Wallau turned to Malcolm Gordon for help. Flash, as he was called by friend and foe, was a twenty-seven-year-old reclusive hippie boxing freak who published his own mimeographed boxing newsletter he sold to subscribers and fans for 35 cents, and who attended the club fights around New York.
Flash loved to paint trains and smoke pot and looked like Woody Allen with a ponytail. But he kept the most accurate and thorough records of fighters’ past performances by clipping out-of-own newspapers and having a few excellent sources in gyms around the country. He also had a radical, artistic sensibility, and was sometimes given to conspiracy theories that lacked precision.
Flash lived in a small apartment in Sunnyside, Queens, with a printing press in his bathtub. His whole apartment was filled with boxing files. Flash knew.
Wallau invited the reclusive Flash over to his house for dinner in early December, telling him to bring as much of his documentation as he could carry.
“We were two schmucks trying to pretend we were Woodward and Bernstein,” Wallau recalls. “We were trying to piece together the accurate history of certain fighters in the tournament out of two shoeboxes. We spread all this information out on my living-room floor. I had some information on index cards, but Flash had a lot more. We made calls all over the country to get more facts about these guys.”
Flash showed Wallau how important it was to take the research to a second level, to study the records of the fighters beaten by the fighters in the tournament, to audit the level of the competition. Flash showed Wallau how many of the wins recorded by tournament boxers were over fighters who had lost most of their fights, fighters who had been knocked out ten or twelve times in a row. Flash proved that even a winning record on paper was proof of nothing, how a protected fighter can be matched with tomato cans, retirees, and hospital cases to pad a record with paper wins.
One of the tournament fighters Wallau and Flash researched thoroughly was Anthony House, who was managed by Ort’s pal Biff Cline and had almost no talent. While preparing his first memo for Jim Spence, Wallau called Johnny Ort at Ring to ask about the record of House, who seemed to have wins that were never reported by any newspaper in America.
“I personally saw House knock out Joe Kulawitz at Sunnyside Gardens in 1975,” Ort told Wallau, not realizing he was talking to a fan who had attended every boxing show at the Sunnyside Gardens in 1975.
Malcolm “Flash” Gordon, the hippie muckraker who first exposed Don King’s ABC-TV boxing tournament in his mimeographed, 35-cent newsletter. JANIE EISENBERG
Wallau told Ort he couldn’t remember the fight, or any fighter named Joe Kulawitz. He then called the New York State Boxing Commission, which confirmed no fighter by the name of Joe Kulawitz had been licensed to box in New York in the last decade, and that House had never boxed in New York.
Wallau now knew for a certainty this fight never happened.
Wallau then called Ort back and asked about Ike Fluellen. Ort told him Fluellen had knocked out “Pepe Alvarez” in Mexico on November 7, 1976, and had won a decision over “Armando Chavez” in Juarez, Mexico, on October 24. No such matches had ever taken place.
Wallau composed two memos for Spence and his other bosses at ABC, the first dated December 10, and the second dated December 21. Both memos were so detailed and convincing that they should have stopped the tournament even before the first televised matches.
The December 10 memo, covering only the fighters scheduled to appear on the first elimination telecast in January, said of Hilbert Stevenson: “An unknown, unproven nonentity, who had been inserted into the tournament only because he is managed by Chris Cline… Ort’s reaction to Stevenson’s knockout by James Busceme was to raise Stevenson up to sixth in the U.S. rankings…. Stevenson has done nothing to justify his inclusion in the U.S. championships.”
Of Tom Prater, who was in the tournament only to make sure Larry Holmes reached the finals, Wallau wrote, “He has no right to be in the tournament on the basis of his record.”
Of Paddy Dolan and Johnny Sullivan, Wallau observed, “They are white club fighters who have never fought a main event, or an opponent of any reputation…. They are two disgraceful examples of King handing $15,000 to Paddy Flood and his friends.”
Of Juan Cantres Wallau wrote, “He is the biggest embarrassment in the first quarter-final. He has never gone more than six rounds and has never scored a professional KO.”
