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Carlos Palomino: A Constant Struggle For His Father’s Approval That Drove Him to Greatness, The Unintentional Path to Developing in to a Hall of Fame Boxer and How Overcoming Poverty as a Child Set the Tone for Success as an Adult

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“The Muniz fight went 15 rounds, and when I got back in my corner at the end of the 14th round, my manager said ‘The fight is even, whoever wins the last round will be champion of the world.’ It was my first title defense, and I remember thinking to myself, he’s giving me a lecture and I’m not even hearing it. I was in my head, and I was hearing my father telling me ‘You’re never gonna do anything, you’re never gonna accomplish anything, you’re stupid.’ Then when I got up I just thought, I’m gonna kill this guy right now.”—Carlos Palomino

The psychology of a determined fighter is infinitely fascinating. Carlos Palomino is another convincing case that a warrior is simply wired differently than the rest of us. Similar to many other hungry fighters, Carlos’ story began in third world poverty in Mexico. Perhaps it was ingrained in him at a young age that if you aren’t willing to fight for what you want, the worst case scenario can in fact be quite horrific.

The most interesting thing about Carlos’ journey is that although he was a tirelessly hard worker from a young age, his success as a boxer was not originally part of the plan. He never had any intention becoming a boxer until it was suggested to him, and it was only suggested to him because he got in to the gym to get into shape for basic training for the Army.

In fact, joining the Army was not a voluntary act by Palomino; he was drafted. Carlos did not start competitively boxing until he joined the Army, but it was always rooted deeply inside him like a tree that just needed enough watering and sunlight to grow. He was always willing to work for what he wanted. The deeper question is why he wanted it? All of Carlos’ goals can be traced back to brief instances in his past that happened to have a profound and lasting effect on him. When you see what he has to say about his life, you realize that the storyline goes much deeper than boxing.

JW: You’ve been busy and up to some really cool stuff. The first thing I’d like to discuss is the at risk program you are involved in. Please tell me a little about that.

It’s a program run by the police department in the San Fernando Valley. It’s called “Jeopardy”, and it’s for kids who are at risk or in trouble. We have an agreement with the school where any kids who are causing trouble, or the administrators or teachers see the kid is possibly involved in gangs, they will call the police department and send the kid to the program. What we have there, there is a boxing gym, but the program was not originally for boxing. It was originally just a program to get kids off the streets and out of the gangs. There’s a very strong gang presence where this program is located. It goes back generations; there are grandfathers who were gang members. There’s counseling, and just about everybody who’s there is a volunteer. I’m a volunteer, and even the high school students who are at a high level academically will come in and tutor these kids. We get them as young as eight years old. There is counseling, family boxing, and there’s a boxing program. I got involved in 2000 mentoring kids in the boxing program. I’m not looking to make world champions; I’m just looking to keep kids off the streets. That’s what the program’s all about.

JW: Since joining, do you feel that the program is more successful? Has adding boxing to the program increased that success?

We’re working with a lot of kids and changing mindsets. What I did was, I’m a former world champion, I’m a Hall of Famer, I’m the first person to graduate from a university while being champion of the world and so I make sure the kids know that. I make sure they understand what it took to get there. I make sure they understand the work, the dedication, the discipline that it took to get there.

I have kids who are competing, and they are an example to the other kids who come in just to train or workout, but they don’t want to fight. They see these other kids who are competing , like I have a kid Geo Gandara who is 16, I met him when he was 13. He won the southern Cal Junior Olympic title, then he went to the higher level tournament in Reno to qualify for the nationals and he won that. So he inspires these kids because they see how hard he’s working, and he’s also changed his whole mindset as far as his education. He was failing every class when he got to me, now he’s getting B’s and A’s, and his mother is ecstatic because he she was afraid she was going to lose him to a gang.

So I feel it’s been a tremendous success. These kids are competing at nationals, getting the titles, going on and becoming good citizens. They come back and talk to the kids and inspire them. They see the benefit of doing the right thing and I think that’s what’s working.

