Cus D’Amato’s Boxing Gym: 30 Years After the Founder’s Death: Chapter II
By Simon “Simon Says” Traversy
Introduction
When you spend 5 hours in a night bus traveling with an Asian guy sleeping peacefully on your left shoulder (his snoring served as tangible proof that my shoulders make for the perfect surrogate pillows), finding a way to live inside your own head to escape reality is a must in order to successfully retain your sanity. I’m saying this because looking like Jeffrey Dahmer when you meet the border patrolman may raise a doubt and a potential a flag as well. And in case you’re wondering, I tried to shake him off or wake him up, but he was gone in a stage of sleep that probably hasn’t been studied by science yet. As I was losing myself in my mental fortress of solitude, my thoughts started wandering anywhere and nowhere; I was thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. I thought about my upcoming encounter with Jamie (Potter), Marvis Frazier, and Larry Holmes and hoped that it was worth the trip (which it was).
I thought about my connection bus to Catskill which I was about to miss due to the delay at the US border, I thought (and wrote) about the third part of my series of articles on Eurasian fighters; and then I thought about the gym. I don’t know exactly why I care so much about its fate. Some of the people who were far closer to its story, some of the people who were even a part of it, don’t seem to care for it all that much. I never knew Cus, never met Jose Torres or Floyd Patterson (although I really wish I could have). Then I started thinking some more.
Last week I brought to your attention that the gym in which an aging Cus D’Amato spent his last years is currently decaying. Over 8000 of you responded by reading, sharing, liking and commenting my article which shows that I am far from being the only one to take this matter at heart. I thank you for the support and for the extra jolt of motivation you have all given me. In this article, we will look back at the underlying reasons which led to the gym’s current predicament, starting with the people who directly and indirectly played a major role in the making of its story. Enjoy.
The Major Players
Retro Cus
The old Yoda-esque Cus D’Amato is the figure most of us who use a computer on a daily basis are most familiar with. However long before he trained the young boxing prodigy in Mike Tyson, Cus D’Amato had already had a well-filled life. In a nutshell, Cus D’Amato was born in 1908 in the Bronx, New York, to an Italian family. He considered priesthood at some point and boxed for a short while before suffering an eye injury which prevented him from pursuing that path. In the early thirties he opened the Gramercy Gym with Jack Barrow. According to long-time friend Joe Colangelo, it was also during this time that D’Amato got his most direct inspiration which would consequently lead to the creation of his iconic fighting style. Maxie “Slapsie Maxie” Rosenbloom was a light-heavyweight boxer who later became an actor.He had over 200 fights which back then was just another Monday for most fighters. He wasn’t a hard hitter, but he proved to be a very difficult fighter to hit. Watching closely during one of his training sessions, the young Cus D’Amato paid great attention to what Rosenbloom was doing. Slapsie Maxie would make sparring partners unload on him only to see them hit nothing but air (yes, I took that one from the Matrix). What was even more interesting was that Maxie always kept his feet planted and still the entire time; only his upper body moved. He didn’t have to run a quarter mile, clinch, or use his hands.
This greatly marked Cus D’Amato in a very positive way. The best proof of that would be the fight between Mike Tyson and Reggie Gross in 1986. I won’t even bother describing it, just treat yourself. To this day, I’ve never seen a better display of defense. Years later, D’Amato discovered Rocky Graziano, but he was stolen from him by other greedy trainers and managers. Nevertheless D’Amato built on his experience witnessing Rosenbloom eluding one punch after the other. The irony in all this is that those who trained under D’Amato’s tutelage never used the term “peek-a-boo”; they simply called it “ Cus’style’’. The reason for that is simple: Cus was an enigmatic anti-conformist. The number system is different, the slips aren’t the same, infighting is greatly stressed over fighting on the outside, and so on. Therefore whenever something is new and non- conventional comes into the light, it tends to be misunderstood and belittled and that’s exactly the kind of reception Cus’ style got in the beginning. The naysayers dubbed it “the peek-a-boo” style, which Cus obviously never liked given its satirical connotation. When Iron Mike gained mainstream success, so did Cus’s style and the term ‘’peek-a-boo’’ simply remained. D’Amato went on to train the timid and psychologically-fragile Floyd Patterson to a gold medal and two heavyweight titles before Patterson made the ill-advised decision to take on the fearsome Sonny Liston without D’Amato’s approval.
