Within two years of his debut, Leonard was selling both 7-Up and Dr. Pepper and had a contract with ABC to televise his first six fights. With Trainer behind him, he was more marketable than any fighter in memory. With brains, good looks and great skills, the Trainer-Leonard partnership kicked off the creation of a matinee idol that would exceed anyone’s expectations. However, along the way many observers believed that Leonard overstretched his boundaries and began to make champion’s demands before he had paid his dues. No one could deny his ability, but the image still outshone his performances. “His appeal is that he’s not a stereotyped boxer,” Trainer told Bert Sugar. “If you go down the street and ask anybody what a boxer is, most would say, ‘He’s got a cauliflower ear, a nose all over his face, is missing his front teeth and he can’t speak very well.’ In short, not very nice people to be around.” Leonard, in contrast, appealed to “the guy up on the thirtieth floor on Madison Avenue,” according to Trainer. “Forget he’s black, forget he’s a boxer and remember he’s a personality, he’s intelligent and he’s never going to embarrass anybody.”
Those words “forget he’s black” would not endear him to his own community or to the blue-collar crowd that rooted for Duran. Not only did the fans forget he was black, but the new image overwhelmed not only race but the boxer himself. Those who thought Trainer was joking when he claimed his fighter would be a better actor than fighter were mistaken. Leonard was an anomaly, a fighter who thought before he spoke, cared about what people thought about him and displayed a keen knowledge of how to play the media. Those qualities simultaneously made him wealthy and distant.
Duran, on the other hand, had no marketing campaign, acted on impulse, rarely thought before he spoke, but was uncommonly sensitive when it came to his family and friends. While Leonard had a say in all of his future opponents, Duran had no problems with who – or what – was placed in front of him. Eleta took care of that; Duran just wanted to fight. And while many fighters padded their records with third-rate opponents, Duran had sixty-nine fights to his name and sixty-eight wins. The only man to beat him had been savaged twice in return, making Eleta reiterate, “When Roberto trained like he knew he should, he was unbeatable.”
Many figured the cornermen on each side would play a significant role in the outcome. Here was a trio of trainers who had reached the pinnacle of their profession. Because of his long association with Ali, Dundee was the best-known cornerman in boxing. Steeped in craftiness and a fine spotter of talent, Dundee could have been born next to a turnbuckle. In his most glorious moments, he persuaded a near-blinded Ali, then Cassius Clay, to keep fighting against Sonny Liston, and had “discovered” – some say exacerbated – a tear in his fighter’s glove that gave Ali precious moments to recover after being knocked down by Henry Cooper. In a fight with Marcos Geraldo, Leonard was hit so hard – either by a headbutt or punch – that he claimed to have seen three Geraldos. “Hit the one in the middle,” quipped Dundee. Leonard did, and won. “That fight showed me how strong Ray really was,” said Dundee. “Ray knocked out a middleweight in that fight.”
Dundee knew how to dissect a fighter. Having worked commentary for several of Duran’s fights, he knew the Panamanian’s strengths and weaknesses. Looking back years later, he confirmed he would have loved to have worked Duran’s corner. “Roberto had so much ammunition,” he said. “I respected the hell out of him. The guy was a complete fighter.” Yet he questioned Duran’s power at this level, remarking that Leonard, “my guy,” was the real puncher in this fight.
While Eleta stressed Brown’s value as a babysitter and watchdog in the camp, he realized early on that Duran needed that extra motivation that Plomo, a close friend, couldn’t provide. “Arcel was like, how do you say it in English, cabana boy,” said Duran. “He used to come a couple days before a fight. Plomo and Brown were always with me.”
Plomo reiterated: “I was with Duran from the very beginning. Arcel would just show up weeks before the fight.”
Still, as many in Duran’s camp would attest, it wasn’t always easy motivating Duran. Against Leonard, he motivated himself.
“Gloves, gloves, gloves. You just get bored. Imagine going a month without a rest. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday – damn, you don’t have the desire to throw punches anymore. They never give me a day off. I’m taking everything with calmness – at my pace. Everything is being saved for the day of the fight. If I do things with ferociousness now, I won’t have any sparring partners,” Duran told Sports Illustrated.
