Mike was much more earnest, baring his teeth and often showing his frustration as he attempted to hit something apart from Packey’s gloves. Come the ninth round, McFarland commenced his sprint for home. Gibbons enjoyed an early success as he feinted with the left and then struck Packey with a hard right to the jaw. But McFarland rallied to get the better of a heated mid-ring exchange, landing a left-right combination without return. Packey tucked up and protected himself beautifully as Mike tried to counter.
In the final round, Gibbons had the bearing of a man who knew he had to force the fight to win it. He tried all he knew to pierce the famous McFarland defense, but it was the Chicago ghost who was doing the cleaner scoring. Gibbons took three lefts to the face without return and was also being punished to the ribs. McFarland was anticipating Mike’s return fire and staggered the St Paul man with yet another left.
At the final bell, it seemed to many that the mesmerizing McFarland had done enough to secure victory. He certainly had plenty of supporters. George Holmes of the Oakland Tribune called the bout for Packey, describing the Chicago man’s performance as ‘wonderful’. Many others disagreed, including the Associated Press, which tabbed the fight 7-2-1 for Gibbons. The New York Times and referee Billy Job called it a draw, which is how the contest is most often recorded today.
Who really won the fight? Who knows? For this was the indecisive and muddled era of the no-decision, where the newspapers and anyone else with an opinion pitched in their two cents’ worth.
For Packey McFarland and that intelligent and voracious mind that ticked away inside his head, there were other fields to move on to and conquer. One somehow knew that Packey would prosper at whatever he chose to do. Settling in the Chicago town of Joliet in his retirement, he became a very wealthy man in the contracting and brewing business and served for a time as director of the Joliet National Bank.
He left a few other special men in his wake. One wonders if a fighter called Dusty Miller had even an inkling of what he truly achieved way back in 1904. For it was Miller who knocked out the sixteen-year-old McFarland. Thereafter, the only men to knock Packey off his feet were Ray Bronson in New Orleans and Cyclone Johnny Thompson in Kansas City.
McFarland at his best probably came as close as any fighter ever did to making himself invisible. How cruelly ironic that an invisible opponent finally penetrated his guard and killed him. In September 1936, while serving as a member of the Illinois State Athletic Commission, 48-year-old Packey slipped into a fatal coma from an infection near the heart. Boxing.com article 5 May 2014 Mike Casey
[8.5] CARLOS ORTIZ 70-61(30)-7-1-1 [Light-Welterweight & Lightweight]: Boxing.com online -
Carlos Ortiz: Miracle on 29th Street: ‘Where else could a poor kid from Puerto Rico get the break I got, if not from boxing?’ — Carlos Ortiz
There have been some amazing lightweight champions over the years. Men like Joe Gans, Battling Nelson, Benny Leonard, Tony Canzoneri, Lou Ambers, Ike Williams and Roberto Duran were kings of the ring to their very core. The great boxer-puncher Carlos Ortiz, by any estimation, earned his place in their august company.
Ortiz was junior lightweight champion from 1959 to 1962, followed by two reigns as lightweight champion, from 1962 to 1965 and from 1965 to 1968. During his long and illustrious career he defeated such outstanding boxers as Kenny Lane, Battling Torres, Duilio Loi, Joe Brown, Flash Elorde, Ismael Laguna, Johnny Bizzarro, and Sugar Ramos. His sneaky jab, clever right, swift feet and ring smarts were the hallmarks of his Hall of Fame career.
Carlos Ortiz was born in Ponce, Puerto Rico on September 9 1936. He is no longer young, but is sturdy and good-humored, and he spoke to me about boxing and how it transformed his life.
‘I came to New York City, the United States, back in 1947, and I was eight years old,’ he said. ‘Next year I went to Macy’s and got into trouble and they told me you have to join a Boy’s Club or else we’re gonna come get you and put you in the slammer. They scared the shit out of me!’
Carlos Ortiz was lucky. He may have needed a second chance. A third chance wasn’t necessary. Good fortune, as it turned out, was right near his home.
‘I found this Boy’s Club just a block from where I lived,’ Ortiz said with a smile. ‘Madison Square Boy’s Club it used to be, right on 29th Street. I lived on 28th Street. I went right there and I joined.’
It was a decision Ortiz has yet to regret …
Ortiz turned pro in 1955 with a first round knockout over Harry Bell at the legendary St Nicholas Arena. After going 29-2 with 1 ND over the next four years, he TKO’d Kenny Lane (57-6 at the time) on June 12, 1959 at New York’s Madison Square Garden to win the vacant junior welterweight crown.
I was junior welterweight champion, which I won in 1959 and then I lost in 1961. But I got the opportunity to fight for the title I really wanted. The junior welterweight title was made up, brought back from the old days. I really wanted to be the lightweight champion and in 1962 I fought Joe Brown in Las Vegas and I became lightweight champion of the world. And that was the beginning of my life.’
The long reigning lightweight champion had won the title in 1956. ‘Old Bones’ was a formidable presence and had successfully defended the crown 11 times. The bout with Brown, who was 96-22-11 going in, was nationally televised and turned Carlos Ortiz into a star.
