A steady stream of boxers, trainers and families continued to come in, and with each person Horace felt his confidence crumble. He sat on the floor and leaned against the wall as boxing clubs from Boston, New York City, Los Angeles, Houston, Miami, Kansas City, Seattle, Detroit, Minneapolis, Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia, New Orleans and Atlanta entered the building. The fighters, mostly black and Hispanic, were dressed better than he was and they were in groups. None of them were alone.
As he sat and watched, a darkness began to seep in. He was nothing. A nobody. An Indian who wasn’t an Indian and a white kid who looked like an Indian. He knew then, at that moment, while he watched all the other fighters, that he would never be a championship boxer. He was too slow and he froze under pressure, and the best, the elite, they never froze. Érik Morales never froze. And he wouldn’t even help a broke pregnant woman and her baby. No champion would be like that. No champion at all.
The line of fighters and trainers grew: Buffalo, Cincinnati, San Francisco, El Paso, Raleigh, Lafayette, Oakland, Denver, Oklahoma City, Albuquerque, Tallahassee and Lincoln. There were so many of them, and they were all dressed in new sweats and just-out-of-the-box Nike and Adidas shoes. They had good haircuts and every single one of them seemed at ease. Horace’s mood grew darker and he decided then that he would go back to his aunt’s house in Tucson. He would get his things, find a different place to live and give up boxing for good.
He closed his eyes in exhaustion and was nearly asleep when he heard his name called. When he opened his eyes he saw Mr Reese standing over him, dressed in cowboy boots, jeans, a freshly ironed blue western shirt and his grey felt cowboy hat.
‘How you been, Horace?’ he said in his cracked and tired voice.
Tears suddenly streamed down Horace’s face. ‘I’m not sure, Mr Reese.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did anything happen?’
‘No.’
‘Did something go wrong with check-in?’
Horace shook his head.
‘Everything’s on the square? No problems?’
‘No problems. I’m registered.’
‘But you’re not okay?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When’s your first bout?’
‘Tomorrow at one o’clock.’
‘Where’s the Arizona team?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Do you have a trainer looking after you?’
‘My trainer didn’t have any other boxers making the trip so he couldn’t come.’
‘We’ll get someone to be in your corner. Is that what you’re worried about?’
Horace wiped the tears from his face and shrugged.
‘Do you have a place to stay tonight?’
Horace looked at the other boxers in the room. ‘I’m staying at the Howard Johnson,’ he whispered.
Mr Reese moved to the wall and leaned into it and sighed.
‘Is your back still giving you trouble?’ Horace asked.
‘A bit,’ he said.
‘I don’t understand why you’re here, Mr Reese.’
‘I came to see you. Do you mind if I stay and watch your fights?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Do you think they still have rooms at the Howard Johnson?’
‘There’s an extra bed in my room.’
‘I don’t want to impose.’
‘You never impose, Mr Reese. To tell you the truth, I was thinking of leaving.’
‘Leaving?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’
‘Look at these guys. I won’t win. They’re all from big cities.’
The old man smiled. ‘So that’s it?’
‘What?’
‘You’re nervous?’
Horace nodded.
‘Everyone gets nervous,’ Mr Reese said. ‘That’s just a part of it. You’re testing yourself. A man gets nervous when he tests himself. It’s been that way since time began … Are you hungry?’
‘I am if you are.’
‘Then let’s get out of here,’ Mr Reese said. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose. ‘I’ve never been able to get used to fake air.’
‘It’s hard to get used to,’ said Horace, and Mr Reese reached out his hand and helped the boy to his feet.
*
In the area designated for red-corner pre-fight warm-ups, Horace retied his boxing shoes and continued to shadowbox. A half-dozen other boxers were in different parts of the room, and the sound of laughing and talking and fists hitting mitts drowned out the announcements on the PA. Mr Reese stood in the corner talking with a man named Link Wallace, a trainer and gym owner from Kalispell, Montana, who Mr Reese had got to look after Horace during the tournament.
An obese man dressed in white sweats then came into the room and yelled, ‘Horace Hopper – ring three.’
Link, Mr Reese and Horace followed the man out to the main room and waited at the edge of the ring while an announcer called the results of the previous fight. After that, Horace got into the ring.
Mickey Shrep was a short and thick twenty-year-old white kid from the outskirts of Topeka. He lived in a room above a garage across the street from his mother, three half-sisters and his third stepfather. He tripped as he came through the ropes and a handful of kids watching laughed. There were two other rings in the same hall and fights were in progress in each of them. Only a handful of spectators sat in the folding chairs around ring three. Mouth guards were put in both fighters’ mouths, headgear and gloves were put on, and the two boxers were brought to the centre of the ring.
With no fanfare or excitement, the bell rang.
Mickey Shrep hit harder than anyone Horace had fought, but he was plodding and out of shape and he didn’t pressure. Luck had again found Horace. When the first round ended, he had landed ten clean shots and was barely winded. The second round was the same as the first, and when it ended Link Wallace said only, ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing but try to move more. He’s slow but he’s still catching you.’ And then, a minute into the third, Horace landed a head shot with such force that it sent Shrep wobbling. The referee paused the fight, checked Shrep and then let it continue. But Shrep had lost his taste for it after that, and spent the rest of the round in retreat.
