by Nigel Benn
Everything was being planned for a fight between me and Roberto Duran in London in May if certain obstacles could be overcome. Barry Hearn and his Matchroom organisation had linked up with Bob Arum to stage the fight but were having problems with the British Boxing Board of Control. Doubts had been expressed over Duran’s fitness and Ambrose angrily announced that I would never again fight in Britain if the council prevented the bout from going ahead. I had been promised a purse of £650,000 if the fight took place, although it was dependent on me winning all my bouts in the States.
Other British boxers, including Herol Graham and Michael Watson, got the hump over the proposed match saying they were ahead of me in ratings and should therefore be given the opportunity to challenge for a world title ahead of me. After the Williams fight I was rated number 5 in the World Boxing Organisation, number 6 in the International Boxing Federation, number 7 in the World Boxing Association and number 9 in the World Boxing Council.
Liverpool-born Canadian Michael Olajide had to pull out of our fight because of a cut hand and I had to fight Williams who was from Cleveland and had gone the distance with Iran Barkley and Frank Tate and had never been knocked out. I had asked Sharron to come to the fight and made the mistake of looking for her in the crowds during the bout. In that brief distraction, Williams smacked me on the chin and knocked out my gumshield, so I told her not to come to future fights.
I beat Olajide on points, though, and was looking forward to being able to challenge Roberto Duran for his WBC title. I was really disappointed when I heard the news that the fight with Duran had fallen through. It would have been a big draw and the purse could have increased to £1 million.
The WBC had stripped him of his title because he didn’t defend it within the required period. Roberto had until 24 January to appeal but nothing was heard from him. Instead, I challenged Doug De Witt for his World Boxing Organisation middleweight title in Atlantic City on 29 April.
John Morris, the secretary of the British Boxing Board of Control, said his organisation would not recognise me as champion if I won the title. He said, ‘We do not recognise the WBO.’
My fight was to be part of a triple bill. George Foreman would be fighting Cuban Jose Ribalta and Hearns would defend against Michael Olajide.
I flew back to London with Terry Marsh and Ambrose, arriving at Gatwick on 17 January. That was when Terry was arrested and charged with Frank’s attempted murder. I went with him when he was taken under escort to Hackney police station where a special squad interrogated him. We were both surprised and shocked at his arrest. A few days later, we were told that Ambrose Mendy’s offices in Tower Bridge had been broken into and secret documents relating to Terry and me had been taken. Mendy said, ‘Whoever did this knew exactly what they were looking for,’ and claimed that boxing enemies had paid to have his offices ransacked.
One of my favourite London nightclubs at this time was Jacqueline’s, run by David Simones. I used to go there at weekends to relax and listen to music, and I got pally with David who, as I said, became my agent. One of our favourite tricks was to do wheelies with my Porsche in Wardour Street. He claims I went through four clutches and two gearboxes in less than a year, but I think it was only three clutches. Dave said my wheelie was the longest he had ever seen in the West End.
We had lots of parties down at his club. Kissogram girls would be invited to my birthday celebrations and stag parties, and there were always Page Three girls among the fun crowd who frequented the Soho club. When David launched his Dream Girls dance troupe, I was at the club with Gazza, John Barnes, Gary Mason and a load of other top sporting personalities, as well as most of the cast of The Bill and EastEnders. Gazza and I tried to jump on stage and dance with the girls, but David stopped us.
Shortly before I was due to leave for Miami to train for the fight against Doug De Witt, an incident from the past reared its ugly head and I was attacked with ammonia which was squirted into my face as I parked my Porsche. The attacker ran off and I had to be helped to hospital. Thankfully, there was no permanent damage but I was temporarily blinded in one eye.
I knew who my assailant was. He was a former friend who, oddly enough, would become so again. At that time, however, if I’d tried to get even with him, our vendetta would have continued until one of us had been killed.
The problem arose over my cheque book which someone else had taken and this chap had somehow become involved. Friction was building up between us and, at one point, I considered shooting him but then decided that everyone would know it was me. It’s just as well I didn’t because he was the one who saved me when I reached a really low point in my life.