Wallau’s memo also named some of the excellent American boxers whom King had excluded from the tournament, including “Marvin Hagler, Marvin Johnson, Matthew Franklin, and Eddie Gregory”—all of whom went on to win world championships.
Wallau handed his memo to Jim Spence as Spence was about to fly to Moscow. Spence would later tell investigators he read only the first page of the six-page memo. Spence returned from Moscow on December 22, when he received Wallau’s second memo covering all the fighters in the tournament under contract so far, not just those on the first telecast.
This document was even more insightful and sarcastic than the first, and included a clipping from the Washington Post documenting Johnny Ort’s ties to King and Chris Cline. This memo said that twenty-five of the more than fifty fighters in the tournament were qualified, naming Larry Holmes, Bobby Cassidy, Willie Monroe, Saoul Mamby, and Edwin Viruet among them. The memo identified eleven boxers as “marginal,” and named fourteen fighters as “disgraces” or “jokes.” Wallau was right about all fourteen, six of whom were white.
Of Anthony House, Wallau wrote: “None of his opponents are listed in the Ring Record Book, although I do know that one, Willie Crockett, had a record of 1-10, and had been knocked out seven times when he faced House.”
Of Johnny Sullivan he wrote: “Sullivan is handled by Cockeye Dom Buffano, Al Braverman’s partner who used to work in Wepner’s corner…. In Sullivan’s 17 fights, 10 were against opponents unlisted in the Ring Record Book. Of the seven who do have records, two were in their first professional fight, and three were in their second after unsuccessful debuts. Sullivan managed to lose two of these fights despite Dom’s best efforts.”
Of Tommy Rose, Wallau wrote: “To understand Tommy Rose, one must understand his manager until a couple of months ago, Bill Abel. Abel is a graduate of the Danbury Federal Prison where he completed a two-year course in nine months. In a Daily Mirror column in 1962, Dan Parker called him ‘a 24-carat phony.’ The April 1963 WBA newsletter contained this warning: ‘An ex-con, Bill Abel, has been attempting to book youngsters using phony records, etc., to make a fast and easy buck. This boxing bum has been denied a license in New York and Florida.’
“Abel matched Rose in 13 fights in 1974–75. Five opponents were unlisted in the Ring Record Book. The others included Mach Reed (0-2, including a loss to the pathetic Jose Resto), Charley Kitteredge (knocked out three straight times by nobodies, he went the distance twice against Rose in the space of six days), and Roland Sigmon (winless bum kayoed twice by Rose). None had winning records.”
Jim Spence said he never had time to read this memo. Meanwhile, in mid-December, Flash Gordon published the first of his many rants against King, Ring, and ABC. Here is a taste of Flash’s dense, colloquial style in his newsletter, which was read by about four thousand hardcore boxing fans across the country:
ABC-TV will be sold a bill of goods most likely by King–Ort as to the merits of a “packed house” of boxers either directly managed, co-managed, booked, or on a kickback scheme, of: Pat Flood, Al Braverman, Don King, Johnny Ort, Chris Cline and Henry Grooms, all of whom will laugh all the way to the bank on another of King’s con jobs.
There are few top-notch fighters in Don King’s Tournament from what our sources stated, and no question at the semi and final stage, these class USA boxers will prevail over the stiffs being slipped into what Don King claimed was, “A Tournament comprised of the best fighters in the USA”….
So when your kid informs you that you stink, and Don King can take me places, we told you so here.
; Flash also proposed a letter-writing campaign to Arledge at ABC, and reminded managers that the rival Schwartz–Elbaum tournament would air a stronger and more deserving group of fighters than King. He referred to King as “Dung King” and Ort as “Johnny Bought.”
Despite all this inside churning and chatter, the mainstream sports press remained oblivious, continuing to give King’s tournament ample and favorable free publicity.
On January 3, 1977, Sports Illustrated published a four-page puff piece on King’s tournament by the usually dazzling and acerbic writer Mark Kram.
Kram’s article quoted—without any apparent irony—Johnny Ort as saying of the tournament, “It’s going to bring fresh air to the game.”
“There are American champions to be made—honestly,” Kram wrote. “The last word is so important; the champions here cannot be made in the back room, they must be made in the ring.