Ater the second KO at the heavy hands of Liston, a rift between mentor and protégé was created and both men went their own separate ways. Patterson later claimed that leaving D’Amato was his biggest mistake. D’Amato then trained Jose “Chegui” Torres to a Light heavyweight championship in 1965 against Willie Pastrano. However, Torres lost his title a year later to Dick Tiger (the outcome of their 1967 rematch caused riots) and retired for good in 1969. Torres mentioned that D’Amato never took a penny from Torres’ purses given he was making petty change by comparison to Patterson’s heavyweight earnings. In the early 1970’s, a destitute D’Amato was appointed as Buster Mathis’ new trainer by the Iselin family. By then D’Amato had moved from the city and relocated upstate in New Paltz to train Mathis. D’Amato whipped the blubbery Mathis back in shape, trimming him down from 300lbs to 243lbs. Then there was this issue with a paranoid Cus who had barricaded himself in his room and fearing for his life because he believed that the Iselins thought he wanted to steal Mathis from them. Yet Mathis never had the proper temperament and failed to put his career back on a track. D’Amato’s association with the Iselins consequently came to an end.
Catskill Boxing Club
D’Amato fell out of favor and consequently settled in the quiet little town of Catskill. His partner, Camille Ewald, owned a beautiful Victorian mansion. Already well in his sixties, it seemed to be D’Amato’s swan song. He opened the Catskill Boxing Club in the early 70’s more as a means to stay busy than as a means to seriously get back in the game.
Teddy, the Young Master
Theodore Atlas II came from a dysfunctional family. His father was a workaholic deeply devoted to the well-being of all his patients. He would even take house calls on holidays. His mother was unhappy and his brother shot and killed their grand-mother. That reality led to a life in the streets, multiple arrests, an incident that left him literally scarred for life, and even a stint at Rikers. In 1975, 19-year old Atlas joined Cus’s gym. Hadn’t it been for Cus’s involvement, it is far probable that the Teddy we know today would be living a far different life. Insightful and intuitive as he’s always been, D’Amato saw something in Atlas despite his youth and impulsive nature. For all the trouble Atlas could get into due to his trademark abrasive personality and bad influences, he saw a deep-rooted sense of honesty, care, and wisdom despite his young age. Unable to pursue a career as a fighter due to sclerosis (chronic back problems), Atlas became D’Amato’s right hand man. Slowly closing in on 70, D’Amato gave the young Atlas many responsibilities but latitude as well.
He was definitely D’Amato’s hands, but he also had his say in the matter (except with Mike Tyson) during training sessions and D’Amato respected that. Even if Atlas had as much experience as Rooney, D’Amato put his trust and faith in the young street-smart Atlas. He even worked Rooney’s (147lbs) corner in the 1975 Ohio State Fair Tournament. Rooney however lost on cuts in the finals against Bernard ‘’ Superbad’’ Mayes. Nonetheless the mere fact that Atlas managed to successfully bring Rooney to the finals at only 19 years old earned him the moniker of ‘’ young master’’ by the old one (D’Amato), who hadn’t made the trip. If D’Amato couldn’t produce another champion before his time came, he could at least pass on his knowledge to someone whom he believed would someday train future champions. Tension between D’Amato and Atlas arose sometime after Mike Tyson joined the gym. Simply put, Atlas also saw the raw potential in Tyson as D’Amato did, but he felt Tyson needed more guidance, discipline and control. Atlas was 10 years Tyson’s senior and since he was no stranger himself to multiple arrests and incarceration before Cus bailed him out of the tough spot he was into, Atlas saw the first precursor signs of trouble in Tyson.
