ONWARD TO VALHALLA
D uring the early days of The Ring magazine, back when boxing held a more significant place in the American public’s imagination, founder and editor Nat Fleischer had a standard response when a fighter passed away. “He has gone on to boxing’s Valhalla,” he’d say, citing the hall in Norse mythology where the souls of fallen warriors gathered. Occasionally, one of the legendary artists who worked for Nat, usually the great Ted Carroll, would draw a beautiful rendition of the deceased fighter. Sometimes there’d be a caricature of a boxer with angel wings, entering the afterlife, greeted by greats of the past. It was cornball stuff, but only a complete ogre would fail to be at least slightly moved. One can only imagine how the recent deaths of Dwight Muhammad Qawi, Don Elbaum and Tommy Brooks would’ve been handled, a trio that Fleischer would assure us had entered Valhalla. Carroll would’ve had a great time
illustrating Qawi, that bulldog of a fighter who always looked like he was smiling as he wore his opponents down. “I don’t enjoy beating up people,” Qawi once said, “but I will do what I have to do.” Yet Qawi also possessed a humanitarian side, spending his later years as a drug and alcohol counselor. Of all the stories of people who found redemption through boxing, his would rank near the top. It was in September 1981, during an NBC bout televised from Rahway State Prison in New Jersey, that many boxing fans got their first look at Qawi, who was then known as Dwight Braxton. He’d once been an inmate there, but this time, he was a boxer, facing James Scott, a light heavyweight contender fighting from behind prison walls.
Though Scott’s incarceration story garnered the network’s attention, it was Braxton who muscled his way to a 10-round decision win. Three months later, Braxton scored a shocking 10th-round stoppage of Matthew Saad Muhammad to win the Ring/WBC light heavyweight championship in Atlantic City. “It was a sound thrashing that no one could have predicted,” reported Newark’s Star-Ledger. A rematch in 1982 saw the seemingly invincible Braxton stop Saad Muhammad again, this time in six one- sided rounds. He’d dreamed of being known as a great fighter instead of an ex-con, and he’d done it. He’d been a Camden, New Jersey, kid, one of 13 siblings. He spent his teen years in and out of reform schools and eventually served five years at Rahway for the armed robbery of a liquor store. When Braxton was 25, with a bit of experience in the prison boxing program and a winning record in street fights, he found his way to the rugged atmosphere
Qawi “buzzsawed” Matthew Saad Muhammad to a sixth-round TKO in their 1982 rematch.
Elbaum (left) conducting business at the Blue Horizon in 2009.
of Joe Frazier’s Philadelphia gym. With no amateur background and the likes of Jimmy Young and Boogaloo Watts working on the bags next to him, he spent a year and a half learning the techniques of boxing. He reminded many of Smokin’ Joe himself, all swarming energy and tireless aggression. He became known as the “Camden Buzzsaw,” as appropriate a nickname as there has ever been in boxing. Braxton’s father had been a lumberjack, which may have inspired the moniker. In November 1982, after converting to Islam, Braxton had his name legally changed to Dwight Muhammad Qawi. Promoters objected, since fans had only recently gotten to know him by his original surname, but he couldn’t be dissuaded. After his two wins over Saad Muhammad, along with impressive outings against Jerry Martin and Eddie Davis, it looked like Qawi would hold on to the light heavyweight title for a long time. Looking back, however, Qawi had already peaked. In 1983, he put his
looked thicker each year. A rematch with Holyfield in 1987 was expected to produce the same sparks as their first bout, but Qawi couldn’t last four rounds. That was followed by an embarrassing loss to George Foreman in Las Vegas where, inexplicably, Qawi quit during the seventh round. As often happens with high-intensity, all-pressure fighters, it appeared Qawi’s flame had burned out. He’d also reveal that he was drinking heavily during these years, putting away a fifth of whiskey every day. His career continued in smaller venues against lesser-known opponents, but Qawi never figured in the big picture again. He was 45 when he finally retired for good in 1998. “I guess you could say I stayed past my dream,” he said. By the time he left boxing, Qawi had a record of 41-11-1 with 25 knockouts and had won titles in two weight classes. Among his accolades was a 2004 induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame, while The Ring named his first bout with Holyfield as the cruiserweight fight of the decade.
championship on the line against WBA titlist Michael Spinks in a highly anticipated contest billed as “The Brawl for it All.” In response to Qawi’s toughness, Spinks turned into a hit-and-run strategist and outboxed Qawi over 15 dullish rounds to unify the belts. Qawi rebounded somewhat, stepping up in poundage to win the WBA cruiserweight title by stopping Piet Crous in 1985. One year later, he lost that title by 15-round split decision to Evander Holyfield in Atlanta. Qawi put the young Holyfield through a baptism by fire, but he came up short. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this,” Qawi told a reporter. “Maybe I’d better start looking for something else to do.” Qawi was never the same after the bout with Holyfield. The old buzzsaw no longer screamed with the same ferocity, while his short, 5-foot-6½ frame
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