But there were some good moments. My sometime friend from the neighborhood, Gene, who was a year older than I, had a buddy, Harry Gibson, who had had one professional fight (he’d lost). I was over at Gene’s one afternoon smoking cigarettes with him when Harry Gibson showed up with two pairs of boxing gloves. Gene and I were smoking with his two older brothers, Larry and Dan.
Harry Gibson was cocky. “Anybody want to try me?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Gene’s oldest brother, Larry, was about 22. He was the biggest,
but he was kind of timid and subnormal. He had a huge head, he was
short and stocky, really well-built, but everything frightened him. So we
all looked at Dan who was the next oldest, since Larry said, “No, no I don’t want to fight.” Dan was a musical genius, he had almost won a scholarship but not quite. Anyhow, since Larry had passed up Harry’s challenge, Dan put the gloves on with Harry Gibson.
Harry Gibson was a son-of-a-bitch on shining wheels. Even the sun
glinted off his gloves in a certain way. He moved with precision, aplomb and grace. He pranced and danced around Dan. Dan held up his gloves and waited.
Gibson’s first punch streaked in. It cracked like a rifle shot. There were
some chickens in a pen in the yard and two of them jumped into the air at
the sound. Dan spilled backwards. He was stretched out on the grass, both of his arms spread out like some cheap Christ.
Larry looked at him and said, “I’m going into the house.” He walked
quickly to the screen door, opened it and was gone.
We walked over to Dan. Gibson stood over him with a little grin on his
face. Gene bent down, lifted Dan’s head up a bit. “Dan? You all right?”
Dan shook his head and slowly sat up.
“Jesus Christ, the guy’s carrying a lethal weapon. Get these
gloves off me!”
Gene unlaced one glove and I got the other. Dan stood up and walked toward the back door like an old man. “I’m gonna lay down . . .” He went inside.
Harry Gibson picked up the gloves and looked at Gene. “How about it, Gene?”
Gene spit in the grass. “What the hell you trying to do, knock off the
whole family?”
“I know you’re the best fighter, Gene, but I’ll go easy on you anyhow.”
Gene nodded and I laced on his gloves for him. I was a good glove man.
They squared off. Gibson circled around Gene, getting ready. He circled
to the right, then he circled to the left. He bobbed and he weaved. Then he stepped in, gave Gene a hard left jab. It landed right between Gene’s eyes. Gene backpedaled and Gibson followed. When he got Gene up against the chicken pen he steadied him with a soft left to the forehead and then cracked a hard right to Gene’s left temple. Gene slid along the chicken wire until he hit the fence, .then he slid along the fence, covering up. He
wasn’t attempting to fight back. Dan came out of the house with a piece of ice wrapped in a rag. He sat on the porch steps and held the rag to his forehead. Gene retreated along the fence. Harry got him in the corner between the fence and the garage. He looped a left to Gene’s gut and when Gene bent over he straightened him with a right uppercut. I didn’t like it. Gibson wasn’t going easy on Gene like he’d promised. I got excited.
“Hit that fucker back, Gene! He’s yellow! Hit him!”
Gibson lowered his gloves, looked at me and walked over.
“What did you say, punk?”
“I was rooting my man on,” I said. Dan was over getting the gloves off Gene.
“Did I hear something about being 'yellow’?”
“You said you were going to go easy on him. You didn’t. You’re hitting him with every shot you’ve got.”
“You callin’ me a liar?”
“I’m saying you don’t keep your word.”
“Come on over and put the gloves on this punk!”
Gene and Dan came over and began putting the gloves on me. “Take it easy on this guy, Hank,” Gene said. “Remember he’s all tired out from fighting us.”
Gene and I had fought barefisted one memorable day from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Gene had done pretty good. I had small hands and if you have small hands you’ve cither got to be able to hit hard as hell or else be some kind of a boxer. I was only a little of each. The next day my entire upper body was purple with bruises and I had two fat lips and a couple of loose front teeth. Now I had to fight the guy who had just whipped the guy who had whipped me.
Gibson circled to the left, then the right, then he moved in on me. I
didn’t see the left jab at all. I don’t know where it caught me hut I went
down from the left jab. It hadn’t hurt but I was down. I got up. If the left
could do that what would the right do? I had to figure something out.
Harry Gibson began to circle to the left, my left. Instead of circling
to my right like he expected, I circled to my left. He looked surprised and
as we came together I looped a wild left which caught him high and hard on
the head. It felt great. If you can hit a guy once, you can hit him twice.
Then we were facing each other and he came straight at me. Gibson got
me with the jab hut as it hit me I ducked my head down and to one side as quickly as I could. His right swung around over the top, missing. I moved
into him and clinched, giving him a rabbit punch. We broke and I felt like a
pro.
“You can take him, Hank!” yelled Gene.
“Go get him, Hank!” yelled Dan.
I rushed Gibson and tried a right lead. I missed and his left cross
flashed on my jaw. I saw green and yellow and red lights, then he dug a
right to my belly. It felt like it went through to my backbone. I grabbed
him and clinched. But I wasn’t frightened, for a change, and that felt good.
“I’ll kill you, you fucker!” I told him.
Then it was just head-to-head, no more boxing. His punches came fast
and hard. He was more accurate, had more power, yet I was landing some hard shots too and it made me feel good. The more he hit me the less I felt it. I
had my gut sucked in, I liked the action. Then Gene and Dan were between us. They pulled us apart.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Don’t stop this thing! I can take his ass!”
“Cut the shit, Hank,” said Gene. “Look at yourself.”
I looked down. The front of my shirt was dark with blood and there were splotches of pus. The punches had broken open three or four boils. That
hadn’t happened in my fight with Gene.
“That’s nothing,” I said. “That’s just bad luck. He hasn’t hurt me.
Give me a chance and I’ll cut him down.”
“No, Hank, you’ll get an infection or something,” said Gene.
“All right, shit,” I said, “cut the gloves off me!”
Gene unlaced me. When he got the gloves off I noticed that my hands
were trembling, and also my arms to a lesser extent. I put my hands in my pockets. Dan took Harry’s gloves off. Harry looked at me. “You’re pretty
good, kid.”
“Thanks. Well, I’ll see you guys . . .”
I walked off. As I walked away I took my hands out of my pockets. Then
up the-driveway, just at the sidewalk, I stopped, pulled out a cigarette and stuck it into my mouth. When I tried to strike a match my hands were
trembling so much I couldn’t do it. I gave them a wave, a real nonchalant
wave, and walked away.
Back at the house I looked at myself in the mirror. Pretty damn good. I was coming along.
I took off my shirt and threw it under the bed. I’d have to find a way
to clean the blood off. I didn’t have many shirts and they’d notice a missing one right away. But for me, it had finally been a successful day, and I hadn’t had too many of those.