The Life and Crimes of Don King: The Shame of Boxing in America

by Jack Newfield

  Foreman lost the main event on that show to Jimmy Young and retired after hallucinating a vision of Jesus in his dressing room.

  In June 1978 Holmes got a call from King’s arch-rival, Bob Arum, offering to promote a fight on national television between Holmes and Young Sanford Houpe, who was managed by the comedian Redd Foxx. Holmes told King about the offer in an attempt to entice the two promoters into a bidding war for his services, an instinctive impulse toward free agency.

  Arum offered Holmes $75,000 and King offered him $10,000 for the same fight. Holmes was thinking about getting married and told King he had to go for the best money. “Don’t you try to put a gun to my head just because I got these other troubles,” King told his fighter. “You’ll regret it if you do.”

  A few minutes later King was playing the violin of nostalgia and loyalty, reminding Holmes, “I signed you when no one wanted to touch you. I gave you the chance when no one else would.” Then he begged Holmes, “You stick with me on this, and I swear I’ll make it up to you later.”

  Then he reverted back to threats, telling Holmes his contract with him was valid, he would sue him if he fought for Arum, and he would never get another fight again. King the virtuoso played the chord of every emotion to sway Holmes.

  Holmes asked his lawyer, Spaziani, what to do, and Spaziani suggested he could always challenge the contract with King by saying he was under duress when he signed it. Holmes then went back to King and asked for more than the $10,000 he was offering. King said he couldn’t, but promised Holmes a title shot and other big money opportunities if he would just go along this one, last time.

  Then, according to the Holmes–Toperoff manuscript: “I said I wanted to talk to Arum again. I never saw Don’s face get the way it got, like he was in pain. His eyes turned cold and empty. He said real quietly, ‘If you do, I’ll have your legs broke.’ Not for a single minute did I think he was kidding. Not for a single minute did I think it wasn’t a real threat. And not for a single minute did I doubt Don could find the people to do the job…. The first thing I did when I got back to Easton was pick me up a .22 caliber Smith & Wesson.”

  King loves the thrill of the threat as much as the thrill of the deal.

  Trapped in his neurotic love-hate marriage to King, Holmes capitulated and rejected the better offer from Arum, although he would always resent the way King coerced him into the decision. Later Holmes would tell me, “Don can talk a rattlesnake out of biting you.”

  On September 14, 1977, Holmes knocked out Young Sanford Houpe in seven rounds on national television. And his thumb did not crack. Holmes was now confident he was the future champion in King’s expanding harem of heavyweights.

  The world got a good sample of Don King’s audacious tactical imagination and deal-making in February 1978 when he stole not a fighter but the heavyweight championship of the world.

  On February 15, Leon Spinks upset the aging Muhammad Ali and won the title. Bob Arum promoted this fight and he had a contract giving him options on the first three title defenses by Neon Leon. This was not good for King, since it gave Arum control of the title, and most experts anticipated the raw, wild Spinks, who hated to train, would lose the title in an early defense, so Arum could have a monopoly for some time to come, with option contracts.

  Spinks revered Ali, as most of Ali’s rivals except Frazier did, and he promised Ali an immediate rematch in September. King saw this honorable gesture as an opportunity to play boxing politics.

  King called Jose Sulaiman, the president of the World Boxing Council (WBC), one of the comic regulating authorities, based in Mexico City, and convinced him to strip Spinks of his title for the crime of giving Ali an immediate rematch, instead of fighting the Number 1 contender, Ken Norton.

  By stripping Spinks without due process or a fair hearing, Sulaiman created a second version of the heavyweight title, a great advantage to King, who had all the other contenders under contract.

  King, with an assist from Sulaiman, broke the sacred, lordly line of succession that had stretched back from John L. Sullivan, through Jack Johnson, Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano, Sonny Liston, and Muhammad Ali. It was like dividing the Kentucky Derby, or creating an alternative World Series.

  Just seven days after Spinks won the title in the ring, where all titles are supposed to be gained and lost, King held a press conference and announced that Earnie Shavers would fight Larry Holmes in a “WBC title elimination.” Since King controlled both fighters, this was using loaded dice and calling it public interest.

