COMMISSIONER’S CORNER REMEMBERING DWIGHT By Randy Gordon
few questions, because I was covering the fight. He nodded. “A few questions, then get lost!” I asked his age. “25.” I questioned how tall he was. “Five-six-and-a-half.” I asked where he was from. “Camden.” I asked if he had an amateur record.
was changing his name from Dwight Braxton to Dwight Muhammad Qawi. At each of those events, whenever I asked a question as a member of the media, he would either avoid taking my question or say, “What’s your question, Gordon?” in a tone where he always sounded annoyed. It all came to a head 16 days after Qawi stopped top-rated Jerry “The Bull” Martin in Las Vegas. I was ringside for the fight, covering for both ESPN and The Ring. Qawi refused to do an interview with me, telling other reporters, “I don’t like the guy.” That was fine, because I didn’t like him either. Right after that fight, ESPN’s executive producer decided to bring Qawi to the still-being-built studios in Bristol, Connecticut, to be a guest on their one-hour magazine- type show, SportsCenter Plus. Qawi agreed. What he didn’t know is that I would be the host. On April 6, ESPN sent a car to bring Qawi from Camden to Bristol. On a “normal” day, the trip takes just under four hours. April 6 was anything but normal. The Northeast sector of the U.S. was hit that day by a freak Nor’easter, which dumped several feet of snow on the area. Qawi’s limo left Camden at noon, anticipating a 4 p.m. arrival. They ran smack into the blizzard midway between Camden and Bristol. They walked in at 6:30. When the call to the studio came from security that “Mr. Qawi is here,” I skipped taking the elevator and ran down the two flights of stairs to greet the light heavyweight champ in the lobby. When he saw me walking toward him, Qawi’s tired face took on a look of anger. “Hi, Champ! Welcome to ESPN!” I said. He pointed at me. “What the hell are you doing here?” he roared.
“I’m doing the interview with you,” I said. “Like hell you are!” he shouted. “Somebody else better be doing the interview.” “I know you’re tired from that brutal drive, Champ,” I said, trying to change the direction of the conversation. “Want to use the men’s room? There’s even a shower in there, and we’ll give you a new ESPN shirt and sweatpants to put on.” “BULLSHIT!” he screamed. “I’m not staying!” He turned to the limo driver and demanded, “Take me home!” The driver, the security guard and I just looked at Qawi. “We’re lucky to have gotten here,” said the driver. “We ain’t going anywhere! Look outside!” We did. Everything was white. I looked at Qawi and forced a smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Dwight,” I said. Then I added, in a loud voice, “You think this is easy for me? I have been given the job of having to interview the grumpiest, nastiest, most disliked champion in boxing history. Getting punched in the face by you would be easier than sitting down with you and doing an interview. I’m doing it because it’s my job, not because I want to. No boxing journalist would want to be me tonight!” I glared at him and stepped toward him. I expected to be hit. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked. “Follow me!” I said. We took the elevator up two floors. We didn’t talk. I showed him into the men’s room, complete with a shower. “There are clean towels in there. When you are done, I will be in the office across the hall. It’s the Sports Newsroom.” I glanced quickly at him. He glanced back. I actually detected a bit of a smile, but didn’t smile back. Instead, I turned and walked away. I sat in the newsroom and prepared my notes. As I did, announcer Bob Ley came in with an ESPN gym bag.
Inside were an ESPN shirt, ESPN sweatshirt, ESPN hat and ESPN sweatpants, along with an ESPN key ring, pens and notepads. I walked to the men’s room and pushed open the door. Dwight was in the shower. “I’m putting some gifts for you on the floor!” I said. I heard a “Thank you!” as I walked out. I smiled. F rom the moment Qawi stepped into the newsroom, wearing his new ESPN paraphernalia, he also wore a smile. He was a different man than the snarling pit bull I had previously known. The on-air interview went better than I ever thought it would. Following the interview, we went into the Jock’s Lounge and watched tapes of his fights. With the blizzard still raging, we weren’t going anywhere. We talked through the night. We went from being two guys who couldn’t stand each other to being two close friends. In the morning, another driver was hired to drive Qawi home. We stayed in touch from that moment. Shortly before the Covid virus hit in 2020, Qawi came to the SiriusXM studios to be a guest on the show I have hosted with Gerry Cooney since 2009. Qawi looked beaten and broken down. He was hard to understand. Cooney and I gave him some money. When I attempted to call him the following week, his phone had been turned off. I attempted to reach him again, but couldn’t. That day in the SiriusXM studio was the last I ever saw or spoke to him. Dwight Muhammad Qawi grew up tough and lived a tough life. It took a blizzard to bring out the soft side of him.
I t was Thursday, at the Audubon Ballroom. I was there to cover the card for the boxing magazine I was editor of – World & International Boxing – as well as to do a write-up for my friend Malcolm “Flash” Gordon’s underground newsletter, Tonight’s Boxing Program. The card was strictly a club show. I was November 2, 1978. I was in Harlem, New York, for a boxing card particularly interested in one of the six-rounders: A light heavyweight contest between my Long Island friend Johnny Davis and his opponent from Camden, New Jersey: Dwight Braxton. On the way into the building, I ran into the card’s matchmaker, Johnny Bos. He filled me in on a few of the fighters. Included
“Had none,” he snarled. Finally, when I asked him about being incarcerated, he took a step toward me. One of his cornermen pulled him back. “Get lost! Get the fuck away from me!” He was very convincing. “Thank you for your time,” I said. I quickly turned and walked away. That night, Johnny Davis outboxed Braxton in a very competitive, entertaining fight. Davis won the six- round bout by split decision, handing Braxton his first loss and bringing his record to 1-1-1. However, in that defeat, I thought Braxton showed a lot of promise and untapped talent. Though I knew I wasn’t his favorite reporter, I decided to pay close attention to his career. I attended 11 of his next 14 fights over the next
was the information that Braxton had recently been released from prison, where he served several years for armed robbery. Once inside, I saw a handmade sign taped to a wall that said, “BOXER’S DRESSING ROOMS” with an arrow pointing left. I followed the arrow to a long hallway. I stopped when I came to a sign that said BRAXTON. A short, stocky fighter approached with two of his cornermen. The fighter wore a black sweatshirt and black
sweatpants. The hood on his sweatshirt was up, partially obscuring his face. “Looking for someone?” asked the fighter. “Yes, I am,” I replied. “I’m looking for Dwight Braxton.” “What business you got?” he asked. “I’m a reporter,” I replied. “Are you Dwight Braxton?” “I am,” he said. “Get lost. I don’t speak to no reporters.” I told him I just needed to ask a
three years. Included were ringside press seats at Rahway State Prison in September 1981, when he outpointed inmate James Scott (a Ring-rated light heavyweight at the time); when he TKO’d Ring/WBC titleholder Matthew Saad Muhammad to become champion in December 1981; and in Las Vegas, Atlantic City and Philadelphia for all three of his successful title defenses. I was at the press conference he held in early 1982, announcing that he
Dwight Muhammad Qawi passed away on July 25, 2025, at the age of 72.
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