“What then? I do what my trainers tell me, but I also put in something of my own. Understand? Sometimes the body wants to work and sometimes it doesn’t. I have not yet started to throw hard. I should be in much better condition the day of the fight – not now. On June 20th, I should be double what I am now – double.”
Despite weight fluctuation and occasionally lax training habits, Duran wasn’t delusional. Against Zeferino Gonzalez he admitted to looking terrible, and reportedly he left the ring telling Leonard that next time he would see a different fighter. “I would stop partying and only train for two or three weeks before a fight,” said Duran. Leonard, in contrast, found solace amid the punchbags. “I just loved the conditioning, just one of the guys that loved to be in the gym.”
In Palmer Park in spring 1980, Leonard began training at a hotel exhibition hall and stayed at the Sheraton Lanham near his home. While some boxers liked to set themselves away from family, Leonard trained near his loved ones. He sparred with then middleweight contender and brother Roger as well as cousin Odell. The daily training sessions began with five miles around the track every morning. “I’d lose them every time when we got to the hills,” boasted Sugar. To work on his balance, he took dance lessons with Juanita. Spectators paid $1 to watch him train, while sparring partners were paid $150 for daily beatings. By the time Leonard broke camp on June 6, 1980, he had sparred roughly 200 rounds.
Duran arrived in New York on April 13 to begin training at Grossinger’s. People knew he was serious when he was nowhere to be found on the club circuit. When his mind was on the job, his training sessions, including a spectacular rope-jumping routine, could be eerily intense. “And all throughout the workout, in the ring and on the bag and rope, he emitted strange shrill cries,” wrote John Schulian. “They were not snorts and grunts many boxers make when punching. They were oohs and aahs, wailed in a sharp, high-pitched staccato, like cries of birds, and seemed to strike an emphasis, set a rhythm or express exuberance.”
Still, the training regimen came with the usual minor crises. “I was running up a hill with boots and when I stretched out I messed up my back,” said Duran. “I’m still suffering from that pain today. Eleta sent a doctor from Panama because he thought I was lying. I couldn’t even sit down. The doctor is observing me and he would look at me with the corner of his eye, but my back really hurt. When we go to Montreal, they take me to a clinic and it was the first time they ever took the pain away with lasers. They take me into an operating room and there’s a thing that looks like a barrel and they shoot this laser. The pain is gone, but I ended up feeling very weak. When I started to train very hard, Leonard and all his people were very afraid.”
Days before the fight, a routine medical indicated that Duran had an irregular heartbeat and might not be allowed in the ring. The media went into a minor frenzy of speculation. Duran, who thought the whole thing was a conspiracy, had to undergo further electrocardiogram tests at Montreal’s Institute of Cardiology before he was cleared to fight. “Everybody there liked me and I won the public over when I trained really hard, and I went on the microphone and said, ‘Bonjour madam, bonjour,’” said Duran. “They all fell in love with me, especially when I started jumping rope. The Leonard team got scared and wanted to bring the fight back to New York and made up a story about me having heart conditions. They said that three of the chambers of my heart were bad and they said that they pulled two tumors out of my head an
d that’s how sick I was.”
Despite the suspicion in Duran’s camp, they had to be cautious. “I sent my own physician down there when I heard about the problem,” said Eleta. “There was nothing wrong with Roberto. When the doctor looked at him they said he was strong as a horse.” Ray Arcel, always good for a quote, quipped, “They took him to the hospital to check out his heart. But everyone knows that Roberto Duran hasn’t got a heart.”
“His weight fluctuates so much,” said Dundee in a New York Times interview before the fight. “Who knows what he’s going to be like next year? He gets as big as a house between fights.” The war of words had begun. Arcel understood the ramifications of each insult and action but didn’t let it worry his guy. From the first time he saw the Panamanian against Lloyd Marshall, Arcel was adamant about not changing his style. It was a sign of his deep knowledge of boxers, of what worked and what didn’t. Throughout the eight years they’d been side by side, Duran had gone from a wild puncher to a patient stalker, but Arcel and Brown had never sought to temper his naked aggression.
