Authors: Donald R. Gallo
The next three weeks marked an even greater change in Randy. Harlow had given him a copy of
The Ring Encyclopedia
. Though Randy had shown some interest in
easy-to-read stories, this new book was something different.
Randy began asking Harlow to help him sound out words in the book. And it seemed that Randy could remember almost everything he read—so long as it was about boxing.
As always, he went at his workouts in a rage, but it was different now. It was a cold anger. Randy stopped wasting his moves. He paid attention to every detail.
When he and Harlow ran in the park, Randy would reel off the names, dates, and winners of title fights, going back for years. Sometimes he seemed to know more than Harlow about the subject.
Every time Randy would ask a question about boxing history that Harlow couldn’t answer, it pleased the younger man. It was as though he had won something personally over Harlow.
But on the subject of leaving the basement room, Randy was unchanged. It was in early October that he greeted his uncle with: “I’m ready for that rematch. We still have the same deal?”
“Same deal,” Harlow answered. “You beat me—we get the lawyer, and you get out of the downstairs.”
• • •
When they came up the stairs and Harlow simply pushed the door to the gym open, Randy looked at his uncle in surprise. “Did you forget to lock up?” he asked.
“I’d sooner forget my head,” Harlow replied. “I called someone to be here. To keep time and count for knockdowns. We’re going to go six rounds, boy.”
As the two men entered, an attractive woman of about
thirty came out of Harlow’s office. She was over five feet seven inches, Randy judged, and her well-muscled form was properly shown off by the jeans and light sweater she wore.
“Hey, Danielle,” called Harlow. “I got someone I want you to meet.” Harlow saw the look of near panic on Randy’s face and whispered as Danielle approached. “It’s okay. She’s cool.”
“But she’s a woman!” Randy whispered.
“Sure is, isn’t she?” Harlow said, grinning. “And she knows her boxing, too. Try some of your questions on her.”
“What questions are those?” asked the young woman.
“This is my nephew Randy. I told you about him on the phone. He’s some kind of expert on the fight game, Danielle.”
Danielle looked Randy over with a cool gaze. “Good-sized kid,” she said to Harlow. “How much do you weigh, Randy?”
“Two-ten. But don’t you say ’hello’ or ’pleased to meet you,’ lady?” asked Randy.
“I don’t get social with fighters,” Danielle answered. “Bad enough I go out with Harlow. But what did you want to ask me?”
Randy was silent for a moment, his mind racing. “Who beat Tommy Burns for the heavyweight title in 1908?”
Danielle laughed. “You joking? Jack Johnson. He held the title from 1908 to 1915.
“Let me ask
you
one. Name the only heavyweight champs who retired undefeated.”
“That’s easy. Rocky Marciano and Joe Louis.”
“Wrong!” crowed the woman. “You forgot about Jim Jeffries. He quit the fight game in 1905.”
“I ain’t that far back in the book,” grumbled Randy. “Besides, I ain’t into any of the fights before black men had a chance at the titles.”
“I don’t know what book you’re reading, but you better read it better. There were other black men in boxing before Jack Johnson. Check out the other weight divisions, Randy.”
“I told you she knew her stuff,” Harlow said. “Now, let’s get set for our little rumble, okay? You hit the locker room. I’ll be there in a minute. And don’t forget your headgear.”
When Randy had left, Danielle fixed Harlow with a hard look. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Harlow? You told me that kid’s been in heavy training for almost six months. And you’ve been teaching him all you know.
“You got a few pounds on him, that’s true. But face it, man, you’re forty. If he’s got any real stuff, that kid can do you world-class harm.”
“Now, that’s real caring of you, Danni,” Harlow responded, “looking out for an old man. But I didn’t say I showed the boy
everything
I know. I still got some stuff he’s never seen.”
“I’m looking out for the fancy dinner you promised me. And I want both of us in shape to eat it. Now how about you get ready, too?”
In a few minutes, Harlow and Randy were standing in the middle of the ring, with Danni between them. “All right, you two,” she said. “I can’t be in the ring and work the bell, too. And all I can time rounds with is my watch.” She raised her wrist to show a sports watch with a built-in stopwatch.