JW: One thing that you’ve pointed out several times that I commend a lot is that you notice boxing isn’t just about making big dollars; it’s about changing lives too.

Exactly. In fact I was just at a tournament this Saturday where I took a few kids. It was run by the LAPD and it’s in east L.A. The audience at these boxing shows is usually made up of the families of the kids competing. The parents know who I am; they watched me come up and fight at the Olympic Auditorium and they know my story, but the kids don’t. So I always tell the kids make sure you’re paying attention in school, you’re doing the right thing and you’re working hard in your studies as well as boxing. The work you put in when in the gym should be the same as the work you put in when in the classroom. I make sure they understand the importance of education.

JW: Your story is unique in the respect that you emigrated out of poverty in Mexico, got an education and made a career out of boxing. There’s a movie coming out that will be telling your story. Tell us about your life story and why it’s going to make such a great movie.

You’re right, I was born in Sonora, Mexico, and my father worked for a landowner and blew cotton his whole life. We lived on the property of where my dad worked. The difference between poverty in a third world country and in the United States is so much different. From Sonora we moved to Tijuana where my father hired an attorney to immigrate the family legally to the United States, so we spent three years on the waiting list. Three years seemed like a long time, but it was actually fairly quick, because there were other families waiting longer. My father had brothers who were American citizens, and they helped him. In fact, they use to come to visit, and they’d tell my dad, just get in the car and we’ll drive you across, you don’t need a lawyer, we even have a job waiting for you. He would say “No, I want to do this legally so we don’t have to look over our shoulders with immigration’s services chasing us.”

It was a hard three years. He couldn’t find a job in Tijuana, and he wound up pushing an ice cream cart. He was very angry about that. He took it out on us, mostly on me because I was always a tough kid. He would always make me fight. There were always boxing gloves in the house because he loved boxing. He would make me put the gloves on with neighborhood kids and my older brother. When we moved to the states, we moved in with my uncle in El Barrio which was considered one of the worst parts of the neighborhood in Santa Ana. To me and my older brother, we saw the house, it had heat, electricity and indoor plumbing, and we didn’t have that. Even in Tijuana, there was no electricity, no running water, dirt floors and it was all one room. My dad would hang a sheet to separate the rooms so he could sleep on one side and the kids could sleep on the other. That’s what I came from, so coming to the United States was an amazing dream, and it just changed everything

JW: You said that’s a big part of why boxing is so important to you: because your dad did have you box as a kid. From what you’ve told me, you got tried harder than any of your siblings. Would you say boxing was hammered in to you at a young age?

That’s right. I was one of twelve, the third oldest in a family of six boys and six girls. Unfortunately, my parents lost their first born that was a boy at six months old. Then my mother had two more boys: my older brother and myself. For some reason, I think he saw something in me, cause I was the kind of kid that wouldn’t quit. I think a lot of it had to do with, and this is part of the story in the movie, that my older brother had passed at six months old from bronchitis. My parents didn’t have a car, so by the time found someone who could take them to the hospital, which was about three hours away in Mexicali, he died in the car on the way to the hospital. At six months old, I got sick with bronchitis myself. So my mother took me to a catholic church, and she kneeled in front of the Virgin Mary, and made what is called a manda, which is a promise to the Virgin Mary that if I lived, she would let my hair grow the same length as the Virgin Mary’s. She dressed me in a smock, like a Saint Anthony smock. Until I was six years old, that was what she had promised the Virgin Mary. By the time I was three years old, my hair was down to the middle of my back, and I always wore the smock which was like a robe.

So I always got made fun of. Kids made fun of me; they’d call me a girl and other things. So as far as getting into fist fights at an early age, it happened because I’d have kids calling me names, and my dad starting putting the gloves on me because he saw that. It wasn’t until I was six years old when my uncles came to visit, and when they saw me, they got mad at my father for letting me look like that. From the age of three to six, my mom was mad because she wanted to have a little girl, but she wasn’t getting pregnant, and she thought she was never gonna have another kid. She started putting bows in my hair, and she would actually dress me in a little dress to make me look like a little girl.

JW: Wow!

I actually have pictures.