“’This is a non-connection tournament,’ says Flood.”
Kram concluded his article by quoting a cocky Don King as saying, “I’m here to tell Madison Square Garden, its stockholders, Teddy Brenner—God bless them—that boxing is back, Jack. The sport of the dispossessed will be climbing the mountain. Don King doesn’t need the Garden. The Garden needs Don King.”
Alex Wallau recalled, “The Sports Illustrated article destroyed my credibility inside ABC. The timing saved King. I was just a kid. How could I know more than the most respected sports publication in the country?”
Several months after the article was published, Sports Illustrated quietly forced Kram to resign for accepting gifts and gratuities from Don King. A senior Sports Illustrated executive told me, “Kram took money from King. One of our own writers, Bill Boyle, found out about it. King claimed it was a loan. We had to let Kram go, although we never made a public announcement about it.”
Neil Leifer, SI’s famous photographer, says, “Kram was a victim. Don saw a weakness in him and took advantage. Mark was in debt from two divorces and had some other vices. King used him. I don’t know that Mark’s intention was dishonest, but the result was dishonest. Mark was a wonderful writer. He needed counseling, and should have been suspended, but not fired.”
But it wasn’t just Kram. Almost all of the sports press was writing upbeat pieces about the tournament, leading up to the first quarterfinal eliminations, held on the deck of the U.S.S. Lexington, in Pensacola, Florida, on January 16, 1977.
On January 15 in Pensacola, there was an ugly preproduction meeting in King’s hotel suite, on the eve of the first telecast featuring the Larry Holmes–Tom Prater mismatch. Director Chet Forte mentioned that some of the discrepancies in some of the fighters’ records still needed to be clarified. (Forte was the producer who devised the eleven-camera concept that helped make Monday night football so popular on ABC.)
At that innocent remark, all the other participants began to gang up on Alex Wallau, the most junior member of the ABC team in the room. King, Flood, Braverman, and Ort all took turns attacking Wallau in the most personal terms, meant to ruin the man’s livelihood and intimidate him.
Braverman accused Wallau of criticizing the tournament because he was “on Teddy Brenner’s payroll.” Wallau had never met Brenner at that point.
Braverman then pointed his stubby finger at Wallau and said, “In the old days we knew how to take care of enemies like you. Bums like you used to be found laying in the gutter.”
At the same time King was shouting at Wallau, “You are the enemy.”
Director Chet Forte heard these remarks as a serious threat and became concerned for Wallau’s safety. ABC director Larry Kamm also heard through an open door the Braverman comment about being found in the gutter and also feared that King’s men might try to harm his co-worker.
“I was definitely concerned,” Kamm told me. “I thought this was going to be a routine production meeting where we decide which fights we pretape, what the sequence of fights would be. Suddenly I was hearing these threats about Alex ending up in the gutter. I wasn’t prepared for that.”
“From that meeting on,” Wallau says, “King kept telling Spence to fire me, or take me off the tournament. I was nervous about my job. Nobody in the daily press was picking up on what Flash was writing.
Sports Illustrated and Ring were one hundred percent in King’s corner. I was perceived as an isolated crank.”
On January 16, the first tournament card was aired from the U.S.S. Lexington, a wonderful visual backdrop of sailors and blue sea. The fights were undistinguished, all going the distance. Holmes methodically won every round against Tom Prater. Hilbert Stevenson, Pat Dolan, and Juan Cantres lost their fights. Bobby Cassidy won a close decision from Willie Taylor.
Bobby Cassidy told me years later, “Ray Elson and I were both managed by Paddy Flood. I know Biff Cline got into the tournament only because Paddy thought Elson could beat him, and Paddy could get a double payday that way. He told me I had to fight Willie Taylor because Elson couldn’t lick him. All the opponents were handpicked. It was not a legit operation. But that’s how boxing is. Paddy didn’t do anything different than the Duvas or Arum. He just had a good thing going with no rules to stop it. Sure Paddy put in the fighters he managed, and his friends managed. It’s always who you know. That’s how life works. Braverman did the same thing, and I know how bad Braverman was because I dumped him as my manager to go with Paddy.”
