 12, 2009.

Plummer, William. “Cus D’Amato.” People Weekly, July 15, 1985.

Rattley, Michelle, and Dolores Rattley, and Grace Rattley. Interview with the
author, August 11, 1988.

The Ring. The Ring Publishing Corp., New York, 1985–1988.

The Ring Extra. The Ring Publishing Corp., New York, 1995–1996.
Ryan, Jeff. KO, July 1986.

Ryan, Jeff. World Boxing, December 1986.

Sala, Roger. Interview with the author, September 1985.

Smith, Gary. “Tyson the Timid, Tyson the Terrible.” Sports Illustrated, March
21, 1988.

Stickles, Dick. Interview with the author, August 1986.

Times Herald-Record, Middletown, N.Y., 1985–1988.

Torres, Jose. Fire & Fear: The Inside Story of Mike Tyson. New York: Warner,
1989.

Turek, John. Interview with the author, August 1986.

Tyson, Mike, and Larry Sloman. Mike Tyson: The Undisputed Truth. New York:
Blue Rider Press, 2013.

Tyson, Mike. Wikiquote.org, January 1, 2012.

“Tyson Remains an Object of Frustration.” NYTimes.com, May 21, 2012.

White, Bill. Meeting with the author, April 2, 1987.

World Boxing, 1985–1988.

 List of Names and Terms

ABC-TV

Adirondack Regional Golden Gloves Tournament

Adirondack Regional Junior Olympic Boxing Tournament

Albany-Colonie Yankees

Albany Convention Center

Albany Patroons

Albany Times Union

Alderson, John

Aleman, Alberto

Alexander, Olin

Alexander the Great

Ali, Bashiru

Ali, Muhammad

Alumni Hall, DePaul University

Amateur Boxing Federation National Championships

Anderson, Denise

Anderson, Roger

Angie
Angie

Anthony, Tony

Antonelli, Paul

Apollo Boxing Club

Arguello, Alexis

Armstrong, Henry

Armstrong, Tyrone

Arum, Bob

Astaire, Fred

Atlantic City Convention Center

Atlas, Elaine

Atlas, Nicole Marie

Atlas, Teddy

Atlas, Teddy, III

“The Babe Ruth of Handball”

Baez, Pablo

Balboa, Rocky

Ball Four

Baranski, Matt

Barr, Ernie

Barrett, Mike
Barrett, Mike

Barry, Referee

Barrymore, John

Bates, Otis

Battle, Rudy

Beach Club condominium

Becker, Boris

Becker, Ira

Bells Coffee Shop

Benitez, Wilfred

Benjamin, Sterling

Bent, Winston

Berbick, Trevor

Berkley, Ian

Beverly Hilton Hotel

Bey, David

Bible

Big Egg

Big Fights, Inc.

Biggs, Tyrell

Birkle, Heinz

Blake, Joe
Blake, Joe

Bonet, Lisa

Bordick, Lee

Borg, Bjorn

Boston College

Boston Globe

Bouton, Jim

Boxing of the Americas Gym

Boxing Writers of America

Boyd, Lorenzo

Bradwell, Mike

Bramble, Livingstone

Breen, Kevin

Breland, Mark

Bright, Jay

Brisson, Jimmy

Bristol Park

British Commonwealth Boxing Champion

Broad, James

Brock, Hakan

Brown, Jim

Brown, Kelton
Brown, Kelton

Brown, “Panama Al”

Brown, Phil “Bazooka”

Bruno, Frank

Buffer, Michael

Burgess, Dion

Burke, Mike

Burnett, Anthony

Burns, Tommy

Caesar, Julius

Caesar’s Palace

California Golden Gloves Champion

Camacho, Hector, “Macho”

Canady, Lorenzo

Cappuccino, Frank

Carbo, Frankie

Carew, Rod

Carmack, Cody

Carnera, Primo

Casares, Jonathon
Catskill Boxing Club

Catskill Boy’s Club

Catskill Daily Mail

Catskill High School

Catskill Middle School

Catskill Village Board of Trustees

Cayton, Bill

CBS

CBS Morning News

Cervantes, Antonio

Challenger space shuttle

The Champion

Chance, Dean

Channel 10 News, Albany, N.Y.