When the final bell rang, the referee gathered the scorecards and the two fighters came to the centre of the ring, one on each side of the referee. Over the PA the announcer said, ‘Horace Hopper advances to the second round. How about a big hand for both fighters?’ A dozen people clapped, the gloves were taken off and both boxers exited the ring.
*
Horace changed into his street clothes and found Mr Reese standing in line at the concession stand. They ate lunch and watched three hours of fights and then left the Salt Palace. Mr Reese took a handwritten list from his wallet and together they went through it and bought Mrs Reese boxes of candles, five one-thousand-piece puzzles, a heating pad, headphones for her radio, a new toaster, two different-sized non-stick pans and four sets of white bath towels. At Home Depot, Mr Reese bought a new Sawzall, an assortment of blades, five pairs of gloves, a cordless drill, two sets of bits and a dozen assorted boxes of nails and screws. They ate an early dinner and were in bed with the lights out at nine o’clock.
At two in the morning, Mr Reese woke to Horace rustling in the bed across from him. ‘You can’t sleep?’ the old man asked.
‘I guess I’m just nervous. Did I wake you?’
‘No,’ Mr Reese said, and coughed. ‘I wake up a halfdozen times every night.’
‘Is your back hurting?’
‘A bit.’
‘I bet it’s ’cause you’re not used to the bed,’ said Horace.
‘That’s part of it, I think,’ the old man said. The sound of a TV came through from another room and the hum of the AC unit kicked on. Mr Reese pulled the sheets up tight over him, rolled over and closed his eyes.
> ‘I don’t know why I have to fight so early.’
Mr Reese opened his eyes. ‘Eleven fifteen. You’re right, that is pretty early. But there’s a lot of fighters to get through.’
‘The guy I’m fighting is named Modine Moffin. He’s a black kid from Detroit. He was third in the nation last year.’
‘I know, I saw him fight too. I was sitting right next to you.’
‘He’s fast, isn’t he, Mr Reese?’
‘He seems like it.’
‘I’m going to get destroyed.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true.’
‘You have to think positive. You have to think like a champion. That’s what you’ve always told me and if there’s any time to think like a champion, it’s now.’
‘But it’s hard to.’
‘I’m sure it is. It’s difficult to put yourself out there. That’s why most people don’t try things that are hard or that scare them.’
‘Have you ever put yourself out there, Mr Reese?’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah.’
The old man paused and then said, ‘I suppose so.’
‘What was it?’
‘You don’t want to hear about my life.’
‘I’d like to hear about your life, Mr Reese. I would.’
‘Well,’ he said quietly, ‘I always wanted to be a pilot.’
‘Like an airline pilot?’
‘Maybe … Since I was a boy, what I wanted from life was to live by the ocean and be a pilot. Two pretty big things, especially knowing I was born on a ranch in Nevada. Ambitious but not unattainable – at least, that’s what I thought. So I joined the Air Force after I finished high school and I liked it. Even the bad things about it I didn’t mind. But I washed out of flight school ’cause I have poor eyesight. I didn’t wear glasses back then ’cause I didn’t want anyone to know my eyes weren’t right, but of course they weren’t right, and so by default I was let go from pilot school. I was stationed outside of Bakersfield, California and I was there for the rest of my stint. Only a couple times did I get to ride in a plane and I never flew one. I had thought just by being in the Air Force that I would get to see parts of the world, but it wasn’t the case. That wasn’t my job. My job was to fuel planes. I drove a fuel truck and never left the base outside of Bakersfield. It was the first big setback in my plans, but I did my stint and got out and moved down to La Jolla. Do you know where that is?’
‘No.’
‘It’s near San Diego. I guess now it’s considered a part of San Diego. I worked in a machine shop and rented a one-bedroom house right near the ocean. Every morning before work I’d get up and go swimming in the sea.’
‘You did?’
‘I did.’
‘Did you learn how to surf?’
‘No,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Surfing wasn’t as popular as it is now. Living by the beach in that little house was one of the highlights of my life. But you know, when I first got there I didn’t know anybody and that was hard. I was tested. I worked in a concrete building with only a single window and I was there nine hours a day on a drill press. That’s difficult for a kid who’s used to seeing the sky all day and the openness of things. Plus I’d never been alone. Not ever, really. Not even in the Air Force, where I always had room-mates. But when I got down to La Jolla I didn’t know a soul and I hardly ever saw the sky and I lived by myself. Solitude. I had to live with my own thoughts and that can be hard. But, sure enough, I got used to it and I got to be by the ocean. One of my dreams had come true. And then I met a woman.’
‘Mrs Reese?’ asked Horace.