A great deal of pressure was being piled on me from every corner over the next fight. I had many detractors who were envious of the amount of publicity my fights were getting. There was jealousy from other British boxers who could not get a title fight and then there was pressure from my promoters. I not only had to win the next fight but I had to win it in style. It had to look spectacular, otherwise the paying public would not be interested in watching me fight on television. If I looked good, then future prize money could be measured in millions. Bob Arum was talking about setting up a fight with Tommy Hearns if I beat De Witt.
The British press were not too optimistic about my chances with De Witt and harped on about my defeat by Watson. Even Colin Hart, who’d accurately predicted the round in which I’d lose to Watson, thought I’d be out by the sixth round.
Doug De Witt, the man described as having an ‘iron hand’, said there would be no contest in the fight against me. ‘Benn doesn’t know what he’s in for,’ he said, ‘because whichever way he wants to fight, I’m much better than him … I should enjoy myself with Benn because he’s definitely the world’s most over-hyped fighter. He’s going to have a war on his hands and it’s going to be interesting to see his reaction when he discovers he can’t hurt me.’
De Witt’s career had been quite impressive. In 42 fights he had lost 6 and drawn 4 against high-class opponents. He sparred with Marvin Hagler when he was 18 and 7 years later became number 3 to the world champion. The fight was at Caesar’s Palace in Atlantic City. What a run-down, seedy dump that town was. There were drug pushers and prostitutes on every corner. I hated the place. But that’s where the fight was, so that’s where I went.
De Witt was a serious fighter, but I knew he didn’t have my determination and, as soon as I set eyes on him in the ring, I knew I was going to win. When you’ve got a world title within your grasp, it gives you the balls to give what it takes. He was a mean-looking man, though. The guy looked like he’d had his face kicked in by a mule. His nose had been broken and pushed flat, which made him look even more menacing. Before the fight started, De Witt walked over to me in the ring and said, ‘You’re going down.’
‘I might be going down.’ I replied, ‘but you’re staying down!’
And then the bell rang.
From the beginning of the first round, the punches were heavy, and it wasn’t long before blood began to trickle from De Witt’s left eye. I could see it was bothering him, which gave me all the confidence I needed. In the second round, I kept going for the cut. It was a real slugfest on both sides, punch after punch after punch. Suddenly, I found myself taking a left hook which put me on the floor. But even when he put me down it didn’t hurt me — I stayed down until the ref counted eight, and then I was up again, hitting him with a big left hook. There were only a few seconds remaining in the round, and De Witt had lost his chance.
I carried on battering him all over the place throughout the next few rounds, bashing the granny out of him. When you have to cut down a big tree, you keep chopping away and eventually it will fall — you don’t just knock it down with one blow. That’s what it was like with De Witt. He went down in the eighth when I bashed him with a left hook and then a right — just to be sure. He fell to his knees, with his hands stretched out in front of him. The count went to nine before he struggled to his feet and
took the hardest right uppercut I could muster before going down again. He hit the canvas for a third time in the round after a final left hook, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to go on.
We both took some punishment that night. De Witt saved every punch with his face, and I’d bashed him round the ring and split both his eyes. His ear was so smashed up it had turned blue, and his trainer said it was the worst injury he’d ever seen in his life. I’d never seen a man take so much pain. After eight rounds, his body just couldn’t take any more.
My eye was split as well, and had to be stiched up. I also broke my wrist with the very last punch of the fight. But, you know, I hardly thought about that — I was 25 years old and had just been declared WBO World Middleweight Champion. Now the sky was the limit.
A lot of people think that was my best fight. Bob Arum was delighted. ‘I told you he was the British Marvin Hagler,’ he told everyone.
It was a fantastic night for British boxing, too, even if the British Boxing Board of Control didn’t recognise my WBO title. The secretary, John Morris, said afterwards, ‘… I take great pleasure in Nigel’s victory and in fact have sent him a letter of warm congratulation. Personally, I am delighted by a result which is good for British boxing. However, the fact remains that we do not at the present time recognise the WBO … Certainly Benn could defend his title here and the WBO could provide officials, if they were recognised as judges and referees by a commission we recognised, New Jersey, for instance. We aim to control firmly but I don’t think public confrontation benefits anyone.’
