The BAWLI Papers
(Boxing As We Liked It)
Edited by J Michael Kenyon
Issue Number 85
Saturday, May 22, 1999
New York City, New York, US of A
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IN THIS ISSUE: REMEMBERING THE OLYMPIC AUDITORIUM AND THE OLD VERNON ARENA
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BOXING'S FADING GLAMOUR GIRL
(Los Angeles Times, August 5, 1975)
Salvadore Beats Jessick in Opener
"Amid a chorus of boos that greeted the decision in the main event, the
multi-million dollar Olympic Auditorium was opened last night. Phil
Salvadore took a six-round decision from Julius Jessick in the main event.
The fans and everybody but the referee thought that Jessick had not gotten
worse than a draw.
"The Auditorium blazed with glory on its opening night, the light of many
electric lights surpassed only by the sparking jewels that adorned the
persons of several of our well-known citizens and citizenesses. Hollywood
and the moving picture colony slipped into their tuxedos and formal apparel
and blessed the ringside by their presence."
--Los Angeles Times, Aug. 5, 1925
By Dwight Chapin
Fifty years ago today, the Olympic Auditorium opened at 18th and Grand.
Obviously, it knocked 'em dead then. The Olympic was big -- "like Exposition
Park with a roof," Times columnist Bill Henry once wrote. And it was nice to
look at, the first boxing-wrestling stadium to feature leather-cushioned
seats, and running water at ringside.
It was to become a home away from home for the stars in the early days --
Mae West, Lupe Velez, Ruby Keeler, Al Jolson, Robert Taylor, Barbara
Stanwyck.
Fifty years have made a difference.
A scruffy black cat, apparently tired of chasing rodents, wandered through
one of the building's corridors. She stretched lazily, meowed and flopped
over on the floor to sleep. It was daytime, and the Olympic seemed almost
asleep, too.
A guy was chopping ice in a concession area, getting ready for business.
Another guy, a set of keys in his hand, strode by briskly and nervously,
perhaps wondering why the visitor was there.
You walk down into the building's caverns and are met by the smells of
decades -- liniment, sweat, beer, must.
You go past the small, bleak rooms where the fighters are taped, rubbed and
soothed, and you turn, in the darkness, and start back. For a few moments
you envision yourself as a middleweight on the way to the ring. The robe is
around your shoulders and your shoes clop on the cold, concrete floor and
you bang your gloves together uneasily.
You reach the swinging wooden doors that lead to the arena and there is a
moment of indecision. Do you really want to go out there? Can you win? Can
you handle it if you lose?
You push through the doors and go up the steps and begin the walk to the
ring. Funny it should be called that. It isn't a ring. It's a square.
The crowd sees you coming and begins to clap, scattered pops at first, then
building to thunder. Your trainer pulls the ropes apart and you swing
through and begin bouncing, shadow boxing, exorcising the pre-fight demons.
Then the announcer is in the ring. That's your name he's calling.
And then the bell.
++++++++++++++
The Olympic has known them all, the barrio kids on their way up, the
champions on their way down. The wrestlers with pompadours and flying
dropkicks. The roller skaters whose mouths are as active as their feet. The
lacrosse players (in the '30s), the college and pro basketball players. it
remembers some of them on its walls, with picture-book portraits. Fighters
like Enrique Bolanos, John Thomas, Fidel LaBarba, Jack Dempsey, Ace Hudkins,
Raul Rojas, Mando Ramos. Wrestlers like Jim Londos, Dynamite Gus Sonnenberg,
The Mighty Hans Kampfer, Sandor Szabo, Joe Savoldi.
None of the pictures is new. Most have a posed, peaceful quality incongruous
in a building known for violence. Like the one from 30 years ago, that shows
a big man shaking hands with a little man on the steps of a train: "Tom
Gallery, our boxing promoter, greeting Tony Canzoneri upon his arrivla in
Los Angeles, Sunday, March 4, 1934."
++++++++++++
Not long ago, the late Nick George talked about when the Olympic opened. He
was there, as a cigar vendor, and he stayed for years, as concessions
manager. He remembered the spectacularly painted ceilings; the red velour
drapes at the aisle entrances; the red velour curtains behind each rear row
of seats.
The structure was 95 feet tall at its tallest point, with 60,000 square feet
inside, 10,000 seats and eight-inch-thick concrete walls that made it look
like a fancy fortress.