“When I say ’fight!’ you go at it. If you clinch and I say
’break!’ you break, and break clean. When I holler ’stop!’ you quit, or I’ll take points away. I keep score, and whoever I say wins is the winner. You got that?”
Both men nodded. “You’re going to be your own seconds. And you won’t get to sit down between rounds. I can’t be shuffling buckets and stools around. If there’s a knockdown, you get to the nearest neutral corner. I won’t start counting till you do. Now, go to your corners and don’t come out till I say so.”
The two men went to opposite corners. Danni raised her hands over her head, then brought them down, smacking her palms together. “Fight!” she cried out.
Randy moved in fast. Harlow began a circling motion, blocking or slipping past Randy’s punches. Each time Randy would be about to get set, Harlow would hit him with a quick left, then circle again, always keeping the younger man off-balance.
As he continued the pattern, Randy’s punches kept getting closer. Still, the only solid blows struck were by the older man. Ten seconds before Danni cried “Stop!” Randy missed a punch aimed at Harlow’s head, and instead caught him on the left shoulder.
Harlow felt like he’d been hit with a hammer. For a second, he lost feeling in his left arm. “I got to slow this kid down,” Harlow thought as he stood in his corner, his mouthpiece in his hand.
Almost before he knew it, Danni had called out “Fight!” again, and Randy was closing in. This time Harlow appeared to stand his ground. As the younger man closed, Harlow moved his left shoulder but threw a hard, right-hand lead that caught Randy flush on the button. The younger man was knocked onto the seat of his pants in the center of the ring.
Danni waved Harlow to the for corner and began a count. But by the time she got to four, Randy was on his feet. “Hold on!” Danni cried to Harlow. “Standing eight count here!”
She finished the count and cried “Fight!” Randy moved in again, this time keeping his hands higher. As Harlow began to circle again, Randy kept after him, cutting off the ring and working his uncle toward a corner. It was there that Harlow experienced the roughest few seconds of his entire career.
Randy let loose a series of lightning-fast short blows to Harlow’s body. Every time Randy hit him, Harlow felt the pain. But when Randy shifted his attack “upstairs,” Harlow slipped two blows. Bouncing off the ropes, he punched his way out of trouble. As he moved away, he connected with a straight left hand that he felt hit the mark.
For years Harlow had practiced this “going away” punch, made famous by the great Sugar Ray Robinson. He had knocked men cold with it. Now Harlow felt the force of the blow throughout his whole body. But Randy just took the shot, blinked, and moved in—just as Danni called “Stop!”
As Harlow stood in his corner, breathing heavily, Danni approached him, with one eye on her stopwatch. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Harlow said. “But you didn’t do me no favor with that standing eight.”
“Don’t complain,” Danni said. “The way it’s going, you might need one yourself. That kid is real good. A little green, but he’s good. You take care of yourself, Harlow.”
“I’m trying! I’m trying!”
Danni called “Fight!” and it began again. After the harm done in the corner, Harlow wasn’t moving well. His ribs hurt, and his punches were slower. Still Randy came on. Harlow landed a three-punch combination that should have knocked the younger man down. It didn’t even slow Randy.
Harlow got set to try the right-hand lead that had floored Randy earlier, and suddenly his world exploded in a shower of bright light. When he opened his eyes, he was looking into Danni’s. “What?…” he said.
“What do you think?” Danni replied. “He tagged you. Before you could throw that right, he put a straight left in your dumb face. You scared me, man. You were really out.”
“Where’s Randy?”
“I told him to hit the showers. You going to be all right?”
“Yeah… I think so. Man, that boy can hit!”
Harlow got to his feet and walked with Danielle to his office, where he sat down heavily at his desk. Danielle took off his gloves, then talked with Harlow for the next few minutes. Finally, cleaned up and wearing street clothes, Randy came into Harlow’s office.
“Are you okay, Uncle Harlow?” he asked.
“Fine, boy… just fine. I got to admit you beat me.”
“Hard not to admit,” said Danni, “when they scrape you off the canvas.”
“This might not be the time,” Randy said, “but how about that lawyer?”
Harlow waved a hand at Danielle. “Go ahead and talk. You’re looking at her.”
“You’re a lawyer?” Randy gasped at Danni.
“One of the best,” Harlow said. “She gave me a lot of help in getting your case together.”
“Case?”