JW: Wow! (both laugh)

When that happened, it got worse for me as far as with the kids. So my dad took me in to town, I got a haircut, he bought me some jeans, some boots and that’s all in the story. So there was always gloves and he’d always make me put them on with other kids. You know if I showed fear he’d take it out on me; he’d smack me around. I learned early on in life that I couldn’t show fear, and whatever he said, I had to do. Whatever I did, you know, he called me names, he told me I was stupid, he told me I was ugly, and everything I did was to try to please him. I tried to get his love, which I thought he didn’t have for me.

There’s a lot of times I look back in my career, and there’s a lot of times where I was in a fight, like the Muniz fight. It went 15 rounds, and when I got back in my corner at the end of the 14th round, my manager said “The fight is even, whoever wins the last round will be champion of the world.” It was my first title defense, and I remember thinking to myself, he’s giving me a lecture and I’m not even hearing it. I was in my head, and I was hearing my father telling me “You’re never gonna do anything, you’re never gonna accomplish anything, you’re stupid.” (trails off laughing) Then when I got up I just thought, I’m gonna kill this guy right now (laughs). Then I ended up knocking him out in the last round. Then I’d go home, and all my uncles would be at the house waiting for me. My father would make food for everybody, and they would all hug me and just go crazy about the performance that I gave, and they would all tell me “Oh you’re father’s so proud of you and he just loves you so much!” And I would say well he never tells me that, he never tells me anything like that, he never says anything to me. They would say that’s just how he is, you know?

A lot of it just had to do with how he was. I don’t think he meant it, I don’t think he knew any better. It’s just that generation of guys who grew up being really tough guys who don’t understand anything else other than hard work and being the provider. That’s what he instilled in me, and that’s what I did in the ring; that’s what I did in life.

JW: You’re father was a macho guy in the classical sense of being a tough guy who worked hard. The thing that’s funny, or interesting rather, is that conversely to your dad saying “work hard and provide,” your mom said “If you want to be successful, go to college and you can do anything.”

We move in to the Barrio in Santa Ana, and we start school, and on the bus to school we get across the tracks, and these houses are bigger and prettier. So I come home to my mom and ask hey mom, why are those houses over there bigger and they’re prettier and have nice grass on the front lawn? She told me “If you go to college, you can have whatever you want.” So I ask what’s college (laughing)? So she had to explain it to me. At that moment, I don’t know why, but at that moment, I told myself I’m gonna go to college. I would say that throughout my childhood, and in to high school.

I went in to my counselor, and I told her that I wanted to go to college. She actually told me “Mexicans don’t go to college.” This was 1963. I said what do you mean? She said “Well, you guys go to work in the fields.” I said, well that’s not what I want to do. But yeah, that’s what my mom always said: if you go to college, you can do whatever you want, and you can have whatever you want.

It was difficult, because my father’s idea was you gotta get a job. So I got a job as soon as I got in to middle school. I was working in the summertime, I would go to work in the fields with my brother, you know, we’d pick strawberries, tomatoes, grapes, whatever the season was. Then as I got older, I got a job out of high school part time working in a factory. On the weekends I worked in a restaurant. All along, I was hoping to save some money so when I got out of high school, I could probably go to school part time, get a job to help the family and go to school part time.

Then when I got drafted (to the Army), that suddenly changed my logic: it got me out of the house… I don’t know if I told you this story, but I took three years of high school welding, because I wanted to learn a trade that would pay me well so I could save enough money to go to school. So I was making more money out of high school than my father was making as a laborer. I would come home every Friday with my check, and he would take it from me. Then he would cash it, and he would give me some money for the week for gas and food, and that would be it. You know, I was making $350-$400 a week as a welder, and he would take my paycheck. So at 19 years old, I decided, since all my friends were making fun of me that I was living at home and my father was taking my paycheck… You know they had their own apartments, they were living their own lives and partying it up on the weekend.