Chavez, Julio Cesar

Chetti, Chris

Chetti, John

Chicago Bears

Cicero, Marcus Tullius

Clark, Jimmy

Clay, Cassius
Clements, Father George

Coetzie, Gerrie

Cohen, Mike

Colay, Robert

Coleman, Ernestine

Community Theatre

Connors, Jimmy

Continental Basketball Association

Cooke, Sam

Cooney, “Gentleman Gerry”

Cooper, Bert

Copeland, Hugh

Corbett, “Gentleman Jim”

Cortez, Joe

Cosby, Bill

Costen, Miss Vivien

Cotton Bowl

Coulter, Tom

Coutineri, Meghan

Cozad, Don

Crawley, Terry
Creed, Apollo

Crossgates Mall

Cubas, Lou de

Cumberland Hospital

Cummings, Floyd “Jumbo”

Cuomo, Mario, Governor

Curran, Kevin

Cus D’Amato Gym

D’Amato, Anna

D’Amato, Constantine, “Cus”

D’Amato, Damiano

D’Amato, Elizabeth

D’Amato, Jerry

D’Amato, Rocco

Damiani, Fransesco

Darrow, Clarence

David Letterman Show

Davis, Anthony

Davis, Kenny

DeLeon, Carlos
Delilah

Dempsey, Jack

Detroit Tigers

De Wit, Willie

DiMaggio, Joe

Dokes, Michael

Don King and Mike Tyson Productions

Douglas, James, “Buster”

Douglas, Kirk

Dundee, Angelo

Duran, Roberto

Duva, Lou

Dynamic Duo Productions

Einstein, Albert

Elks Club

Empire State Convention Center

Empire State Games

Empire State Plaza

Enok

Epps, Melvin
Esparza, Jesse

ESPN

European Amateur Heavyweight title

European Heavyweight Champion

Evangelista, Alfredo

Evans, Al, “Chico”

Evans, Mike

Ewald, Camille

Ewald house

Felt Forum

Ferguson, Jesse, “Thunder”

Fields, Alan

Fink, Stanley

Finkel, Shelly

Firestone, Roy

Fitzsimmons, Bob

Flutie, Doug

Forbes, Malcolm

Ford, Dr. Jock

Foreman, George
Foxx, Jimmie

Franco, Jim

Frazier, Marvis

Frazier, “Smokin Joe”

French, Tom

Frog Hollow

Frost, Stephen

Gandhi, Indira

Gardner, John L.

Gehrig, Lou

Geier, Peter

George Foreman Youth and Recreation Center

Gillison, Edward

Gilmore Stadium

Givens, Robin

Gleason’s Gym

Glens Falls Civic Center

Goff, Jerry

Golden Gloves

Gonzalez, Paul
Gonzalez, Tabita

Good Morning America

Gooden, Dwight

Gordon, S.T.

Gossett, Lou, Jr.

Grammercy Gym

Grand Hyatt Hotel, New York

Grange, Red

Greatest Fights of the Century

Greek Theatre

Greeley, Horace

Green, Charlene

Green, Mitch, “Blood”

Greenberg, Hank

Greenberg, Ross

Greene County Correctional Facility

Gretzky, Wayne

Gross, Reggie

Grossingers

Gumbel, Bryant

Gustavus I, King
Gutkowski, Bob

Hadley, Odell

Hagler, “Marvelous Marvin”

Halpin, Don

Halpin, Dr. John

Ham, Billy

Hamsho, Mustafa

Handelman, Dr. Bruce

Harris, Roy, “Cut and Shoot”

Harris, Tracy

Hartman, David

Harvard University

Hearns, Thomas, “The Hit Man”

Henderson, Ricky

Hilton Hotel, Las Vegas

Hoey, Lori

Hogan, Frank

Hogan, Hulk

Holloway, Rory

Holman, Oscar
Holmes, Larry

Holy Angels Church, Chicago, IL

Holyfield, Evander

Holyoke Boys Club

Home Box Office (HBO)

Home Box Office (HBO) Unification Series

Honda, Akahiko

Hope, Maurice

Hopkinson Playground

Hosea, William

Hostetter, Charlie

Houston Boxing Association

Houston Cougars

Howard, Kevin

Hubbell, Carl

Hujtyn, Nadia

Hull, Charlie

Hurricane Charlie

Hussein, Muhammad

Hussing, Peter
IBC (International Boxing Council)

IBF (International Boxing Federation)

Iovenella, Ron

Irving, Washington

Isaman, Derrick

Jackson, Jesse

Jackson, Tommy, “Hurricane”

Jackson, Tyrone

Jaco, Dave

Jacobs, Jim

Jacobs, Lorraine

Jameson, “Irish Mike”

Jenkins, Marvin

Joan Rivers Show

Joe Louis Award

Johannson, Ingemar

John Paul II, Pope

Johnny Tocco’s Gym

Johnson, Bill

Johnson, David, “Big Foot”

Johnson, Jack

Johnson, Jimmy

Johnson, Michael, “Jack”

Johnson, Richard

Johnson, Roy S.