"Most beautiful boxing club in the world," George said. "Everybody said so."
Then he talked about Frank Garbutt, who directed construction of the
Olympic, and owned it.
"Always a gentleman," George said, "and he treated people like they were
gentlemen, too."
At the beginning, the Olympic was more than just a sporting house.
"There was grand opera here for a while, back in the Twenties," George said.
Then came wrestling, a different variety from the carnival atmosphere of
today.
"Jimmy Londos," said George, "the big Russian, the big German. I forget some
of the names. Lou Daro brought in the shows, and for a while we had bigtime
boxing and wrestling every week. But boxing was what the place was built
for, and boxing was always the best. The Olympic Games' boxing and wrestling
were staged here in '32."
Then George ticked off the early matchmakers. Wad Wadhams. Joe Waterman.
Suey Welch. Tom Gallery.
And he talked of Belle Martell, a theater personage who dominated the
Olympic for a while with her amateurs.
"Fine looking woman," George said. "Lots of style."
+++++++++++++++++
Bill Miller, who died recently, almost to the day that Nick George died,
knew the Olympic well, too. He was once the Olympic's publicist. Damon
Runyon, Jack Kearns and Bill Corum called him the best sports publicist
ever.
Before his death, he recalled how he first heard of the Olympic:
"There I am in New York," he said, "bringing in boxers from the Philippines
with Frank Churchill, and one day in the late summer of '25 Jack Root, the
old light-heavy champ, sticks his head in the office. He tells me the new
Olympic in L.A. is the most beautiful boxing club in the world, and, by God,
he's right.
"I take Mike Ballerino out there in November '25 to fight Ace Hudkins.
Gorgeous place. Gentlemen running it. Ace beats my boy. Fills the house.
"I brought in Ceferino Garcia, too, and put him in with Alfredo Gaona. Catch
the name? That's right, one of the famous bullfighting family of Mexico.
Ceferino is just too big a bull for Alfredo. Biggest damned Filipino his
countrymen'd ever seen. Which is why they love him. Knocks Gaona out. Say,
that reminds me."
Bill Miller laughed, and the memories tumbled.
"Mark Kelly (former Examiner sports editor) is sitting with me for the
fight. Garcia throws an uppercut that takes the bullfighter off the floor
and out. "What kind of punch was that?" asks Kelly. 'Why, Mark" I stell him,
'that's the favorite punch of the Philippines. That's the bolo.'
"That's right, the bolo! Never thought of it till that minute! Invented the
damned thing right there!"
Then Miller talked of the night Dempsey and writer Gene Fowler grabbed him
at ringside and held him aloft during a radio broadcast.
And then he remembered some great fights -- "Clever Sencio with Fidel
LaBarba. Twice. Sellouts both times. Speedy Dado with Newsboy Brown. When?
'28."
Miller recalled the Depression 1930s, when the Olympic needed wrestling as
well as boxing to survive. But, as with Nick George, boxing for Miller was
what made the place what it was -- and is.
"I remember when Frank Garbutt sent in Aileen Eaton -- Aileen LeBell at the
time," said Miller. "And Aileen's about the story from then on.
"She's a complicated human being. Tough one minute, all kindness the next.
Sent me a very special gift on my 75th birthday. She meant it. I like her,
always have, and that's not always been easy."
For the last 33 years, Aileen Eaton has leased the building and has been the
central character -- along with a supporting cast: her late husband, Cal;
Babe McCoy; Cal Working; George Parnassus; Mickey Davies; Don Chargin; Don
Fraser; Mike LeBell; Dick Lane; Jimmy Lennon; Luis Magana; Johnny Allen;
Jack Smith; Van Barbieri.
At 65, Aileen Eaton, small, red-headed, tough and astute, might appear to be
nearing retirement age. But she said not long ago:
"There's no way I'm going to retire. I would if I could. But I have nobody
to take over the business."
It isn't quite like it was in 1935, when Joe Waterman took over as boxing
promoter from a blithe Lou Daro, who dipped his hands in a glass of water
and announced: "I wash my hands of the boxing game."
+++++++++++++++++
The Olympic has had numerous facelifts over the years, and it still
dominates its area in central Los Angeles, a half mile north of USC. Trade
Tech is nearby, and so is the new county Traffic Court building, but the
Olympic's neighbors are mostly nondescript parking lots and small
businesses.
