American Son

by Oscar De La Hoya

  And then we blew well past that number with my 2007 match against Floyd Mayweather Jr. It got 2.4 million buys, the largest pay-per-view total in boxing history.

  We had predicted that we were going to set a pay-per-view record with that fight and people laughed. The old mark had been 1.9 million buys for both Mike Tyson’s fight against Evander Holyfield and Tyson–Lennox Lewis. Both of those had been for the heavyweight championship of the world, once the most prized possession in boxing, not to mention, arguably, in all of sports. How could my fight against Mayweather—whose previous pay-per-view high had been 400,000 for his fight against Carlos Baldomir—even equal, much less exceed, those two Tyson bouts?

  We were up to the challenge. We named our fight The World Awaits and that, indeed, turned out to be the case. When the opening bell rang, fans in 187 countries were sitting in front of their screens.

  We also set records for the live gate, the closed-circuit telecast, the foreign buys, and the level of sponsorship. My purse was also a record breaker.

  After more than four decades of domination by King and Arum, Golden Boy Promotions had climbed over both of them to reach new heights in a sport critics had pronounced dead only months before.

  XXV

  THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

  While many of my business ventures have been the result of solid forecasting, careful planning, and an accurate assessment of the marketplace, I can take no such credit for the launching of my singing career in 2000. I was practically an innocent bystander at its inception.

  I was at a restaurant in the Caribbean with a group of people celebrating an endorsement deal I’d made with Univision. When some mariachis came by, I started singing with them. At our table was Cristina Saralegui, the Oprah of Univision. I was scheduled to be on her show the next day, and when she heard me sing that night, she insisted I sing on her show as well.

  I did, and the reaction was beyond what I could have imagined. Offers come rolling in from recording companies large and small. I finally settled on EMI.

  Singing has always been important to me because it was my link to my mother. She had loved to sing, I loved to listen to her, and occasionally, we engaged in impromptu duets.

  If I boxed because of my father, why not sing because of my mother?

  Still, my singing career just sort of happened after that appearance on Univision.

  I was confident I could do it even though my only experience was singing karaoke with a few beers in me.

  Nevertheless, just like I needed a trainer to box, I realized I needed a voice coach to sing. I went to one who had worked with both Millie and with Michael Jackson.

  Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the task of actually recording an album. It may have been the most difficult thing I have ever done. You have to sing the same song over and over to make every word perfect. There were sessions that lasted most of the night.

  But I never lost my enthusiasm for the project because I had such great material to work with. Diane Warren, who writes songs for people like Celine Dion, Elton John, and Faith Hill, wrote a song especially for me entitled “With These Hands.”

  I thought it was a good album and those feelings were validated when I got nominated for a Latin Grammy Award.

  One way to look at my overnight success in the studio was to see it as a substitute for boxing, a way to continue to make a great living without getting hit. I looked at it as just the opposite. I felt my singing career was getting too big, it was too much work, and it was taking me away from what I loved to do most: box. I missed the ring. That’s my thing. Record sales were great, there were plans for another album, but I just couldn’t walk away from boxing.

  Besides, I had already gotten the greatest gift of all from music. I had gotten Millie.

  My unlikely path to the love of my life began one night in the recording studio, working with a producer named Rudy Perez.

  Only it wasn’t happening for me that night. It just wasn’t happening.

  The song, “Para Que,” was about heartbreak, but, Rudy told me, he didn’t hear that in my voice.

  “I’ve never had my heart broken,” I told him, “so how can I express those feelings?”

  Rudy smiled and said, “I’m going to give you someone who will do it for you.”

  He put on a video by a Puerto Rican singer named Millie Corretjer.

  Rudy was right. That did it.

  It wasn’t just that she looked beautiful. I’ve seen many beautiful women in my life. It was something beyond that. I don’t know what an angel looks like, but I felt like I was seeing one. I was mesmerized.

  After her picture came into view, the song just flowed out of me without effort. As I opened my mouth, the feelings tumbled out, tears rolling down my cheeks.

  When I was done, I said, “This is the woman. Somehow, someway, I have to meet her.”

  With Shanna in my past, I was sincere in my desire to meet this woman, but I didn’t act on it. I thanked Rudy for reaching down into his bag of inspirational tricks. He’d make a heck of a corner man, the kind who always seems to pump up your heart before the most crucial rounds.

  I might have never seen Millie in the flesh had I not been flown down to San Antonio by José Behar, then the president of EMI Latin Records, my label, to meet a group of executives from the biggest chain stores, places like Wal-Mart, Kmart, and Target.

  “By the way,” José told me when we arrived, “you know who else is in town? Millie Corretjer. She’s here to do a concert.”

  I tried to stay cool, but inside, I felt like a kid who spots his first crush across the lunch court.

  When I finally saw Millie, it was at a San Antonio restaurant the night of her concert. I had gone there with José and several other EMI executives. As I ate, I noticed José’s attention shift from our table to one across the room. He excused himself, only to return about five minutes later accompanied by a female. It was Millie.