D’Amato however was very lenient towards his young prospect and therefore didn’t see eye to eye with Atlas’ desire to put breaks on Tyson. The underlying assumption is that D’Amato didn’t want to do anything that would put Tyson on the fence, or worse: punish him to the point of pushing him away or make him lose what little self-confidence Tyson had in him. The last drop came after the incident with Atlas’s relative. In plain English, Tyson grabbed her ass. Was the groping out of line? Yes, it was. Was Atlas’s reaction to point a loaded gun point blank at Tyson and fire it a few inches away from his face excessive? I’ll let you be the judge of that one. The bottom line is that even though Atlas has his flaws of character and although he’s not always easy to follow or easy period (just ask Shannon Briggs), he was still the hands that made Tyson and the perfect yang to Tyson’s ying. Of course D’Amato was the mastermind and the puppet master who pulled all the strings; but at 74, he most certainly wasn’t the one holding the mitts or doing the “heavy lifting”.
But most of all: Atlas loved and cared for Tyson. There are some allegations claiming that incident or not, Atlas would’ve left Cus [over a financial dispute] regardless; yet that is beyond the point. Atlas did what an aging D’Amato in his seventies could no longer do. Whenever I read comments regarding Tyson’s best trainer ever, Kevin Rooney is always the name that pops up the most. But ask a few original students who trained alongside Tyson during his formative years, and they’ll tell you that Atlas was the better trainer by a mile, not Rooney. Even Tyson himself mentions black on white in his autobiography entitled The Undisputed Truth, that by the time he started training under Rooney, he felt that he was pretty much “developed”. Rooney only had to keep things as is. However because it was so important to keep Tyson on track so that he may fulfill Cus’ prophecy, the entire story was quickly swept under the rug, the key thrown away, and consequently, Atlas’ contribution and relevance to Tyson’s success were never fully understood or acknowledged. I personally like Teddy Atlas’ straight-shooting, no- nonsense way of saying or doing things. Unfortunately his abrasive nature cost him his job and a taste of Tyson’s riches, fame and success which he most definitely deserved.
Good Old Kevin
Kevin Rooney was raised in an Irish Catholic family. His father was a drinker known to get violent when he was intoxicated. From a young age, Kevin Rooney was already shooting craps with friends. In his autobiography entitled Atlas: From the Streets to the Ring: A Son’s Struggle to Become a Man, Atlas claims that Kevin Rooney, whom he had befriended growing up on Staten Island, was the one who had introduced him to Cus D’Amato. Tyson however claims that it was the other way around in his. Living in Catskill was a chance for Rooney to hopefully leave the bars, the booze, the craps, and the resentment for his father behind, and change his life around. He had a successful amateur career, winning the New York Golden Gloves Novice Championship. He turned pro in 1979 but lost to Alexis Arguello in 1982 at the height of his pro career. In the same year and halfway into his pro career, Kevin Rooney also became Mike Tyson’s official head trainer following Atlas’ dismissal. He retired in 1985 and focused exclusively on Tyson’s career. That fact alone might be one of the major turning points in regards to the gym’s current predicament. In his autobiography, Mike Tyson talks about his falling out with his former trainer Kevin Rooney [he publicly dissed Tyson’s ex-wife Robin Givens] which led to his dismissal in 1988. Rooney filed a 49 million-dollar lawsuit for breaching his lifetime contract as Tyson’s head trainer.
The lawsuit pended for years but in1998, a verdict had finally been reached by a federal jury and Rooney ended up walking away with a 4,415, 651 million-dollar severance package even though no physical evidence of the agreement could be produced. The yeasayers who testified on Rooney’s behalf such as Bill Cayton and Brian Hamill, brother of New York Daily News columnist Denis Hamill and long-time friend of Rooney’s, would say that justice had been served against the King Tyranny. Meanwhile the naysayers like D’Amato’s partner Camille Ewald and several of D’Amato’s friends thought [and testified] otherwise. Tyson explains in his autobiography that during the lawsuit, many of Cus’s friends testified that shortly before his death, D’Amato had become displeased with Rooney; an information which I took the care to verify as well. Shortly after D’Amato’s death, rumors circulated that Jacobs and Cayton considered replacing Rooney with top trainer Eddie Futch (I would’ve killed to see that happen). Translating this to the gym’s present situation, the real issue occurred when D’Amato passed away on November 4th, 1985 before he had the chance to not only find a more suitable replacement to train Tyson, but also to carry on his legacy [and take care of his affairs, namely the gym].