Johnstown Juvenile Center

Jones, Bobby

Jordan, Don

Jordan, Michael, “Air”

Junior Amateur Boxing Championships

Junior Middleweight title

Junior Olympic Champion

Junior Olympic Elimination Tournament

Junior Olympic Regionals

Junior Olympics National Championships

Junior Welterweight title

Kalule, Ayub

Kanaan, Tony

Kennedy, John F.

Kennedy Airport
Khomeinin, Ayatollah

Kim, Duk Koo

King, Carl

King, Don

Kipling, Rudyard

Kirakosian, Maral

Kirkpatrick, Jimmy

Knickerbocker Brewery

Knight, Ray

Koch, Edward, Mayor

Konishiki, Sally

Korakuen Hall

Korakuen Stadium, Tokyo, Japan

L.A. Lakers

Lafleur, Guy

LaMotta, Jake

Lampley, Jim

Lane, C.D., “Larry”

Lane, Mills

Latham Circle Mall

Latham Coliseum

Lee, Bob

Lendl, Ivan

Leonard, Benny

Leonard, “Sugar Ray”

Lewis, Butch

Lewis, Lennox

Life magazine

Liston, Sonny

Littles, Jonathon

Lloyd, Chris Evert

Lobianco, Johnny

London, Brian

Long, Donnie

Lost Battalion Hall

Lott, Steve

Louis, Joe

Lowe, Johnny

Machaim, Marc

Madison Square Garden

Maguire, Dick

Man O War

Mancini, Ray, “Boom Boom”

Mantle, Mickey

Marciano, Rocky

Marion Correctional Institution

Maris, Roger

Mathews, Wallace

Maxim Joey

Mazer, Bill

McBride, Kevin

McCall, Oliver

McCrory, Glenn

McEnroe, John

McGirt, Buddy

MCI Center

Melton, Rick

Mercado, Bernardo

Mercante, Arthur

Mercedes, Hector

Merchant, Larry
Mid-Hudson Civic Center

“Mighty Joe Young”

Miller, Lorraine

Milligan, Henry

Minicelli, Frankie

Mississippi Jets

Montreal Canadiens

Moore, Archie

Moore, Davey

Moore, Mane, “The Flame”

Morrell, Jackie

Most Outstanding Boxer Trophy

Mount Bjelasnica

Mt. Sinai Hospital

Murkowski, Elfie

Murkowski, Werner

Murphy, Eddie

Murphy, Jim

Murphy, Lee Roy

Murphy, Mike

Murphy, Mrs.
Nack, William

Namath, Joe

Nance, Felix

Napoleon

Napp. Pat

Narita Airport, Tokyo

Nassau Coliseum

Nassau Police Club

National Four Wall Handball

National Golden Gloves Tournament

National Hockey League (NHL)

National Police Athletic League Tournament

Navratilova, Martina

NBA All-Star Game

NBC Nightly News

Nelson, Battling

Nelson, Conroy

Nevada State Supreme Court

New England Golden Gloves Tournament

New England–New York Olympic Regional Boxing Trials

New Jersey Athletic Commission

New Paltz Boxing Club

New York City

New York Daily News

New York Mets

New York Post

New York Rangers

New York State Boxing Commission

New York State Golden Gloves Tournament

New York State Legislature

New York Times

New York Yankees

Newsday

Nicholson, Jack

Norris, James D., Jr.

Norris, James D., Sr.

North American Boxing Federation (NABF)

Norton, Ken

Ocasio, Oscar

Odom, Kommel
O’Hare Airport

Ohio State Fair National Championships

Ohio State University

Ohlmeyer Communications Co.

Oklahoma Sooners

Olivier, Lawrence, Sir

Olson, Carl, “Bobo”

Olympic Boxing Committee

Olympic Box-offs, 1984

Olympic Trials, 1984

Orange Bowl

Orlando, Tony

Ortiz, Luis

Padilla, Carlos

Page, Greg

Palomino, Carlos

Papenall, Don

Parade of the Roses

Parkey, Rickey

Parsley, De Len
Pastrano, Willie

Patterson, Bill

Patterson, Floyd

Patterson, Frank

Patti, Tom

Payne, Craig

Payton, Walter

Pearl, Davey

Peloke’s Motel

Penthouse magazine

People Weekly

Pep, Willie

Peppel, Roger

Perez, Jose

Pettinato, Mark

Pleasantville Recreation Center

Pledge, Bobby

Plummer, William

Post, Paul V.

Powell, John
Rademacher, Pete

Ramos, Judge Charles E.