  When he introduced her, it was obvious she didn’t know who I was, nor did she look particularly interested.

  José motioned for her to sit down next to me, explaining I was a boxer. Finally, a look of recognition appeared on Millie’s face. She knew my name because I had fought Félix Trinidad the year before.

  Everybody in Puerto Rico, even someone like Millie, who didn’t follow sports, knew of Trinidad. She recalled being in a restaurant with her cousin Jaime Durand, the night of my fight against Trinidad. At first Durand, a radio pressed to his ear, misunderstood what he heard. He thought Trinidad had lost. Mille saw a cloud of gloom spread across the restaurant after Durand shouted the bad information. Then came the clarification from Durand. It was I who had lost. The restaurant exploded in elation, Millie among the celebrants.

  Now she was sitting next to the man whose defeat had brought her joy.

  Millie didn’t know how many fights I’d had, or that I now had a music CD coming out. She really didn’t know anything about me. And I wasn’t able to fill in the blanks because I couldn’t speak. Literally. Normally a pretty sociable guy, I was so nervous I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth.

  When José told her about my CD, Millie seemed less than impressed. An established recording star back in Puerto Rico with a huge fan base, she wasn’t about to get excited about some boxer who thought he could sing. I could almost read her mind: Who the heck does this guy think he is?

  Millie was polite, but it was obvious she didn’t want to be there. My first encounter with my dream girl was turning out to be a nightmare.

  Gorgeous and extremely talented, she had been hit on by all sorts of big-name performers, from Ricky Martin to Marc Anthony, so she certainly wasn’t starstruck. I was just another guy.

  Millie didn’t stay long because she had to get ready for her concert. It was to be in an outdoor amphitheater on the closing night of a weeklong musical celebration.

  After she left, José said, “Hey, champ, why don’t we go see her concert?”

  My reaction? “Of cou
rse.”

  There was anticipation in the air among the several thousand in attendance as we arrived at the concert. I shared that feeling. I was anxious to hear her sing in person.

  But unexpectedly, I went from spectator to participant.

  “Champ,” said José, “why don’t you introduce her? She would like that.”

  That wasn’t true, but José was trying to get on my good side and he knew that I liked Millie because Rudy Perez had told him what had happened in the studio.

  I was thrilled. Sure I’d introduce her.

  I got on the stage, was handed a microphone, and gave Millie a big buildup. As she walked out, she gave me a quizzical look, like, Why is this guy introducing me?

  As the concert started, I joined José and the rest of our group in a VIP tent, where we had refreshments and a great view of the stage. Millie was tremendous and the audience let her know it.

  She and the band came into the tent afterward, buoyed by the enthusiasm of the crowd. She had a glow to her face, which made her more beautiful than ever.

  I found myself standing next to Millie and José. With cameras everywhere, José, ever anxious to push Millie and me together, suggested a photo of the three of us.

  Then José made a slick move in order to slip out of the camera’s eye and signaled for another picture.

  That second picture, with just Millie and me, conveniently found its way into Spanish-language publications with a suggestion from José that there might be some sparks flying there.

  The only sparks were from Millie, who didn’t appreciate being shoved into my company.

  That became glaringly apparent when it was time to leave. We were all staying at the same hotel on the Riverwalk, limos waiting to take us there. After I had gotten into one car, the door remained open for additional passengers. Glancing out, I saw José and Millie several yards away in a discussion, a discussion that seemed to become heated.

  José was telling Millie, “Look, you are going to get in the limo with Oscar, you are going to talk to him, and the two of you are going to ride back to the hotel together.”

  “No, I’m not,” insisted Millie. “Why do I have to do this?”

  She didn’t and she wouldn’t. Millie marched over to another limo and got in. José climbed in next to me and rode back silently, not telling me about his confrontation.

  Reaching the hotel a few minutes before Millie, I hung around in the lobby until she arrived. When she came in, she was surrounded by her band and her dancers, about ten people in all. Our eyes met, but she kept walking, her group moving in step on all sides, as if she was a running back and the musicians and dancers were her blockers, running interference for her all the way to the elevators. If she had asked for protection, it could only be because of one person: me.

  I got the hint, but I wasn’t going to be discouraged. For the first time in my life, I was being humbled by a woman. Here was someone I couldn’t have. After being pursued for much of my life, I was the pursuer. Everything had been so easy for me in the past. Here was a real challenge, someone who was difficult, almost impossible, to get. I wasn’t going after her just because I had to prove I could overcome the hurdles and win in the end. I had real, strong feelings about her. But the fact that it was such a struggle made me think that this most elusive woman might ultimately result in my most satisfying relationship. This might be the person I wound up with.

  I went back to my room, but couldn’t sleep. Raul, who was sharing the suite with me, had a copy of my CD. I wanted Millie to hear it, wanted her to give me her professional opinion.

  “Raul,” I said, “find out Millie’s room number and get ahold of her or her manager. Get ahold of someone. I have to talk to her. She’s an artist. I want her to listen to this.”

  It was about one in the morning by then, but I didn’t care.