On the outside, because of the maintenance, it doesn't really show its age.
But it's been treated roughly. Its history is riotous, as well as rich.
In 1964, after Hiroyuki Ebihari of Japan won a close decision over Mexico's
Alacran Torres, the primarily Mexican audience erupted in one of the city's
most memorable sports riots.
Outraged Torres fans ripped heavy steel chairs up in the balcony and hurled
them onto the main floor, along with large billboards torn off the walls.
Times writer Sid Ziff called the destruction "unparalleled in Los Angeles
sports history."
Bottles and other objects often have been tossed into the ring. Even when a
decision is popular the ring is often showered, with money, from
appreciative fans.
Mrs. Eaton's operation of the Olympic has been based largely on attracting
the Mexican-American fight fan. "I think they make up 60 per cent of our
audience," she said, "but we don't attempt to have a top Mexican or Chicano
on every card."
There have been many, however -- Baby Arizmendi, Juan Zurita, Bert (Geev Eet
To Heem) Colima, Manuel Ortiz, Baby Sal Sorio, Cisco Andrade, Jesus
Pimentel, Bolanos, Rojas, Ramos, Bobby Chacon.
And there were Art (Golden Boy) Aragon, one of the Olympic's all-time gate
attractions, and Lauro Salas, who was involved in what is still one of
boxing's most notable upsets.
+++++++++++++++++
May 14, 1952. Lightweight champion Jimmy Carter is a 12-1 favorite over
little-regarded Lauro Salas of Monterrey, Mex., a man he'd beaten by
unanimous decision just six weeks before.
Carter was ahead into the 12th. But Salas opened a cut under Carter's left
eye in that round. Salas took the 13th round and the 14th. He needed one
more for the championship.
The Times' Cal Whorton wrote: "Carter was still standing his ground in the
15th but he just couldn't match Salas' great overall effort. The blows
continued to rain and Carter could only catch them and try to give as well
as he received."
And it was over. The referee voted for Carter. The two judges voted for
Salas.
Whorton wrote: "Lauro Salas, the guttiest Mexican ever to cross the border,
became the second member of his race ever to hold an undisputed boxing
championship last night at the Olympic, where he scored a sensational,
15-round decision over lightweight champion Jimmy Carter of New York.
"The verdict wasn't unanimous, but it was official and provided a spark that
ignited one of the wildest celebrations ever experienced in the 25-year
history of the huge downtown arena."
Wild celebrations? Sure, the Olympic has had them. But not on this
mid-summer day. Just before turning 50, the auditorium approached its future
drowsily.
It may not be the marvel it was on opening day but its lines are still good,
its role still well defined.
It's fitting that one of the Olympic's neighbors is the Golden Dream
Ballroom.
Over half a century, the Olympic has seen a lot of those dreams come and go.
________________________
(ED. NOTE -- The following sketch of Los Angeles boxing history was written
by publicist Dean Snyder for Braven Dyer of the Los Angeles Times, probably
in the 1940s. BAWLI readers have Steve Yohe, outstanding ring historian, to
thank for sending us both this, and the above, article.)
THE GOLDEN TOUCH OF JACK DOYLE
By Dean Snyder
If you ride out towards Vernon, people still point to a certain corner. It
is 38th and Santa Fe.
That's where Jack Doyle cradled boxing for years after the 20-round law was
voted out.
It was a homey corner, not elaborate. Just a shed sort of affair with a big,
long building in front -- Jack Doyle's saloon.
Once they said it was the longest bar in the world.
It was Vernon where the men from the shops with their dinner pails and the
movie stars of the old talkies rubbed elbows, talked about their troubles
and their triumphs and cheered a good fight.
Friendships were made and kept -- and now they are becoming memories.
Jack was always there with a big smile, a handshake and the natural greeting
of a born showman.
During the promotional days of Uncle Tom McCarey in Vernon, Doyle gave up
his job with the Southern Pacific railroad to open the Vernon training
headquarters.
Boys like Johnny Kilbane, Jack Johnson, Ad Wolgast, Battling Nelson, Kid
Williams, Jess Willard, Sam Langford, Johnny Ertle, Johnny Coulon and dozens
of other celebrities of the day trained at Doyle's.