When I asked Cassidy how he really felt about the likable Flood (who had died two years earlier), Cassidy replied: “I loved Paddy. I just didn’t trust him.”*
The first tournament telecast received a rave review in Ring magazine from Johnny Ort, who never told his readers he had been paid $5,000 by Don King and was hardly an objective reporter. The headline over Ort’s article was US TOURNAMENT MAKES SPECTACULAR DEBUT. Ort called King “the Mike Todd of boxing,” which was how King was describing himself in those days.
King’s second tournament telecast was staged on February 13 at the U.S. Naval Academy. Again it was on federal property, outside the reach of any local boxing commission. King’s staff picked the judges and referee.
* Cassidy’s son, Robert Cassidy, Jr., has emerged as one of the best young boxing writers in the country, authoring a searing profile of Sandy Sadler in Newsday in July 1994, filled with the reverence for an old champion that the son of a gutsy contender has in his genes.
The heavyweight main event was between Scott Le Doux and Johnny Boudreaux, who was managed by Flood. To even things up, Le Doux had to pay Braverman 10 percent of his purse as a “booking fee.” Flood also worked in Boudreaux’s corner, making the whole affair a quinela of conflicts.
Le Doux seemed to clearly win a dull eight-round decision. He knocked Boudreaux down in the third round, and Boudreaux appeared converted to pacifism by that experience. The television commentators, Howard Cosell and George Foreman, both made it clear they thought Le Doux was winning the fight.
But the unanimous decision went to Boudreaux, with Cosell shouting in disbelief, “They gave it to Boudreaux!”
One of the judges was Harold Valan, whom I once saw give a decision to Chuck Wepner (the Flood–Braverman fighter) over Ernie Terrell when it looked to me that Terrell had won almost every round. In that 1973 match, Valan was the sole and deciding official.
The unjust verdict—less outrageous than many others in history— led to one of the most bizarre scenes in television history, a classic moment of postmodern kitsch.
Le Doux lost control of his emotions, tried to kick his opponent, but instead kicked Cosell’s toupee off his skull on live national TV. When Cosell retrieved his hairpiece, he momentarily put it on backward.
After Cosell got his toupee back on the right way, he did a quite professional interview with the still enraged Le Doux. The fighter told the national audience the whole tournament was fixed to favor fighters aligned with King, Flood, and Braverman. He said he had been warned not to take the fight with Boudreaux because of his opponent’s financial ties to Flood, but he fe
lt they couldn’t steal a decision on national TV.
Cosell then interviewed King, who dismissed Le Doux’s views as “absurd,” and assured Cosell he had taken every possible precaution to make the tournament “an open, honest competition.” (A fight manager once told me, “If bullshit were poetry, Don King would be Shakespeare.”)
But Le Doux’s sincere anguish on live television finally brought the tournament’s underground sewer stench out into the open. A much bigger universe now knew about the allegations of rigged results and conflicts of interest. (The fight did draw an impressive rating, as did most boxing shows in this era.)
ABC was finally beginning to feel some pressure. This was no longer just some wacko mimeographed newsletter biting them in the ankle. Every national boxing writer, and millions of living-room fans, were now aware of the complaints. Two days after the fight, the top staff of ABC Sports held a lengthy meeting in Roone Arledge’s office. Present were Arledge, John Martin, Chet Forte, Alex Wallau, and Jeff Ruhe, Arledge’s sharp twenty-three-year-old assistant. Spence was absent, on vacation.
Wallau made a point of criticizing the booking fees the fighters were paying to managers, pointing out how, in theory, admission to the tournament was based on the Ring rankings, so why were any booking fees necessary? Arledge declared that from now on, all fighters and managers would be required to sign affidavits beforehand, swearing they had not paid any booking fees. (By the end of the tournament at least ten fighters would swear they had to make such improper payments to get into the tournament.)
In the same meeting, Wallau, by the far the most knowledgeable boxing person in the room, also emphasized how the contract clause giving King control over future fights* was a significant reason why some good fighters were not participating—their managers felt they would be signing away all rights to King, who had done nothing to discover or develop the fighter.
The Life and Crimes of Don King: The Shame of Boxing in America Page 12