But I didn’t worry too much about that. The promotors and television executives and the fans — everyone who mattered — knew I was now a world champion. I wasn’t the same fighter I had been with Watson. This had been the biggest fight of my life. It was make or break time and, had I lost, it would have been the end of me. Everyone had thought I was a coward when I lost to Watson. When I got knocked down then, I didn’t want to get up again, but I did, even though I wasn’t sure what to do. With this fight I had a totally clear head and when I went down I knew I had eight seconds to get myself together. Something else that pleased me was that the Americans who had laughed when Bob Arum described me as ‘his English Hagler’ would now have to eat their words. I returned home in style, on Concorde, so that I could see my kids before they were tucked up in bed.
14
FERRARI DAYTONA
Miami was a tough but beautiful place. There was no middle ground. You were either rich or poor and guns did a lot of the talking. As protection, although I never had use for it, I bought a 9mm Browning, the same kind of gun I had in the Army. I wish I’d had it with me when there was a showdown between a group of us and the driver of another car who fished out a sawn-off shotgun from under his seat and aimed it straight at me in the underground car park of a Miami nightclub. I dived to the floor and we sped off.
Later, I was involved in another fracas which could have come straight from a scene in Miami Vice. It happened when I was surrounded by half-a-dozen tall, gum-chewing cops at a Daytona garage. They were the size of American footballers and they looked mean. In fact, they had been expecting my personal manager Peter De Freitas instead of me.
I’d been well and truly stitched up by the garage in question. The TV series Miami Vice used three identical Ferrari Daytonas. One was used for stunts, another was to be blown up and a third was a regular run-about. I liked the stunt car, which had been used by actor Don Johnson, and bought it from Paramount studios. The garage had been commissioned to do some work on it and I paid them $6,000 in advance, which should have covered the cost of the work. It was left there for quite a few months, during which time I fought in Las Vegas, returned to England and then came back to Miami to train.
By this time I had Peter De Freitas with me. Peter is a big man who was formerly my bodyguard and doesn’t mince his words. As a young man he had been in trouble with the authorities and had experienced a tougher regime than most.
I shied away from him a little at first because I received anonymous letters saying he’d been a bad boy. But that was all history as far as I was concerned. Nevertheless, it was useful having somebody around who could take care of himself. I was owed £60,000 once and Peter telephoned the debtor and suggested he check him out and then either tell him to push off or pay the money. The next morning, we collected £60,000 in cash. Pete is not scared of my Dark Destroyer image, either. I was giving him a hard time once when I’d asked him to organise a birthday cake for Sharron. It was quite late in the afternoon when he brought it round and I said I didn’t want it any more. Pete threw the cake at me and it splattered against the door of my apartment. The thought did cross my mind to slam him one but I was exhausted from training and he’s a big bloke. I saw the funny side of the situation, wiped the cream off my door with a finger and said it tasted good.
Years later, we fell out. But at the time, I felt I could rely on Pete, so I asked him to sort out the Ferrari for me. I’d phoned a number of times and asked for the car to be returned and so had Pete. The garage was sitting on it and didn’t bother returning our calls. Pete and I then went round to the garage and saw that very little work had been done on the car. On my instructions, Pete took the garage owner to one side and told him not to mess us about. ‘Are you going to repair the car or not?’ he asked. The owner, who’d told us a number of different stories, said he would do it but it was the same old story.
Then the next time Pete went round, he told him, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get another $6,000 out of the bank and I’ll give it to one of them herberts in downtown Miami and he’ll come down and sort you right out.’
Two days later a Miami detective was on the phone to Peter, accusing him of threatening behaviour with a gun. That was untrue — Peter didn’t have a gun — but the detective became quite belligerent and threatened to lock him up. He said: ‘You’re in my country now, not yours. We were told you threatened the man with a gun and that you wore a shoulder holster at the time.’