  Raul got Millie’s room number, made the call, and got her manager, Marisela. Raul told her what I wanted. Marisela, very protective, hung up.

  “Call again,” I told Raul. “We have to go there. We have to go there.”

  Marisela relented on the second call and said we could come to her room. We rushed over, but there was no Millie.

  A few minutes later, in she walked, still dressed in her concert outfit. She wasn’t much warmer to me than she had been earlier in the evening.

  Marisela had told her, “He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Make him happy. Listen to his CD.”

  Millie listened, almost grudgingly it seemed, but when it was finished, she had no reaction. Talk about shooting down a guy’s confidence.

  But I refused to let go. I knew if I walked out of that room, I’d probably never see her again. So I asked her if she’d go down to the Riverwalk with me for coffee.

  “Come on,” I said. “You’re not doing anything tomorrow and we both have late flights home.”

  Millie and Marisela excused themselves and went into another room to talk it over and decide how to handle this pushy guy.

  “Okay,” she said upon her return, “we’ll do it. I’m still so pumped up from the concert that I can’t sleep. But on one condition. All of my dancers and the band have to come with us.”

  What choice did I have?

  So here I went on my first unofficial date with Millie, accompanied by ten chaperones. I guess the only good news was that the musicians didn’t bring their instruments with them.

  Millie and I started to talk a little bit, but we couldn’t finish a conversation because fans, recognizing me, approached for autographs or to take a picture.

  I have always taken that aspect of my career very seriously. I understood from the beginning that it is the fans who have enabled me to become the most popular fighter in the world. So when I am out in public, I am really into it.

  Even in a moment as important to me as that night with Millie, I simply couldn’t turn my back on the people. I accommodated them on the walk to the restaurant and after we arrived as word spread that I was in the house. Waiters, the managers, diners, people from the street, they all came over.

  Was Millie impressed with my celebrity? Not at all. Instead, she was getting really irritated because I wasn’t paying attention to her. I just couldn’t.

  It seemed like I lost her right there. Whatever goodwill I had built up on the walk over was lost. She was again going through the motions, anxious to get it over with and be done with me.

  I tried to talk to her, but every time I made a little progress, somebody asked me to get up and come over here or over there to take a picture. As they lined up their shots, I glanced anxiously over to our table at Millie, who was losing patience by the minute.

  We walked back to the hotel, and she was soon on her way back to Puerto Rico, and I went my way back to L.A.

  A month went by, but I couldn’t get Millie out of my mind. I called Marisela and told her that. I didn’t hold back. No false pride for me. I wasn’t worried about my remarks getting into the tabloids. I was desperate.

  “I feel she is the one,” I told Marisela.

  “Oh, that’s cute,” said the manager.

  I had won Marisela over to my side. She wanted Millie to be happy and that meant breaking Millie’s routine. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in years, hadn’t even dated much because she had been so focused on her career. Besides, Marisela enjoyed the drama of the whole situation, so she relented and gave me Millie’s phone number.

  Thus began my long-distance courtship over the phone. We would speak in Spanish. The Puerto Rican dialect is different from the Spanish I grew up with. It seems more like slang to me. But not Millie’s Spanish. Hers is more precise, has the feel of an educated person’s speech.

  Our frequent conversations continued as days turned into weeks and months. I was content, no longer pushy. We were getting to know each other, we were forming a relationship, innocent as it was, and that was fine with me. As long as the lines were open, there was hope.

  Just to cement our bond, I sent her white roses nearly every day.


  I had never worked so hard at getting a woman, but never felt so fulfilled.

  At first she tried to brush aside my obvious interest, telling me over and over again that I must have hundreds of women pursuing me and had probably told many of them the same things I was telling her. I insisted it was different with her and asked if I could fly down to Puerto Rico to visit her.

  Hesitant, she nonetheless agreed. I stayed at a hotel near her condo in San Juan and hung out at her place, happy to just talk.

  I must have been making some points with her because she didn’t invite the chaperones over to join us.

  We didn’t go out, just stayed there and talked.

  One aspect of my life she couldn’t get her head into was the whole boxing thing. “Why do you guys have to fight?” she asked me. “Can’t you just talk about it?”

  “That would kind of miss the whole point,” I explained.

  Both of Millie’s parents are alive and she has two brothers and a sister, but she didn’t mention any of them at that point. It was just us.

  On that first trip, I spent a few days. When I got home, I learned that as part of my promotional tour for my CD, I was scheduled to spend a few weeks in Puerto Rico. That made me a happy camper. Millie never came to any of my public appearances in San Juan, but she did reserve time to see me, which was all I cared about.

  That went on for over a year. Then I took another step by inviting her to come out to L.A. to go to the Grammy Awards at Staples Center.

  L.A. wasn’t totally foreign to Millie. She had spent time there taking singing lessons from Seth Abrams—ironically, the same voice coach I had studied with.

  It took Millie a while to accept my invitation. She kept stalling, unable to make up her mind. Finally, Marisela called to say Millie would come. I put her up at the Peninsula Beverly Hills Hotel and proudly took her to the awards show.