“In the past, Duran has developed a dislike for a guy and when that happened, he really became intent on destroying him and always did,” Arcel told the New York Times reporter on the day of the fight. “The one thing I fear and dread is if the ref doesn’t let Duran fight inside. If that happens, Duran won’t be able to fight his fight. But as long as Duran can fight his fight, he’s going to hit Leonard and he’s going to drain him … the big question then will be Leonard’s stamina and endurance after the sixth and seventh round. That’s when Duran gets his second wind and he’s all over the other guy.” Duran’s camp bemoaned the choice of Filipino referee Carlos Padilla, who had an undeserved reputation for not allowing in-fighting.
The universal mantra was that Manos de Piedra could be undone with movement, hand speed and psychology. “I am not going to be standing still and letting Duran hit me with right hands,” Leonard told the Washington Post almost a month before the fight. “I’m going to upset him with my tactics; he’s very temperamental. I’m going to drive him crazy.”
In Montreal’s Olympic Stadium, known to locals as the “Big O,” the combatants fought in a twenty-foot ring, which many felt would give Leonard a decided advantage. The only thing missing that night was the presence of General and Duran confidante Omar Torrijos. Due to a heart condition, Torrijos was advised against attending the bout. They would speak by phone immediately after the fight. Yet, Margarito Duran surfaced again, and told a local Spanish radio station that his son would win a decision if he wasn’t knocked out in the first five rounds.
Calculations prior to the fight – which was billed by the French Canadians as Le Face-a-Face Historique – were mind-boggling. It would be shown on closed-circuit in the U.S. in over 340 locations. ABC affiliates bought the TV rights for $500,000 but couldn’t show the fight for twenty-nine days after the fight. Arum and King sold the live gate for $3.5 million, and if they sold all 77,000 seats, the Montreal organizers could take in $8.6 million. By June 17, three days away from the fight there were 23,000 sold and they needed 41,000 buyers to break even.
Duran would earn $1.65 million for the fight, Leonard nearly $8.5 million, from a package that included parts of the closed-circuit revenues, upfront money from the Olympic Installations Board and a lion’s share of the delayed home TV broadcast rights, as well as sales from the foreign broadcast rights. By eclipsing the $6.5 million that Ali earned for his 1976 bout with Ken Norton, Leonard was the highest-paid boxer in history.
IN THE SECOND preliminary bout, lightweight Cleveland Denny took some heavy punches from Canada’s Gaetan Hart and was carried from the ring, his body ominously limp. Most of the crowd, however, was unconcerned or oblivious. They had come for the main event only.
The 46,317 spectators gave Duran a rousing reception as he bounced into the ring on the toes of his white boxing shoes. He sported lily-white trunks and long red, white and blue striped athletic socks. They were quieter for Leonard’s arrival, though his own followers tried to pump up the volume. “Leonard held his arms aloft, bent at the elbows,” wrote Ralph Wiley in Serenity. “He was unconvincing. His face betrayed doubts. He was fighting Roberto Duran, and for the first time, he really didn’t know what might happen. Duran, on the other hand, seemed all business, jangling his arms to the sound of blood-stirring, amplified drumbeats.”
In truth, Leonard was overawed. “That fight was so big. It far exceeded the Benitez fight,” he said. “I was in awe of the whole thing. I recall walking toward the ring and looking up into the huge screen and I remember thinking that this was bigger than life. I was like, wow, let’s enjoy this. But Duran was like, ‘I will kill you.’”
As referee Carlos Padilla gave the instructions, the crafty Ray Arcel stood with his back to Leonard and pleaded with Padilla not to “take the inside away” from his fighter; in other words, not to break the clinches too soon. Leonard shook out his shoulders, looking slight in his build next to Duran. Then it was time.
From the first bell, Duran attacked, his belligerence matching his speed and movement. He grabbed the momentum and set the pace. Leonard, for once, was not in control. As Duran landed combinations and then smothered the champion, it was obvious that he was honed to a peak and raring to go.
