Dean’s 13-year-old brother Jack often took me to ‘fist city.’ When Jack didn’t have anything else to do, he came across the road and beat me up.
Dean and I were 12-year-old friends who lived near the oilfield-supply lumber yard my Dad bossed in Hamlin, West Texas.
Dad had hired the Morris boy who had won numerous Golden Glove’s fights. Dad suggested maybe he could teach me something about boxing. He did. Taught me how to flex my elbows to ward off blows. How to keep a left jab in their face as you danced out of reach, your right hand ready to deliver a body blow.
After I went across the road and demonstrated what I had learned, Jack and I also got to be friends.
Dad moved my mother and me to the big city, nearby Abilene, population 25 thousand. The first year I went to high school, Mr. Shorty Lawson graduated from Abilene Christian College and came to teach…and brought credentials to coach the boxing team. Shorty had won the Tennessee Golden Gloves championship in his weight class.
Impressed, my close friend Alex and I went out for the boxing team. Shorty assigned us to be ringside seconds for our star boxer, Steve.
Star boxer Steve was seeing stars, moons, comets, whatever after he fought the boy from Abilene’s Boy Ranch. Alex and I didn’t know any better so we helped Steve to the locker room, got wet as we held him under the shower until he could walk.
Next day, Alex and I left the boxing team. Went out for the debate team.
By SJ Travel Photo and Video at Shutterstock