I had used some threats down the phone myself and these had been recorded. I’d decided to take Sharron, Dominic and Sadé with me to collect the car, to show that I wasn’t interested in any trouble. But none of us had expected such a full-on welcome committee. Any moment now, I thought, one of these guys is going to pull a gun and lock me up.
It turned out that the police had been tipped off in advance. I pretended that nothing had happened and tried to smooth relations by offering to pay a little extra for the work.
The garage owner said it would be another 12. That’s a lot, I thought, but for the sake of peace I paid up $1,200. He turned to me, with the police standing around, and said, ‘Keep it coming, twelve thousand.’ There was no option but to pay up. I’m still angry about it. We had treated him with respect. If the police hadn’t been around he’d have been eating through a straw for the next six months. They said the garage man could have sued us for threatening him and Pete had to leave the country for a while. The car’s back here now. It’s one of my favourites. If I hadn’t paid up the money the police would have made sure the garage kept the car.
Before Pete’s unscheduled departure, we’d had good times in Miami nightclubs. He was with me when we wandered by mistake into a gay bar and I had my bottom squeezed. Pete joked about it, saying, ‘The guy who squeezed Nige’s bottom was a lovely feller. Nigel can’t remember his name but he made a lovely breakfast!’ Pete learned that champagne can be a great aphrodisiac. He called a blonde over after she’d been watching him crack a bottle and she said what a good-looking feller he was. Next, her mate joined me and we made an interesting foursome. Pete borrowed my convertible jeep the next day to take his new friend to lunch and got soaking wet when he couldn’t work out how to put the roof up.
One of our friends in Miami was Mickey Rourke. We went out a lot with him, especially to Thai Tony’s. He was quite a fan of mine and used to train with me at the Fifth Street gym. We went with him to watch his fight in For
t Lauderdale, Miami. He had once tried to spar with me but had second thoughts when he realised what it might involve, especially when he saw me on the pads. We’d go out together after fights. He would wear jeans and drive his black Cadillac. He was a very down-to-earth guy but, with the greatest will in the world, I would never call him a brilliant fighter. People would boo him in the ring and he would scream ‘Up yours’ at them and give them the V sign. He fought in Tokyo as a super middleweight and, surprisingly, won most of his bouts. His childhood dream was to be a boxer and his acting has helped him to live out his fantasy. I respect him because he says what he thinks. He won’t crawl to film directors or sleep with them for a part as one well-known boxer did.
One of the best things to happen to me was meeting my idols Marvin Hagler and Mike Tyson, as well as all the other top international boxers. This was at an awards ceremony in Las Vegas where I’d picked up an award as best overseas boxer. Sugar Ray Leonard and Tommy Hearns were also there. Marvin wanted me to meet his girlfriend and he came over and introduced her. I couldn’t believe this was happening. It was great.
My broken hand delayed the defence of my new world title although another battle was gathering pace — my fight with the British boxing authorities. The Times reported on 1 May 1990 that, following my victory over De Witt, I was expected to be out of action for at least six weeks. It said, ‘Since hands are not designed for battering human heads it is not surprising that after the ferocity of his non-stop attack on the American, Benn suffered such damage. Since heads are not made to be hit by human baseball bats, it is not surprising that De Witt, an old campaigner, announced his retirement from boxing immediately after the bout.’
The British Board of Boxing Control refused my WBO world title opponent Iran Barkley a licence to fight in Britain because of eye trouble. A defence had been planned on 18 August at Old Trafford, Manchester, and a minimum purse of $1 million had been guaranteed, although it was likely to be much higher. As a result, I would have to fight Barkley in Las Vegas. The incredible situation had arisen whereby the BBBC would not recognise me as a world champion, and they would not grant a licence to Barkley to fight me in England. Their decision cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars. Yet despite the non-recognition and the refusal to grant a licence to fight, they demanded a percentage of my fight fees for the defence of a title they didn’t recognise which was being fought in a foreign country!