  King announced that ABC—the network he had just fleeced the year before—would televise the fight; Shavers would get $300,000, and Holmes would get $200,000, of ABC’s money.

  King called himself the “former manager” of both fighters, and that’s how the New York Times described him. King had long ago erased any distinction between the roles of manager and promoter for both these fighters.

  Thirty-one days after Spinks won the title, from Madrid, Spain, Sulaiman officially announced that the WBC had stripped Spinks of that title. One reason Sulaiman gave was that Spinks had signed a multifight contract with Top Rank, Bob Arum’s promotional company.

  The WBC designated Norton as the interim champion because he had beaten Jimmy Young, and mandated that Norton must fight the Holmes–Shavers winner within ninety days for the title.

  During the WBC convention that stripped Spinks, British promoter-manager Mickey Duff gave an emotional speech in favor of suspending the rules and granting Ali the rematch “because of all that Ali had done for boxing the last eighteen years. Boxing owes this to Ali.”

  Right after the speech Duff encountered King, who was with Norton.

  “There’s Mickey Duff, he doesn’t like black people very much,” King said, addressing Norton but wanting Duff to hear his insult.

  “Don, you’re a professional nigger,” Duff replied, and King just laughed.

  Don King couldn’t lose. He had Norton, Shavers, and Holmes all under contract to him, as well as Jimmy Young and George Foreman, whom King was still trying to talk into a comeback to fight for what in reality was the Don King–ABC heavyweight championship.*

  King’s bold stratagem of breaking up the heavyweight title would have a revolutionary impact on boxing, leading to more than twenty different champions over the next eight years, as revolving mediocrities like Tony Tubbs, Trevor Berbick, Gerrie Coetzee, Bonecrusher Smith, Mike Weaver, and Pinklon Thomas would hold one version or another for a few months and then lose it in their first defense.

  This revolving door continued until King managed to talk HBO into investing $16 million of its money in 1986 to begin a new tournament to reunify the title, a sequence of seven fights co-promoted by King and Butch Lewis, leading back to a single, undisputed champion of the planet. King got a $3 million fee for this series of fights from HBO.

  King was just as convincing arguing for the morality of splitting the title in 1978 as he was arguing for the morality of reunifying it in 1986. In 1991 he would even organize a new campaign to divide the title again by stripping Holyfield for not fighting Tyson.

  In March 1978 Holmes won almost every round against Shavers, employing his now trademark style of long, stiff jabs, quick rights, and plenty of movement. Shavers couldn’t land one damaging blow. For years after this fight Holmes, who had to accept the short end of the money, told reporters that King had bet $35,000 on Shavers to win.

  On June 9, Holmes confronted Ken Norton in Las Vegas in one of the most stirring heavyweight title fights of the modern era. The fifteenth round was an unforgettable display of tenacity, with the fight scored even going into the last three minutes, both men exhausted, and Holmes in pain from a torn ligament in his arm that he never told anyone about before the fight.

  Holmes fought the last round like his whole life depended on it, which it did. The theatrical drama of boxing is watching two athletes, naked before the world, decide their own fate with their own skill and will. One second, one
punch, one minute can determine a lifetime of success or regret.

  * Stripping Spinks would be the first of dozens of crucial, rule-bending, inconsistent favors Sulaiman would perform for King, as he became more King’s junior partner than his independent regulator.

  When King-controlled champions Carlos Zarate and Wilfredo Gomez went more than a year without fighting their mandatory Number 1 contenders, Sulaiman did not strip them. He let Tyson go more than a year without fighting Evander Holyfield when he was the Number 1 contender. When Buster Douglas beat Tyson, Sulaiman tried to force Douglas to give Tyson an immediate rematch, the same offense he stripped Spinks for.

  When Julio Cesar Chavez wanted to fight top contender Roger Mayweather for a promoter other than King, Sulaiman refused to sanction the fight—until King became the promoter.

  There are no excuses in boxing. In baseball, the pitcher can say the catcher gave him the wrong sign for the pitch that became a home run. In basketball, the center can say the point guard didn’t get him the ball when he was open under the basket. In football, the fullback can say the quarterback didn’t call his number on the big play.