Therefore when D’Amato died, everything remained status quo and Rooney gambled on the assumption that because he was [still] Tyson’s head trainer, it automatically meant that he was also to be the one to carry on the torch. Rooney knew like everybody else involved that there wasn’t a truckload of competent trainers who knew the style, the world of boxing, and Tyson well enough to do the job correctly (sic). If we look at the first two points only, other than Patterson and Torres, there wasn’t really anybody out there with the proper credentials. Besides, Torres at the time worked as commissioner of the New York State Athletic Commission while Patterson was busy training his adopted son Tracy Patterson. Moreover, the version of the peek-a-boo style Patterson learned wasn’t exactly the same as the one Tyson had been taught [for instance there was no Willie Bag during Patterson’s time]. From a stylistic point of view only, Rooney thus remained the best option by default. This brings us to one of the most commonly-believed misconceptions. Most people believe that had Tyson stayed with Rooney, he would’ve gone on to become the greatest heavyweight ever with a record of 100-0-0 (with 85KOs of course). Rooney also claimed the same thing. It is true that by the time Tyson fought Frank Bruno a year after Rooney’s dismissal, his efficiency in the ring had already diminished. His head movement and overall defensive skills suffered, he headhunted more, he was more linear, and far less creative. But that fact alone fails to tell the entire story, nor does it make Rooney unconditionally invaluable.
Here’s the thing: Kevin Rooney had a good heart and there is no doubt in anybody’s mind who knew him that he truly loved Tyson. Steve Lott, a human boxing encyclopaedia and Tyson’s former assistant-manager [and current business partner], said that Kevin Rooney was one of the few individuals he’s ever met who had integrity. In a vile, dog-eat-dog industry such as boxing, this might be one of the greatest qualities a person may have. Qurane McMullen, a former student of Rooney’s and a current boxing trainer, swears by his former teacher. That being said, Kevin Rooney had personal problems of his own which are well-known and well-documented. His alcoholism led to several arrests and time served in county jail, and his gambling problems ruined him financially. By 1992 he owed over a million dollars in taxes and gambling debts.
He’d often show up at the gym intoxicated and his drinking problem would also cost him future employment as a coach. When you walk inside the gym, you don’t have to be an architect or a professional contractor to figure out that not a penny has been invested to renovate or promote the gym since it opened its doors for the first time over 40 years ago. The same could be said about Tyson and the hundreds of millions he’s made. However the difference lies in the fact that Tyson had long severed all ties with the Catskill management and left in bad terms, therefore a handout or help of any kind wasn’t to be expected on his part [back then].Rooney on the other hand self-appointed himself as the man in charge and as the heir to Cus’s legacy; therefore he was supposed to make sure Cus’ memory would live on. And yet, very little, if anything, has been done in that regard. Actor Mark Wahlberg once said that when it comes to training or diet, he never takes advice from anyone who isn’t in better shape than he is. That [quote] right there means what it means. A teacher, if not physically, must mentally and spiritually be above his student. The hand that gives is always above the hand that receives. A teacher is a catalyst who transfers information. In that very regard, the pupil depends on him because one [teacher] knows, and the other [student] doesn’t. And more specifically in the case of elite boxing, a fighter must be able to count and rely on his teacher 24/7.