‘No,’ he said. ‘This was before I met Mrs Reese. I was only twenty-three. I met a woman ’cause her sister’s husband and I worked together. We all became friends. The co-worker, his wife and his wife’s sister. We’d have Chinese food or Italian or Mexican. You have to remember I had never eaten out, not really. My mom’s cooking and then the Air Force’s cooking were pretty much all I knew. It might not seem like much, but all of that was pretty exciting. And also, finally, after a long time of being alone, I had friends. And then the woman and I became closer. We started dating. We’d go to the movies and have fires together on the beach. We’d go swimming. Sometimes we’d drive down to Rosarito, Mexico, with her sister and her sister’s husband and go swimming – night swimming even. When I look back at it, it seems like we were always swimming.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘She had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman. She had blonde hair – a California girl, I guess. The kind they talk about in songs.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘My dad had a heart attack. He had the sheep up past Horse Canyon and he was by himself. He died. He was only fifty-two. My sister called me at work and told me the news, and with that phone call my life in California ended. I had two sisters still in school. I had my mother, my aunt and my grandmother. They all lived on the ranch. They all depended on it to get by. So right then, that day, I had to quit my job. I left with a paycheck in my pocket and never set foot in that machine shop again. I remember I went to the little house I had near the ocean and started crying. Crying for my dad, of course, but also crying ’cause I’d never get to see the ocean like that again. I had held my dream in my hand but now it was over. I took my things out and called the landlord and left my keys on the kitchen table. And then I had to go see the woman. She worked at the local newspaper. I went there and told her I had to go back. For as long as I live I’ll never forget having to walk into that huge brick building and tell her. Even after all these years it’s still hard to think about.’
‘She didn’t follow you?’
‘She visited once. We were engaged, you know? But she was from La Jolla and she would have had to live in a house with five women. She’d be surrounded by nothing but sagebrush, a thousand sheep, a half-dozen horses, a half-dozen dogs, dozens of chickens, a handful of pigs and a bunch of barn cats, and nothing but dirt and my family breathing down her neck every day.’
‘But she didn’t at least try?’
‘She wanted to but I told her I’d get through life a lot better thinking about her by the ocean, and not taking the ocean from her. She had spent her whole life in San Diego, she was happy there, and I didn’t want to be the reason she lost that. I’ve always loved the ocean more than anything else in the entire world. So why would I take something I loved so much from the woman I was in love with?’
‘What was her name?’ asked Horace.
‘Alice Hampel.’
‘Whatever happened to her?’
‘I don’t know, exactly – probably lived her life. Had a family and children. At least, I hope she did.’
Horace rolled onto his side. He looked in the dark toward the old man. ‘Then how did you meet Mrs Reese?’
‘Her dad owned a place up by Pony Springs in Lake Valley. He was a cattleman. She had two brothers and a sister. Mrs Reese grew up in what I’d call a house of abuse. Her dad beat up on all of them. And all of them have struggled in life because of it. Both her brothers died young and her sister long ago disappeared. When Louise was fifteen, she married a man and escaped. But that man … It’s not my place to say, but after a couple of years she was abandoned without a dime in Chicago, Illinois. She was in a hard spot and was forced to go back and live at her folks’ ranch. Her father shunned her for her marriage and her mother did as well. And you know how nice Mrs Reese is. It’s awful how they treated her. So she got taken on as a cook for a ranch up by Pritchard’s Station just so she could move out. I met her then and we became friends and then after a while we got married. She liked my family and my family liked her and our life went on together. A few years passed and then my grandmother died and my sisters graduated from high school. They moved to California together and both married and started having kids. So my aunt and my mother moved in with them to help out. Suddenly I was thirty years old, living on the ranch alone with Mrs Reese. She was m
aybe twenty-three or twenty-four at the time. And she was happy to be there. I’d always thought of leaving but Mrs Reese was against it. I think, ’cause of all she’d been through, she liked the solitude of the high desert, the ranch, and the stability and peacefulness of our life. And then we had our kids so we just stayed.’
‘I’m sorry about the ocean, Mr Reese.’
‘The reason I told you about that is to let you know that you have to give it a shot. You have to try and get what you need to get by in life. It makes you a better person to try. I got a chance and it didn’t quite work, but it almost worked. It was close to working. But if I didn’t go down to La Jolla in the first place, I’d never have La Jolla in my heart. And now I have La Jolla in my heart for as long as I want it there. You’re the Arizona Golden Gloves champion because you had the guts to move down to Tucson and try. No one can take that away. Not ever, not for your entire life. And today you got the best of Mickey Shrep, and he came all the way from Topeka, Kansas to try and be a champion. And tomorrow you’re against Modine Moffin, and you’re going to show up and try as hard as you can, and if you do, you’ll beat him.’
‘He’s pretty fast, though, Mr Reese. I’m not good against speed.’
‘But he hasn’t been hit by “The Machine Gun” yet, has he?’
Horace laughed. ‘No, Mr Reese, I guess not.’
*
Horace stood in the same corner of the Salt Palace warmup room while Link Wallace looked over his wrapped hands. Mr Reese stood in the back, leaning against a wall, and then the obese man came through the doors in the same white sweats as the day before and yelled out, ‘Horace Hopper – ring one.’
Fewer spectators were there than the day before, and Horace, Link Wallace and Mr Reese walked toward the ring as a featherweight match ended and the winner was declared.
Don't Skip Out on Me Page 10