  But in boxing, the athlete is totally alone. And the final round of a dead-even heavyweight title fight is the existential moment when a fighter must create his own destiny.

  And that’s what Larry Holmes did. The kid they called a quitter just would not quit. Norton hurt him several times early in the round, but Holmes would just not stop punching, just would not accept defeat, and with one last assault in the last thirty seconds, he pulled out an agonizingly close split decision.

  Larry Holmes, the black sheep of Don King’s heavyweight harem, had become champion of the world.

  And Don King was back at the top of the world because Larry Holmes had carried him there. A year after his ABC disgrace, King was back in the cockpit of boxing. He seemed incapable of embarrassment or guilt.

  Starting with Holmes’s victory, King would control the richest prize in sports for twelve consecutive years, becoming a millionaire many times over, until Tyson lost to Buster Douglas in 1990. He had a monopoly not only on the championship, but on the entire division, never losing his appetite for more inventory, so as never to be dependent on just one fighter’s loyalty. Because he lacked the patience and perception to scout amateur tournaments, King felt the need to tie up everyone, to be safe.

  After losing his control over Ali, King’s guiding principle seemed to be that all fighters were interchangeable. He once told Stan Hoffman, the manager of heavyweight James Broad: “My philosophy is that all fighters are two-dollar whores. Never fall in love with your fighter. My rule is fuck the fighter before the fighter can fuck you. Never let the fighter become bigger than the promoter.”

  In December 1978 King put his monopoly on paper. He sent a letter to Gil Clancy of Madison Square Garden, listing all the heavyweights he controlled. King wrote:

  Please contact me for the services of the following fighters: Larry Holmes, heavyweight champion Ken Norton, number one contender Jimmy Young, number two contender Earnie Shavers, number three contender Leon Spinks, number four contender Alfredo Evangelista, number six contender Scott Le Doux, number ten contender Stan Ward, number fifteen contender Michael Dokes Kevin Isaac

  Larry Holmes was a splendid champion who dominated an era. He won his first eight title defenses by knockout. He was an electrifying fighter when hurt, getting off the floor to win against Mike Weaver and Renaldo Snipes, and in his rematch with Shavers. He demolished Leon Spinks, Ossie Ocasio, and Gerry Cooney. He remained undefeated until he lost his title on a dubious decision to Michael Spinks, in 1985, after a seven-year reign as champion.

  But for all his ability, Holmes never attained the level of icon and national hero. He had the misfortune to follow Ali and suffered from the comparison with Ali’s amazing grace. Holmes just didn’t have the charismatic personality or dazzling style to vanquish Ali’s ghost, even after he did beat the faded Ali himself in the ring.

  Every generation seems capable of falling in love with just one great fighter. And Holmes was in the same position as Gene Tunney, who defeated the beloved Dempsey, and Ezzard Charles, who defeated the beloved Joe Louis. They were admired but never beloved themselves; they never penetrated the mass imagination or mass culture.

  Perhaps the public unconsciously resented Tunney, Charles, and Holmes for beating the first loves of each generation of fans.

  This was just one more snub, one more disrespect, that Holmes stored up in the furnace of his memory—and probably used to moti vate himself in moments of crisis and fatigue. It was not anything he or Don King could do much to change. He just lacked a certain crossover charm—like O.J. Simpson’s.

  An exuberant Don King at Madison Square Garden in October 1978. Larry Holmes, the heavyweight champion, was under contract to him, and so were seven of the top ten contenders. He was at the peak of his monopoly. JAMES HAMILTON

  Holmes just came across as angry blue-collar, not middle-class like the athletes who get all the commercial endorsements—Joe Montana, Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Ken Griffey, Jr., Grant Hill, Shaquille O’Neal. He didn’t have the actor’s glib grace, or the Olympic glamour of Oscar De La Hoya and Sugar Ray Leonard. Holmes also lacked the dramatic punching power that can excite the mass of marginal fans. He was a dish only for boxing gourmets.