When you need him, he’s there for you, day in, day out. It thus begs the following question: how is a teacher supposed to take his fighter to the next level or let alone take care of him if he can’t even take care of himself to begin with? If I were an elite boxer fighting the elite, I most certainly wouldn’t allow any coach to train me if he’d showed up late and wobbly or if I could smell his last drink a mile away. I couldn’t count on such a person, and thus I couldn’t trust such a person. And I’m not saying this because I’m a sadist who takes a vile hannibalistic pleasure in slamming people; but I’m just somebody who always had a profound respect for logic and common sense. Heck, Mike Tyson was a long-time alcoholic himself. Therefore it’s ludicrous to pair up two people who share the very same destructive vice and think they’ll have a successful run together on a long-term basis. Obviously we will never know for sure, but even if Tyson hadn’t cut Rooney loose in 1988, I highly doubt that the two of them would’ve stayed together to win it all, ride off in the sunset together, and live happily ever after. Hell, I wanted to train with Kevin Rooney myself when I first wanted to learn peek-a-boo. I was as shocked as you all are now to find out that he was in very poor health due to years of self-abuse and that he wasn’t even allowed in the gym anymore because of that very lifestyle. But those are the facts. I didn’t write the story; I am just telling it as it was told to me, uncensored and unedited. Besides hiding the truth or sugar-coating it wouldn’t be fair to those who endure(d )and remained loyal to the gym all those years in hopes of preserving Cus’ memory.
Iron Mike
If you’re reading this article, you most likely have read, watched and heard everything there is to know about Michael Gerard Tyson. Therefore I won’t waste any more time reminding you about his highs or the trail of collateral damage he’s left behind when he was at his lowest. His life is now literally an open book and I strongly suggest you read his autobiography if you haven’t already; and I especially recommend reading it if you read other books on his life written by different authors (to give you a sense of perspective). There are however two things which made an impression on me after reading his autobiography. The first thing is that even though the media labelled him as an animal for years (and God knows he often didn’t help his case), he’s probably as human as they come. He’s got huge flaws of character, but show him genuine love and care, and I have no trouble believing that he can be the greatest guy there is. The second thing is that as much as life gave him abundantly, life took just as much from him; namely his biological mother, his biological father, his surrogate father (D’Amato), his close friend (Jim Jacobs), his sister, his surrogate mother (Camille) and finally, his daughter Exodus. I know some people who lost a grand-parent to natural causes and they have a hard time getting over it. Therefore from a general standpoint, it’s not easy to make the right decisions when most of the people you care about [and cared about you] are replaced by people who can’t wait to take advantage of you. Food for thought.
Forgotten Kids
George Young once shared with me a story which his uncle had told him a while ago. That story may also explain the gym’s current predicament. Teddy Atlas cared deeply about the kids who trained at the gym. For him, life didn’t begin or stop with Mike Tyson and unlike D’Amato, Tyson wasn’t his reason to stay alive and wake up in the morning. Atlas was the one who took the van and drove the kids to the city so that they could participate to “smokers” and other boxing tournaments. He was also the one who took the kids out to Catskill’s Village Pizza (delicious by the way) where he met his future wife Elaine. Therefore you can imagine how disheartening it must’ve been for Teddy to leave the gym, and especially the kids. So the story goes that Cus and Teddy are having a discussion inside the gym. Because Mike Tyson was the embodiment of all of Cus’ [last] hopes and dreams, in his mind all of D’Amato’s chips were on his young protégé [ergo why Tyson repeatedly stated that he felt enormous pressure]. Therefore Atlas’ untimely departure combined with D’Amato’s everything-on-Tyson philosophy didn’t leave the other kids much chance to prove themselves. And it’s not like there wasn’t any promise other than Tyson, far from it. In a recent article entitled “The Guiding Light”, you can read that trainer Greg Young , the subject of the article, had over 90 amateur fights on top of being a Golden Gloves and Junior Olympic champion. That part of the article was actually a direct quote from Atlas himself. As for Greg’s big brother George, he won the 1983 Empire State Games, a medal which he proudly hangs on his rear view mirror whenever he drives around Catskill. George also had a brief stint as a pro fighter but was mismanaged from the start. So you see, after Atlas’ dismissal, D’Amato’s death, and Tyson’s departure, the kids, who had grown up by then, also left to follow other ventures and the gym was consequently left with nada.
So that concludes this chapter on the gym’s most influential figures. Now that we have examined the causes, in the next article we will examine the consequences and the potential solutions in order to revitalize the gym. Until then, Simon says take care, like, share, and comment.
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