BY THE NUMBERS:
controversial win over Chuck Davey » Unfortunately, no television cameras were on hand at the Olympic to record the 1954 bout between Aragon and Davey. By most accounts, it was an excellent fight, with the boyish Davey boxing smartly and Aragon slamming away with only his right hand, having injured his left early in the bout. The crowd, already prone to hating Aragon, felt Davey was ahead by the end of 10 rounds. When the split decision was announced in Aragon’s favor, the 10,400 in attendance erupted in what one reporter called “a scene of pandemonium never before equaled at a local arena.” The California Boxing Commission immediately suspended referee Mushy Callahan and ringside judge Joe Stone, both of whom scored the contest for Aragon. The L.A. Mirror, scholars in exaggeration, called Aragon’s win “the most disputed verdict in the history of California boxing.” In the same breath, the Mirror declared the “decision wasn’t that atrocious. It was a matter of differing between sporadic but convincing explosions and steady, sparkling science.” Convinced his sporadic explosions had been enough to win, Aragon was unapologetic, claiming Davey did nothing but run all night. As for the post-fight commotion, Aragon was surprised. “But something always happens when I’m involved in the fight,” he said. “We make front-page headlines every time.” The Mirror, by the way, had two writers on press row. One scored the bout a draw, the other saw it for Aragon. Meanwhile, the Valley Times had it for Davey by one point but added, “it was Art Aragon who made it. Without Aragon chasing Davey, it would’ve been a dull affair …”
total bouts » Aragon was a typical busy fighter of the post-war years, compiling a record of 90-20-6 with 62 KOs. Along with a willingness to brawl, he possessed the sort of charisma that can’t be taught, earning the nickname “Golden Boy” long before Oscar De La Hoya’s time. Fighting almost exclusively in Los Angeles, having grown up there after moving from New Mexico, he became a staple of both the Legion Stadium in Hollywood and the Olympic Auditorium. An all-action lightweight and welterweight, Aragon scored wins against the likes of Lauro Salas, Chico Vejar, Teddy “Redtop” Davis, Enrique Bolanos (twice) and future titleholder Don Jordan (twice). “He was so colorful,” boxing publicist Bill Caplan once said, “and his fights were so exciting. He was a kill-or-be-killed kind of guy.” Yet Aragon’s hell-bent style, which made him the top draw in Los Angeles for many years, wasn’t enough against stylists such as Vince Martinez and Billy Graham, to whom he lost decisions. Aragon also suffered a bruising TKO loss to Carmen Basilio. That was the night the referee approached a bloody Aragon between rounds and said he was close to stopping the fight, to which Aragon responded, “What are you waiting for?”
32 years old when he retired »
fixed fight scandals » Ugly accusations tarnished Aragon’s reputation. One involved Tommy Campbell, an Illinois lightweight who testified before a state probe that he was ordered to take a dive against Aragon in their 1950 bout. Before the same government committee, Carlos Chavez also claimed he purposely lost against Aragon when they’d fought that year, taking a 10-count on his knee in the first round. Chavez had
Aragon’s last bout, fittingly, was at the Olympic in January of 1960. A new decade was dawning, and Aragon, who had started his career in 1944 at age 16, was done. The message was made abundantly clear when journeyman Alvaro Gutierrez stopped him in the ninth. The crowd, down a couple thousand from Aragon’s golden heyday, knew they were seeing him for the last time. Aragon announced his retirement in the hallway outside his dressing room. “I’m glad it’s over,” he said. In his 16 years as a pro, Aragon had done enough for two men. To paraphrase L.A. sportswriter John Hall, Aragon may not have been a great fighter, but he’d acted like one. And everyone in the city went along for the trip. Even if they booed, there was always some affection behind it. He was the man they loved to hate. In between bouts, there’d been small parts in movies and affairs with some of Tinseltown’s prettiest ladies, including B-movie bombshell Mamie Van Doren. There were also four marriages, a bunch of children and grandchildren, a conversion to Judaism and a longstanding gig as a bail bondsman in Van Nuys. He would sometimes describe boxing as a miserable business that gave him brain damage, but he’d also tell you that he missed the money and the women and those unforgettable days when he’d owned the town. It had been an astounding life. Aragon died at age 80 in 2008. According to legend, the gathering at his memorial service in the Hollywood Hills gave him a unique sendoff: They booed him one last time. He would’ve loved it.
ART ARAGON by Don Stradley • Illustration by KronkAAArt “You ever get booed by 10,000 people? It’s exciting.” So said Art Aragon. And he would know, since few fighters have ever enjoyed irritating the customers as much as this free-swinging left-hooker who fought out of East Los Angeles. Aragon had the crowd- baiting instincts of a professional wrestler, complete with a closet full of gold-colored trunks and robes, and a bevy of beautiful women at his side. If you didn’t come to the arena to jeer Aragon, you’d certainly be doing it before the fight had ended. Get ready to boo, because here’s his story by the numbers.
fights with Jimmy Carter » Nowadays, Aragon would probably win a title or two, but in his own time he received only one title shot and failed. Aragon’s 15-round decision loss to lightweight champion Jimmy Carter in 1951 earmarked him as a game if less than elite slugger. He’d earned the opportunity by beating Carter in a non- title bout earlier that year, but when the belt was on the line and the mercurial Carter was motivated, Aragon flopped. Though Aragon was still standing at the finish, there was no doubt that Carter had won. The champ swept the scorecards, knocking Aragon down twice, cutting him badly around the eyes and smacking his mouthpiece out at least six times, including one moonshot that arced over the audience and landed in the sixth row. Aragon, it appeared, wasn’t championship material. Not at lightweight, anyway, where making weight was always a struggle for him. He once said, “I was the only fighter who had to be carried into the ring.” They’d meet again as welterweights in 1956, when Carter was an ex-champion on a downward skid. Aragon won on points over 10 rounds, turning in what the Los Angeles Mirror called “one of the truly great performances of his sensational career.” Carter had been masterful when a title was at stake, but Aragon could take some comfort in leading their series 2-1.
beaten Aragon easily in a previous contest but claimed he was ill with hemorrhoids for the rematch and saw “no use in getting hurt.” Later, Chavez told the Long Beach Independent, “I’d bet that 30% of Aragon’s fights were fixed for him.” It happens that 1950 was a time when Aragon was fighting a lot of “tomato cans” for L.A. promoter Babe McCoy, the focal point of the state’s investigation. Most reporters believed Aragon when he claimed to know nothing of any fixes. “It would be fair to accuse Aragon of mediocrity,” wrote Bob Panella of the L.A. Evening Citizen News, “but not dishonesty.” Carter was also rumored to have not tried in his first bout with Aragon, under orders from a Mafia figure. Aragon was later found guilty of fight-fixing charges in 1957, having allegedly bribed Dick Goldstein, an unranked fighter, to take a dive (though the bout itself was canceled on fight day). Aragon was sentenced to serve one to five years in prison. When Aragon successfully appealed, the charges were dropped.
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