‘I was champion for at least nine years,’ Ortiz said. ‘I had 18 title fights. I only lost four. I did what I set out to be and I did it better than what I expected. I got inducted into the Hall of Fame, which to me was a glorious moment. Everybody calls me the champ. No matter where I go, I’m still the champ.’
Boxing takes its toll – it’s the nature of the beast – but Ortiz is remarkably fit for a man his age.
‘I come to the gym. I go to the gym. I feel good coming into a gym. I work out in the gym and when I work out I feel good,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’ve been doing all my life and my body’s used to it. I still hit the heavy bag. I still jump rope.’ Ortiz paused. ‘Boxing I never do no more. But I do train. I run. I don’t run in the winter, but I run in the summertime – and constantly. This is what I’ve done all my life.’
Ortiz has given his life to boxing, but boxing has given back.
‘Besides God, I think boxing has been a blessing to me. I practice it, but I practice it right. Boxing is dangerous, but it’s not dangerous if you do it the right way. I’ve always done it the right way. I always was sure I was in top shape. I was always sure that I would do exactly what I was supposed to do in the ring, and not do what I was not supposed to do outside the ring. I love boxing. It means everything to me. Today is because of boxing. God put me in this game, to practice it, to be a man and learn how to live.’
Boxing seems so basic, so elemental, yet misconceptions abound. I’ve heard it once if I’ve heard it a thousand times that ‘Boxers don’t feel pain like the rest of us.’
I asked Ortiz if that was true.
‘It’s the same pain,’ he said. ‘It’s the same pain. No matter what, it’s the same pain. When you go into the ring it’s ‘I’m gonna hit you but you’re not gonna hit me,’ and anyone who lets the other guy hit him is just plain stupid. I’m not gonna show off that I’m big, aggressive, and tough enough to take punches. No, I’m good enough not to take punches. I practiced that technique. You throw at me – but you ain’t going to hit me. I throw at you – I knock you out. I had almost 200 fights, amateur and pro, and getting hit is nothing nice.’
Ortiz retired from boxing in 1972 with a 67-7-1 record. I asked if he was as defensive a fighter as his record suggests.
The champ laughed and said, ‘I was everything but a coward.’
I wanted some perspective on Carlos Ortiz and spoke with Mike Silver, boxing historian and author of The Art of Boxing: The Rise and Decline of the Sweet Science, to get his take on the former champion.
Silver needed a nanosecond to assess the fighter.
‘I consider Carlos Ortiz one of the greatest lightweights of the 20th century,’ he said. ‘I’ve been following his career since I got involved with boxing at the age of fourteen. In fact, one of the first fights I ever saw on television was Carlos Ortiz vs Kenny Lane for the junior welterweight championship.’
Silver not only saw Ortiz on TV. He knows and has spent time with him over the years and is as impressed by the man as he was by the boxer.
‘He’s a boxing historian,’ Silver told me. ‘Like all the fighters, they hate the business of boxing – but they all love the sport. Carlos loves the sport. He loves the history of the sport. I’ll never forget talking to him after he was inducted into the Hall of Fame. He said, ‘You know who was sitting on the dais with me? I couldn’t believe it!’ I said, ‘No, who was sitting with you?’ He said, ‘Jimmy McLarnin! Can you imagine that! Jimmy McLarnin was sitting on the dais with me and I had a chance to talk with him.’
‘Now here was a great fighter, who has a sense of boxing history, who appreciates the great fighters who came before him. What most impressed me about Carlos is his intelligence. He graduated from high school in the 1950s – not usual for a Puerto Rican who came here as an immigrant – with honors by the way. Based on conversations with him, I have absolutely no doubt this man could have graduated college without a problem. He could have become an engineer, perhaps a lawyer. I mean he had the ability and that intelligence. You’ll find that fighters for the most part, fighters who are intelligent, they transfer that intelligence to their boxing. When you talk to him about boxing, you’re talking to a scientist, somebody who has broken down the sport, understands it completely. And his style was so intelligent. The way he fought was so precise and beautiful to watch – a master boxer who could punch too. Every fight with Carlos Ortiz was like watching a boxing instruction book come alive.’
Mike Silver husbands his enthusiasms. There are those he admires and those he does not, but he resorts to superlatives only when it’s appropriate.
‘If you want to see what Carlos could do to today’s fighters, there are two fights to watch. You could see it in Carlos Ortiz vs Battling Torres. If Battling Torres was around today he would be considered an all-time great. He was wiping out the competition. Unfortunately for Battling Torres, he came up against a fighter he wasn’t ready for. He didn’t quite have the experience. He was a very tough fighter, but Carlos just took him apart in ten rounds and stopped him. It was Torres’ first defeat. He was never the same after that. The next fight was Carlos at his absolute triumphant best – his third fight with Ismael Laguna. That fight is a master boxer handling an extremely talented, athletic fighter who simply cannot overcome, despite his superior speed, Carlos Ortiz’s magnificent boxing ability. It’s watching a lost art. If you want to see a profoundly talented boxer incorporating the art of boxing into his repertoire, just view either one of these two fights and you’ll get an idea of what Carlos Ortiz would do with today’s so-called, in quotes, ‘champions.’