THE 21-YEAR PUNCH
Charles tries in vain to rise after being poleaxed in Round 7.
McKeesport Fourth of July celebration and even attended one of Jimmy Slater’s Little League ballgames. Sometimes he’d sit down to a lunch of lamb chops and talk to reporters. Then it was back to his room at the Balkan Hotel, where he’d relax and read his Bible. The press seemed charmed by Walcott’s stress-free training camp, how he’d while away an evening playing gin rummy with his trainer, Dan Florio, or content himself by listening to a radio soap opera. Charles’ camp had more of the big- time boxing atmosphere with more noise, while Walcott’s headquarters was as peaceful as a summer breeze. He talked calmly about winning. Maybe by knockout. “Walcott oozes confidence,” reported the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, “in that quiet, well-mannered way of his.” What brought about Walcott’s Zen-like demeanor? He cited the people at Rainbow Gardens. “I absolutely have never been treated as well anywhere,” he said two days before the fight. “It’s just as if I’ve been training in my own block at home – the people have been so nice to me. If I win the title, I’m going to visit each house along the road where I walk here and thank everyone who
had a kind word for me.” The friendly setting kept Walcott loose as the fight approached. While his manager objected to the choice of referee (Ernie Sesto, who was replaced by Buck McTiernan), and Charles’ manager raised a stink over one ring judge’s Philly roots, Walcott remained cool. By the third round of the fight, he was starting to nail Charles with his left, getting ever closer to landing the big one. Jimmy Powers of the New York Daily News was as amazed as anyone when he saw the finish. “Seriously,” he wrote, “it was an unexpected thrill to see Joe Walcott, a fighter with plenty of mileage on him, uncork a left hook that dumped Ezzard Charles so fast it looked as if someone jerked the ring canvas from under his feet.” Charles would say after the bout that he’d had trouble “getting started,” but he gave Walcott credit. “That punch Joe threw was not a lucky one,” Charles said. “He was trying to beat me. He hit me. And he beat me.” With a shrug he added, “So I lost. That’s that.” As for the new champion, he could hardly contain himself in the dressing room.
“It’s only the beginning,” Walcott beamed. “Life begins at 37!” In many ways, Walcott was as much a “Cinderella Man” as Jim Braddock. And for a short time, the press treated him that way. In a season of great boxing upsets, including Randy Turpin’s win over Sugar Ray Robinson, Walcott’s victory over Charles eclipsed them all. Along with being the year’s feel- good event, Walcott-Charles III was chosen as The Ring’s Fight of the Year. “I always said that if God’s on your side, you’re bound to win sooner or later,” Walcott said. But even as he talked about the strong religious faith that he took into the ring, his mind kept returning to a certain bunch of kids he’d met recently, a loyal group that, temporarily at least, found him more fascinating than any number of carousel rides or rounds of miniature golf. Despite a victory parade of more than 100,000 waiting for him in Camden, New Jersey, Walcott kept his promise to visit the park area and thank as many
people as he could. He even stopped at the home of little Jimmy Slater and had lunch with him. Then it was off to the airport and back to Camden, where a new life awaited. True, Walcott’s reign was brief at 14 months. He’d lose the title in a dramatic bout with Rocky Marciano. Still, it’s doubtful that in the 75 years since he won it that anyone wore the heavyweight title with more pride than Walcott or deserved it more. His life after boxing was remarkably full; he dabbled in acting and even served three years as the sheriff of Camden County, the first African American to hold the position. Later he spent nine years as chairman of the New Jersey State Athletic Commission. It was a rich and varied life, and not without controversy, but all that was still to come. In July of 1951, thanks to the unflagging support of some wide-eyed kids and one shocking left hook, thrown with the weight of hope and faith behind it, America’s hard-luck heavyweight was now known by one word: champion.
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