Bubblegum and Kipling. Tom Mayer
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him, but he didn’t look forward with any relish to telling Mrs. Oglethorpe about it.
When I told my father about the fight date he said he wished I’d gotten more time. I said I’d done the best I could, and he said that was okay, he thought he could have Johnny ready, but he wished he had more time to strengthen up those legs.
He ran Johnny a lot the next week and a half, and taught him how to punch straight. I sparred with Johnny, not hitting hard, and it was amazing how he picked up moves. He was very coordinated, which was something we had never suspected before because he hated sports so, and in no time at all he could do a fine bob and weave. Dad made him carry a small rubber ball around in each pocket, and told him to squeeze them all the time. After about a week Johnny began to have some sting to his punches. Dad kept working with him mainly on the simple stuff, keep the right up, the chin tucked in, the left jabbing; cross to the jaw when you get a clean shot, bob and weave when you get in trouble. Dad bought a medicine ball and tossed it to Johnny to toughen up his middle, but the ball was too big and it knocked Johnny’s wind out. That happened a couple of times, but Johnny got right back up and asked for more, and I was astonished at how tough he was getting.
The last week Dad had him running around the block ten times before breakfast, eating wheat germ, steak, and orange juice, taking four kinds of vitamin pills, and sparring six rounds after school in addition to rope skipping and bag work. The Wednesday before the fight Dad bought Johnny a new pair of red silk fighting trunks, a jock, and a steel cup. The trunks fit fine and the jock was okay, but the cup was too big, and Johnny had to walk around bow-legged with it on. Dad said he had to have a cup, can’t fight without protection, and the next day he spent most of the morning buying up boys’-size protectors. He brought about twenty of them home, and at least ten fit.
On Friday Johnny just skipped rope and sparred a round with me. Dad wanted to keep him home from school to make sure he took it easy, but Mother said she wouldn’t hear of it. My father said, but it was the day before the fight, and Mother said no, absolutely no. That night Dad fed Johnny a huge charcoal-broiled steak that he cooked himself, and put him to bed at eight-thirty after giving him a sleeping pill to make sure he relaxed well.
The fight was scheduled for ten o’clock, and we got to school at nine-thirty. Johnny changed at home, and wore a blue bathrobe in the car. Dad asked him three or four times how he felt and if he had the right size cup in place. Mother wouldn’t come with us. She said she hated fights, any fights, they were brutal, and she wasn’t about to watch one with her last baby in it.
The fight was in the Goodey-Gormley gym, and the ring was a joke. They had put down a wrestling mat in the middle of the floor, with a steel folding chair at each corner. No ropes at all. The referee was Mr. Nestor Gonzalez, one of the sixth-grade teachers. He was hunchbacked, wore glasses, and talked in a high thin voice. I had had him the year before and he was very nice, and very intelligent.
Melvin and his parents showed up at a quarter till. Mrs. Oglethorpe had a red scaly face that looked as if she had just been yelling at someone. Lots of blood in her cheeks. Mr. Oglethorpe was huge, around six four, with hairy hands. Melvin was at least a foot taller than Johnny. He had black hair he was always brushing back out of his eyes, and he was very pale, scared stiff, I figured, and he was dressed in a regular shirt and khakis. When he took the shirt off he was skinny underneath.
Mr. Bascomb was there too, and the first thing he did was run up to my father and ask how my mother was. Then he asked if there wasn’t some way we could solve this peaceably, and my father told him to ask Johnny. Mr. Bascomb asked Johnny, and Johnny said, “I wanna fight.”
Mr. Bascomb said he guessed fight it was, and Melvin looked very unhappy.
I was going to be Johnny’s second, of course, and I had a bucket filled with ice water, four towels, a big box of Band-aids, and some iodine. I picked a corner and told Johnny to sit down in the chair. Mr. Gonzalez gave us some school gloves, twelve-ouncers, and I tied them on Johnny, being careful to tuck the laces in. This was according to plan. My father had been working Johnny out with sixteen-ounce gloves, figuring the school would have twelve-ouncers, so Johnny’s hands would feel light and fast.
Mr. Gonzalez asked if everybody was ready. I said Johnny was, and Melvin sort of nodded. Mr. Gonzalez told the boys to come to the center of the ring. “We’ll fight three rounds,” he said, “of two minutes each, and after that everyone should be happy. I don’t know much about boxing, but no hitting below the belt, no biting, and no kicking. The edges of the mat are the out-of-bounds lines. You both sure we can’t talk this thing out?”
“Yes,” Johnny said.
“All right, if that’s the way you feel about it. Back to your corners. Mr. Bascomb is going to be the timekeeper and he’ll ring the bell. Don’t hit each other after the bell.”
Johnny came back to his corner and I said, “Go get him.” Johnny nodded. I took off the blue bathrobe, having trouble getting it over the gloves. My father had gotten Johnny a mouthpiece, and I put it in. It made his face look swollen. Johnny did a couple of deep knee bends, which Dad said would loosen up his ligaments. Then he jabbed the air a couple of times, and I had to admit it looked impressive. Straight with lots of snap.
Mr. Bascomb said, “Everybody ready?” and rang the bell. Johnny came out fast, hands up high, and had to wait for Melvin at the center of the ring. Melvin was moving cautiously. When he got within range Johnny feinted a jab and circled around him twice, doing a little bobbing and weaving as he went. Dad told him to be careful in the first round and feel his opponent out. Dad said only rank amateurs and club fighters went rushing in. Melvin swung softly, a long roundhouse right, and Johnny ducked it easily. Johnny countered with a hard jab that landed square on Melvin’s shoulder. Melvin said ouch, but you could tell Johnny’s short reach was going to be a problem. Melvin swung again and missed and Mrs. Oglethorpe yelled loudly, “Murder him.”
Melvin looked a little embarrassed. Johnny faked a one-two to the jaw, and when Melvin pulled his hands up Johnny hit him in the gut. Dad had told him to give the guy’s midsection a going over early in the fight. That would slow him down. I looked around and Dad was smiling.
Melvin back-pedaled a bit and then swung with his right again. Johnny ducked it with his head and hit Melvin with a right of his own, square on the chin. Considering Johnny weighed all of about sixty pounds at the time, it was quite a punch. Melvin’s knees buckled, and he went staggering back off the mat. His shoes squeaked loudly as he caught his balance on the hardwood floor, and Mr. Gonzalez said, “Wait a minute, are you okay?” Melvin nodded and rubbed his chin. Melvin got back on the mat, though he took his time about doing it, and they circled around some more, with Melvin heaving wild haymakers from time to time, until Mr. Bascomb rang the bell.
Johnny came back to the corner and bobbed up and down to show how strong he felt. I took his mouthpiece out. “Take it easy,” I said. “You got two more rounds.”
“It works,” he said.
“What works?”
“The things Dad says,” he said.
“I told you they would. Now sit down. I gotta sponge the sweat off you.”
Johnny sat down and I dipped one of my towels in the ice water and rubbed over his face. The towel must have gotten in his mouth, because he spat two or three times after I took it away. “You’re not supposed to stuff it down my throat,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said. “You got any cuts you want bandaged?” I had stripped the wrappers off several Band-aids and stuck them to the back of the chair in case I had to use them fast, and the iodine was in my pocket. I also had a roll of cotton.
“He didn’t hit me,” Johnny said. “How could I have cuts?”
“I can’t see everything from here,” I said. “Sometimes your back is turned to me. I thought he might of got you.”
“Didn’t touch me.”
“Don’t get overconfident,” I said. “You can take him but don’t get cocky.”
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