“Yes, Randy,” Danni said. “I’ve been involved since last June. That’s when Harlow told me what had happened with you in Brooklyn.”
Randy turned to Harlow. “But you told me…”
“It’s complicated, Randy,” Harlow said. “Why don’t you just listen to what Danni has to say?”
“You’re in trouble, all right, Randy. But not as big as you think,” Danni said. “Yes, you were at the scene of a crime. And your connection to it isn’t the cleanest. But you didn’t do the crime.
“As to that, both people involved in the double murder—Eddie and Zipper—are dead. I talked to the police and to a judge. Nobody is going to miss either one of them too much. But you saw it all happen, Randy. Did you ever hear of a material witness?”
“No…”
“Well, that’s what you were. In fact, some of Zipper’s friends were looking for you. The police only wanted your statement as to what happened. Zipper’s friends were after your head. There were two things the police could have done. One was lock you up to keep you safe.”
“In jail?”
“No place safer, except if you were being hidden by a responsible person. In your case, you had a family member—Harlow—who is also an assistant probation officer.”
Randy turned to Harlow. “You’re a cop!” he accused. “And all that time you had me in that little room, you were lying to me! And you lied about you getting into trouble, I bet!”
“No, Randy. That part’s true. But your mamma has the same ideas about ex-cons that lots of people do—that they can’t go straight. I went back to school when I got
out. Got my degree in social work. Working with the Probation Department, I opened this gym.
“I try to keep kids like you from getting into big trouble by putting them into boxing. It was a way of putting together my talent for athletics and my new career.”
Harlow waved at the wall of pictures behind his desk. “All these kids you see were in trouble when I found them. I’m proud of all of them. Some of them went on to be pretty fair fighters. Others have good jobs and are making something of their lives.”
“But cops came to your house looking for me. I heard them. You told me to hide.”
“I sent for them. After all, I
am
with the Probation Department, kid. I was afraid you’d run off at first—maybe go back to the neighborhood and get hurt. Yeah, I lied to you. It was to keep you in one piece.
“Besides, I saw early on that you had talent as a fighter— just like your daddy did. And what were you doing with your life, anyway? You were on your way to big trouble.”
“That don’t matter!” Randy shouted. “It’s my life, ain’t it? Who gave you the right to play God?”
“Your mamma, for one. Yeah, you’re over eighteen, Randy. And I didn’t much care for talking with Francie. But once I told her what my new career was, and that I was keeping you safe, she was all for it. Maybe what I did wasn’t all that fair, but look at you now.
“When you came to my house, you were big and thought you were tough. But you were soft and couldn’t hit the floor if you fell out of bed. I made you into a real athlete. You’re even reading now, and getting better every day at it. You’ve done something with your life these past months. You’ve made yourself into a person your mamma could be proud of.”
Randy’s face was a mask of dark rage. He moved toward Harlow. “I ought to…,” he began.
Harlow held up a hand. “What are you going to do? Beat up on me? You already did that. Are you going to do something stupid, like I did, outside the ring? Or are you going to put that hot blood of yours to a good use? You’re what I’ve been looking for all these years. You could be a champion, Randy.”
“And I think I can get charges reduced because you cooperated with the police,” Danni added.
“I what?”
“You gave a full statement, in your own handwriting. Your uncle saw to that. Then you stayed with him—a probation officer—until the hearing. That’s coming up next month, by the way.”
“But that still didn’t give him the right to do what he done to me!”
“Keep you in protective custody? That’s what a judge called it. Think it over, Randy,” Danni said.
“I’ve already did that. I’m out of here!” Randy left Harlow’s office and headed for the door.
“Randy!” Harlow called after him. “It’s chilly out there. You don’t have anything but summer clothes on. You could get sick.”
“It ain’t any colder than what you done to me,” Randy called back. He slammed the door behind him.
Harlow looked at Danni, then leaned forward over his desk, his head in his hands. “I’ve lost him, Danni,” he said.
“You did your best,” Danni said, putting a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you shower and change? I’ll start shutting down here. And you still owe me a dinner. We’ll talk over some food, okay?”
Harlow nodded and went off to clean up. When he walked back to his office in street clothes, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Randy was sitting in his office, talking with Danielle. The young man looked up as Harlow entered.