  Don King, meanwhile, had his best chance to expand beyond boxing during the years Larry Holmes was champion. He convened sporadic meetings in Las Vegas to create a diversified black entertainment and sports conglomerate, but they never went very far.

  King did promote Michael Jackson’s 1984 national tour, but all the talk about movies, records, a black cable network, pay-per-view events, and other ventures, like agenting for NBA players, never materialized into a coherent business plan, or into a formal organization.

  King understood that boxing was entertainment. King knew how to raise the capital for any project. He had the contacts with the biggest black entertainers who would follow him. But Don King was a soloist. He couldn’t delegate. He couldn’t create a structure he could operate within. He wouldn’t hire the best agents, lawyers, accountants, writers, experts. He didn’t trust anyone else because he assumed a stranger would hustle him, just like he would hustle any stranger. So he was stuck with Al Braverman and stepson Carl as his thuggish assistants.

  King had the potential to build a sports and entertainment empire and become another David Geffen, or Berry Gordy, or Quincy Jones. But he lacked the sense of collaborative enterprise and institutional stability to accomplish that.

  King talked a lot about doing this, but his learning curve leveled off. He could navigate the transition from numbers to boxing, but not the harder transition from boxing to corporate entertainment. He had the ideas, but not the discipline. He had the talk, but not the capacity to listen. And he had alienated the man who could have helped him make the music and entertainment transition, Lloyd Price, who was an astute businessman, as well as a songwriter and performer.

  The stormy championship partnership between Don King and Larry Holmes lasted five and a half years before it broke up over money that was missing from Holmes’s paychecks.

  King just finds it hard to maintain permanent, stable relationships, either with business associates like Price, Elbaum, and Schwartz, or with fighters like Ali and Holmes.

  Such long-term alliances are rare in boxing, but sometimes an authentic bond of trust and friendship is created that survives all the pressures and lasts for a career. Joe Louis had this with John Roxborough. Muhammad Ali had it with Angelo Dundee and Herbert Muhammad. Jose Torres had it with Cus D’Amato; Joe Frazier with Eddie Futch; Sugar Ray Leonard with Mike Trainer; Riddick Bowe with Rock Newman; Mark Breland with Shelly Finkel; Marvin Hagler with the Petronelli brothers; Michael Spinks with Butch Lewis.

  But Larry Holmes is a material man, and King is a con man, and Holmes became convinced that King had cheated him out of his just compensation in every m
ajor fight. In 1988 Holmes told Wally Matthews, then Newsday’s boxing writer, that over the course of his career, King cheated him out of $10 million. Holmes said that throughout his career King took 25 percent of his purses as a hidden manager, and that Giachetti took 12 1/2 percent and Spaziani took 12 1/2 percent; and since King also took expenses off the top, Holmes ended up with less than 50 percent of his money on every fight.

  Holmes told me he got only $150,000, not his contracted-for $500,000, for his brutal fight with Ken Norton, waged with a torn ligament in his arm. He said he got paid only $50,000, not the announced $200,000, for his first fight with Shavers.

  For his Tex Cobb title defense, he says King first cut his purse from $2.1 million to $1.6 million, and then cut him by another $200,000 after the fight. Holmes says King underpaid him by $250,000 for the Leon Spinks match. He says he got underpaid by $2 million for beating Ali.

  The fight that most enraged Holmes was the Gerry Cooney contest in 1982. King gave the white hope “parity” in the announced share of the revenue, but Holmes—and most others with access to the records—say that King actually paid Cooney at least $2 to $3 million more than Holmes, when all the closed-circuit revenues were divided.

  “Gerry got his full share, but I didn’t get mine,” Holmes says. “I had to sue Don over the accounting and auditing of the Cooney fight.”

  Holmes adds, “I never saw a contract for the Cooney fight.”

  Holmes resented this all the more deeply because King promoted the Cooney fight as a racial Armageddon, stressing the black–white element and helping to create a racially polarized atmosphere. Cooney’s co-manager, Dennis Rappaport, internalized this cynical strategy to the point of calling Cooney “America’s fighter” and shouting “Win for America!” from the corner during the fight.