Ramos, Jose

Rappaport, Dennis

Ratliff, Alfonso

Rattley, Dolores

Rattley, Grace

Rattley, Michelle

Rawls, Avery

Rayburn, Jim

Reagan, President Ronald

Redman’s Hall

Reel Sports, Inc.

Renssalaer Polytechnic Institute (RPI) Field House

Resorts International Hotel

Ribalta, Jose

Richardson, Eddie

Ring Magazine

The Ringside

Rivera, Luis

Robinson, Jackie
Robinson, Nate

Robinson, “Sugar Ray”

Robitelli, Andy

Rocky

Rocky III

Rodriguez, Lucien

Romalla, Art

Roman, Jose, “King”

Rooney, Kevin

Roper, Ruth

Roper, Stephanie

Rosario, Edwin, “Chapo”

Rose Bowl

Rose Bowl Parade

Russell, Bertrand

Ruth, Babe

St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Church

Sammo, Bill

Samson

Sands Hotel/Casino
Santemore, Walter

Sarah Lawrence College

Scaff, Sammy

Schaeffer, Bill

Schultz, Dutch

Schwarzenegger, Arnold

Scott, Mark

Scott, Richard

Seaver, Tom

17th Olympic Winter Games

Shanagher, Don

Shanagher, Pat

Shang, William

Shavers, Ernie

Shaw University

Shea, John

Shoemaker, Willie

Simon, Mercea

Simpson, Dion

Sims, Jeff

Sims, Larry
Sinatra, Frank

Singleton, John

Singleton, Trent

Smith, Charles, “Tombstone”

Smith, James, “Bonecrusher”

Smith, Rod

Snipes, Renaldo

Soto, Hector

Spain, Ricardo

Special Olympics

Spinks, Leon

Spinks, Michael

Spofford Juvenile Center

Sports Extra, Channel 5, New York

Sports Illustrated

Sports Look

Stallone, Sylvester

Stapleton International Airport

Steele, Richard

Stenison, Marvin

Stevenson, Teofilo
Stevensville Country Club

Stewart, Bobby

Stickles, Dick

Stokes, Andrew

Strawberry, Daryl

Strong, Bob

Sulaiman, Jose

Sullivan, John L.

Sullivan, Tom

Summer Olympic Games:

Super Bowl III

Sutherland, Murray

Sutton, Danny

Syracuse Carrier Dome

Szegora, Istvan

Tangstad, Stefan

Tate, Frank

Tate, John

Teena Marie

Thomas, Pinklon
Thompson, Jeff

Thompson, Warren

Thurber, James

Thurman, Charles

Tiger, Dick

Tilden, Bill

Tillis, James, “Quick”

Tillman, Henry

Time

Times Herald Record, Middletown, N. Y.

Times Square Boxing Club

Tita, Vasile

Today on NBC

Tompkins, Barry

Top Rank, Inc.

Torres, Jose

Tosto, Danny

Tri City Promotions

Trump, Donald

Trump Hotel and Casino

Trump Plaza, Atlantic City

Tryon Division For Youth

Tubbs, Tony

Tucker, Tony

Tunney, Gene

Turek, John

Turn of the Century Fights, Inc.

Turner, Ira

Tyson, Denise, “Nisee”

Tyson, Lorna (Smith)

Tyson, Michael Gerard (Mike)

Tyson, Rodney

Ueno Zoo

United States Air Force Academy

United States Amateur Boxing Championships

University of Southern California (USC)

Valenzuela, Fernando

Vanderbilt, Gloria

Vanderbilt Hotel
Waldorf Astoria

Walker, Mickey

Wallau, Alex

Walters, Barbara

Washington Huskies

WBC Champion

Weaver, Mike

Weill, Al

Wembley Stadium

Wesley, Randy

Western Massachusetts Golden Gloves Tournament

Whitaker, Pernell

White, Bill

Whittaker, Lou

Wide World of Sports

Willard, Jess

Williams, Carl, “The Truth”

Williams, Johnny

Williams, Mike

Williams, Ron

Williams, Ted
Wilson, Ken

Wiltwyck School For Boys

Wimbledon

Winfield, Dave

Winkle, Rip van

Witherspoon, Anthony

Witherspoon, “Terrible Tim”

Wolgast, Ad

World Boxing Association (WBA)

World Boxing Council (WBC)

World Boxing Day

Wright, Garland

WTEN, CH-10, Albany N.Y.

Yankee Stadium

Yeats, Barry

Yonko, Dave

Young, Dick

Young, Gary

Young, Greg

Young, Jimmy
Young, Kevin

Young, Mark

Young, Rodney

Young Adult Institute (YAI)

Young-Su

Zouski, Steve