The first big moment came in round two. Duran grazed Leonard with a right, then landed a left hook to the neck that wobbled him. Leonard was suddenly in a place he had never been as a pro, and followed his instincts to clinch for dear life. Pushed against the ropes, his crab-grip was broken by referee Padilla, and the fight continued, to the roars of the crowd. Leonard was forced to backpedal to escape further punishment.
“When I hit him with the left hook, he felt it,” said Duran. “I had to demonstrate that I was smarter, faster, and that I could put up with a lot more than him. He committed an error. He put too much Vaseline on his body, so that my punches would slide off him. He would hug me and that’s the mistake he committed because I could take my hands off him much faster. When he would tie my hands, my hands would come out much easier to pull out and uppercut him or hook him because all the Vaseline on his body would drip onto my gloves.”
Having analyzed Duran mentally and physically for years, Angelo Dundee knew what was happening. “Duran will throw punches, one, two, three, but then he’ll put his head in your chest; one, two, three and he’ll try to lock you up with his left hand. He likes to wave at you with his left hand. That hand-waving motion throws some guys off their rhythm.” Dundee stared into Sugar’s eyes before sending him out for the third round. His worst fears were coming true but there was little he could say or do to help his fighter. Duran was fighting with an animal intensity and it was all the American could do to stay with him. The first minute of round three confirmed the worst as Duran blasted in body shots, banged in a hard uppercut and continued to maul Leonard in close. “He had that look on his face and it was so surreal,” said Leonard. “I was being transformed from doing what I normally do. I had no control at that point.”
Midway through the fourth, Duran made the champion cover up again when he landed a right cross over a feeble jab. Another left hook landed on Leonard’s throat and a straight right jolted his head. He tried to use Duran’s own tricks during clinches, hooking his arms, but Duran was too strong. To shouts of “arriba, arriba, arriba” from his corner, Duran contemptuously spun Leonard away as the round ended.
Leonard finally unloaded on Duran for the first time with thirty seconds left in the fifth round. Duran was caught off balance as the hooks came wide and fast, the pick of the shots being a peach of a left. “Oh, he hurt me to the body for sure once or twice,” said Leonard. “But I hurt him too, whether he admits it or not.” Leonard had not wilted and was now clawing his way back – but he was fighting the wrong fight, slugging it out with Duran instead of jabbing, moving and using his longer reach.
By the sixth round (some reports had the eighth), Juanita Leonard had fainted onto her sister
’s lap. She came to just as her husband was getting back into the fight. Duran sneered and shook his head after taking a left but the punch had hurt. He tried to keep the exchanges close to nullify Leonard’s leverage and found an ally in Padilla who, conscious of the pre-fight criticism, was slow to break them. At times it was like a wrestling match as Duran continued to work over Leonard, capping a barrage at the end of the eight with a solid right that sank his foe into the ropes.
Duran jammed his head into Leonard’s chin early in the ninth and followed it by raking his head into his eyes. A concerned Leonard checked his forehead for blood before Duran surged into him again, hooking off a jab. Leonard fought back with trademark flurries but Duran pawed at him with that annoying jab, waiting for the fourth one to deliver an overhand right that caught Sugar flush on the chin. After nearly half an hour of combat, Leonard still hadn’t learned his lesson and continued to stand directly in front of his assailant.
Yet Leonard fired back with a stunning overhand right thrown in a downward motion midway in the tenth round, his best punch of the night. For the remainder of the round, he speared Duran with body shots and for the first time had recovered his cocksure nature. He even sent Duran back to his corner at the bell with a lightning right cross.
Leonard fired out of the corner for the next round and landed yet another overhand right. It was the cue for a toe-to-toe, blood and guts exchange. For fully forty-five seconds they clawed, clinched, hooked, raked eyes and bludgeoned each other at a pace that hadn’t slackened since the first round. Leonard seemed to be landing the harder shots but Duran drove him into a corner for more punishment as the round ended. He carried on where he had left off after the interval, storming forward with the light of battle in his eyes.
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