Joe Frazier is a boxer who took life as far as it could go. Very, very few of us will die saying we did everything we could for the thing we love. The 12th of thirteen children, he left Beufort, SC to pursue his dream of greatness in the square circle. Legend has it that, after a few months training in his adoptive gym in Philadelphia, he ran everyone else out with a left hook that is said to have damaged more livers the all the moonshine his father ever made back home.
Frazier passed away in 2011, a Philadelphian who, once he arrived, never left. In many ways he is the prototype Philadelphia fighter: tough, gritty, and willing to trade on the inside one strength and guts. His lingering spirit in the city is so strong that it has actually cost several great ring technicians big victories because they couldn't help themselves from ditching the boxing and fighting man-to-man. Meldrick Taylor, on the brink of handing the famous Julio Caesar Chavez his first defeat, took far more punishment than necessary to trade with Chavez, and coming out to finish the 12th round in true Philadelphia style, was knocked out with two seconds to go in one of the most controversial finishes in the history of the sport.
Taylor would never be the same fighter again.
Sadly, during his lifetime Frazier never got his full due from his holy land—his Dublin, of you will. There is a statue of Rocky Balboa at the bottom of the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, arms raised, a recreation of sorts of the famous scene from the movie. This was an insult to Joe Frazier, the true Philadelphia fighter who brought glory to his city and was himself the person running those stairs. The movie stole his hard work, and the city bastardized it.
However, in 2015, a statue of Frazier was finally erected in on Pattison Ave. and 11th st—a 12-foot monument in bronze that, while impressive, was no match for his achievements in life and the ring. Balboa's is only 10 ft. Far too tall, particularly for an actor of such short stature.
His total commitment to his sport manifested itself not only in his successes in the ring, but in the way he fought. A comparatively small man for a heavyweight, much less a champion, Frazier was only 5’11 1/2”. In an era which saw a Foreman at 6’4” and Ali at 6’3” and each well over 200 lbs, Frazier became a rare fighter with a rare technique. He never took a step backwards, never quit, never overlooked an opponent, and brought best effort to every single exchange. I’m reminded of a story I heard about another Joe—Joe DiMaggio—when he was at the tail end of his career in the 50’s. Joe hit a routine grounder to third and ran it out all the way to first. On the way back to the dugout, a teammate stopped him and asked, “Hey Joe, why are you running those out? You don’t have to prove anything anymore” Joe replied, “There’s some kid up in those stands who’s going to see me play just this once. He’s going to see Joe DiMaggio run that grounder out.”
Frazier is from the same mold. In many ways the following pieces are a tribute and a retrospective to the man who has passed on, receiving his ceremonial ten bell salute, the traditional farewell for a great fighter on November 11, 2011. That night, Manny Pacquiao would win a highly controversial decision in his third fight against his nemesis and defining opponent Juan Manuel Marquez. Certainly not Ali—Frazier, but perhaps channelling the spirit a bit. The gritty Marquez would lose a highly controversial decision to Manny Pacquiao, the darling of the sport. Unlike Ali and Frazier, Marquez would get his fourth fight, culminating in a dramatic sixth round KO by Marquez, who, after 42 evenly matched rounds, finally got the victory ad the last word that, but for being blind in one eye, Frazier never did.
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Joe was born in South Carolina to a bootlegger father. Desperately poor, his early life is the stuff of Americana. He worked on a corn farm in the poor south in the 50’s, and every now and again his father made liquor out of the corn they harvested to sell for extra money. Fight night in the Frazier household was the highlight of the week, and since the Fraziers had the only black and white TV any of the other black farmers had any hope of finding, that’s where the party was.
Those nights changed Frazier’s life forever. The 50’s was a high time for boxing, and another small man, Rocky Marciano, dominated the heavyweight division. Joe and Rocky had many things in common: both were under 6 ft tall, and both had a powerful punch. For Joe it was the left hook, although he didn’t’ know it yet, and for the Rock, of course, the Suzie-Q right hand. But something else about the Rock’s style in the ring must have made an impact on Frazier as well. Relentlessness. Relentlessness in the face of adversity. Rocky Marciano was beloved not only as a great champion, but for his indominable will in the ring. No matter what, he kept coming forward. Look to fights like those against Ezzard Charles and Jersey Joe Walcott, and you see a Marciano who continued on past the point of sanity to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Well behind on points against Walcott, he knocked an in-control Joe out with perhaps the hardest punch ever landed in the ring to score a late KO. For all I know Walcott is still dangling off that ring rope by his left arm like a wet towel. Against Charles, we see Marciano’s nose torn wide open in an unusual cut—split from bottom to top along the nostril so much so that a one can see space between the cut a full inch up his nose. The great commentator Bert Sugar described it as "split like a baked potato." And yet, the result was the same: W Marciano: KO.
That’s the lesson a young, poor black boy in South Carolina learns from the likes of Marciano and DiMaggio. No matter where you come from, if you invest yourself totally, never lack in courage, and always accept the challenge with your best effort, you might just get out of there. So often in life we find ourselves facing fights from grounds we cannot possibly hope to hold. Race, poverty, the wealth and connections of others—all of these things conspire to beat down the unfortunate despite their efforts. This is the great and magical offering of boxing. Though the odds are long, when you step into that ring, for one brief moment you are a king, and you alone control your destiny. The value of your skills and hard work will be tested—you have a true chance.
This lesson took Joe Frazier from Beufort, SC, to Philadelphia, four times to the national Golden Gloves title, and finally, in the ’64 Tokyo Olympics, a gold medal, won with a broken right thumb he hid from the commission in order to fight. This was the pinnacle of his amateur career, the entrance into the professional ranks, and the beginning of one of the greatest hall of famers to ever live.
Smoke of a Legend: Joe Frazier pt. 2