When the 20-round law went out around 1914, Doyle, whose heart was in
boxing, began to give little friendly shows.
It developed into the four-round era.
The four-rounders caught on big. Tuesday night became "fight night" to fans.
Doyle was keeping the game alive until such a time as boxing could be
legalized again.
Probably Doyle's top favorites were Bert Colima and Kid Mexico, and Dynamite
George and Willie Hoppe. There were many others.
Charley Chaplin, Fatty Arbuckle, Charley Murray, Douglas Fairbanks, and
other movie stars got the Vernon habit.
Doyle took the partition out of a ringside chair to give Arbuckle a double
space.
Around him Doyle gathered a few lieutenants to run the project. Chief among
them were Dick Donald, Wad Wadhams, Joe Lillard. And there was Ernie, and
Tex, who handled the crowds in the galleries.
In the old days when money was coming in so fast that nobody had time to
count it, Lillard and Wad would tie up the bills in bales, put it in the
seat between them -- a Model-T Ford -- and drive it to the bank. It would go
into the safety vault and be counted days or weeks after.
Doyle spent thousands of dollars to have the game legalized, and the
10-round law came in 1925.
He built a bigger pavilion and his first big fight was Mickey Walker and
Colima. It drew around $40,000 with a $16.50 top. It wasn't for the title,
either.
Then the downtown Olympic was built at 18th and Grand. Doyle, feeling
himself cramped at Vernon, made a deal to close Vernon and go downtown.
This was when boxing in L.A. moved into high gear. Fans flocked to see the
fights and Doyle and Wad got big attractions.
Ace Hudkins was then in his heyday.
The biggest indoor crowd the Olympic had up to that time was Hudkins and
Lefty Lew Tendler. It grossed $40,000 with a $5 top. Many people with
tickets couldn't get in and many without tickets were literally swept into
the building. People lined the building for two blocks away.
Meantime, the old Eddie Maier ballpark, backyard of the Vernon arena, caught
fire and burned to the ground, taking the boxing arena with it. When the
place was burning, Tom Doyle, associated with Jack, called the promoter out
of bed at four o'clock in the morning and told him that the club was burning
down.
Instead of getting excited and rushing out to Vernon, Doyle just said,
"Well, we had a lot of fun out there -- and I'll see you in the morning,"
and went back to bed.
Doyle's biggest outdoor promotions were the George Godfrey-Paolina Uzcudun
fight at Wrigley Field in 1928, and the Hudkins-Walker world's middleweight
championship bout in 1929.
Uzcudun and Godfrey grossed $125,000 and the Hudkins-Walker bout did
$150,000.
Jimmy McLarnin, who was cradled by Doyle in the four-round days, became the
country's biggest attraction. Doyle loved McLarnin like he was his own.
He staged the disastrous McLarnin-Young Corbett world's welterweight
championship match in 1933. It was a whale of an attraction. Jack thought it
would draw $100,000. He guaranteed Corbett more than the fight drew --
something like $35,000. McLarnin knocked Corbett out to win the title.
This cooled the Vernon-Olympic promoter on big fights and he moved from the
boxing game to the sport of oil.
Luck was with him in oil. He bought a lot out on Signal Hill. Rigs went up
all around him. They became a literal forest. Black gold gushed out of the
ground for Doyle, the same as boxing gold had come to him.
He developed other oil fields and has operated his own concern for years
from his offices in the I.W. Hellman Bank Building, Sixth and Spring.
If you ride by 38th and Santa Fe now, you can see the marks of time. A big
defense plant sends up its smoke on the site where the old arena and the
Maier ballpark stood. And a branch of the Bank of America now occupies the
place of the "longest bar in the world."
Sports promoters are born, not made. It's a gift that only the few inherit.
And Jack Doyle was one of them.
As Doyle pulled away from the boxing game, he applied his efforts to helping
build up the Elks 99 fraternal work here.
He served as Exalted Ruler one year and he became one of the most prominent
Elks on the Pacific Coast. He seldom missed the State and the National
conventions every year. At one time, his name was mentioned for the Grand
Exalted Ruler of the United States.
Just as Doyle built up the old cage across the street from his Vernon boxing
pavilion with the famous "Jack Doyle steak and baked potato," he made the
big dining room of the Elks Temple known for its excellent dinners and
banquets.
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