So one day I came home, I was 19 years old, and I decided that’s it man, I’m moving out. I grabbed my paycheck, I was packing my bag, and my mom asked me “where are you going.” I said I’m leaving, that’s it. My friend was waiting for me outside, he was gonna pick me up and take a look at some apartments to move in together. Before I got out of the house, my father pushed me and said “where are you going?” I said I’m moving out of the house, I can’t take this anymore. I’m yelling at him and he says “You’re not moving out till I tell you that you can move out.” He goes “Where’s your paycheck?!” I said I’m not giving you my paycheck anymore. That’s it, I’m done. He’s standing in front of the door, so I say get out of the way, I don’t want to hurt you. He says “Oh, you don’t want to hurt me huh?!” He says “Put the gloves on!” (both laugh) I don’t want to put the gloves on Dad! I don’t want to hit you! I don’t want to beat you up! And he goes “PUT THE GLOVES ON!” “You think you’re a tough guy huh?!” So we finally put the gloves on, and he KNOCKED ME OUT…in one punch. He hit me one time, and I had never got knocked out in my whole time in the ring. My dad knocked me out when I was 19 years old.

JW: The only knockout you ever had was to your dad, and you were just trying to leave the house!

Yeah! I was just trying to leave the house! So I wake up to my mother, and she was over me crying saying “Nooooo, he killed him!” So I go back in my room and unpack my bags… when I got drafted, I got out of the house, I was happy.

JW: So Carlos, here’s the irony: you’re family fought hard to get in to the United States and to do it legally, but you didn’t grow up in the United States and you had to fight to make a living when you got there. Then you got drafted by the United States, but it was actually a blessing that turned your whole life around.

It was, I tell people that all the time: it changed my life because I had no idea, the war was coming to an end, but they were still sending people to Vietnam. But I got out of the house, and I was happy for that. I did my basic training in Fort Worth, they sent me to Fort Hood, and in Fort Hood there was a boxing championship starting at the time. I walked in to the gym, and I saw these guys working out with a ring, and a bag.

My brother was drafted in 1968, he got out in 1970, and then I went in, so he told me I should get in shape for basic training because it was hard, so I joined a boxing gym in Westminster just to get in to shape. While I was there, just kind of looking around, hitting the bag, jumping rope, one of the coaches came up to me and said “do you want to compete?” I said no, I’m just getting in to shape for basic training in the Army, and he says

“You can box in the Army, they have boxing in the Army.” I said really? He told me “We have a guy who trained here who was actually an All-Army Champion, and he was a 1968 Olympian.” So if you stay a while, you can meet him. So this cat walks in, and I meet him, and it was Armando Muniz who I ended up fighting 9 years later for the world championship twice. He walks in, I meet him, and he tells me there’s an Army boxing team. So I said okay, that’s interesting. Then the coach starts working with me.

I had two months before I was going to go forward. About a month in he says “Maybe you should have a fight before you go in.” A week later, he says “Okay we’re gonna go have a fight at the prison.” That’s what we call a smoker. So my first fight was a smoker where I didn’t need a license. I went to the prison where I ended up getting a fight with one of the inmates (laughing). That was a tough fight, but I won that. I had one more fight after that which was also a smoker. Then I went to basic training in Fort Hood.

There was a Fort Hood boxing tournament. I entered the tournament, and I won it. From there I went to the four bases tournament, where there was a fighter from each of the four bases, and I won that. From there, they sent me to the All-Army championship, and I won that. So I just stayed with the Army boxing team and trained and fought for two years. I was an All-Army Champion, an All-Service Champion and won a national championship. So that changed my life, and I thought I had a shot at doing something special. So as soon as I got out of the Army, I turned pro and I enrolled in college.

I think about it all the time too, and I wonder why I did it. I came out, and instead of getting my own place, cause I was gonna go to school, the Army was giving me the G.I. Bill, I was getting $300 a month, I was turning pro… even though at that time, in my first pro fight I only made $80 for four rounds. I had a part time job working for the city in the parks and recreation program. They gave me a job, and I worked three hours a day there. So instead of going out and getting my own place which I could’ve done very easily, I went back home and moved in with my mom and dad. My dad told me “You wanna live here, you gotta pay rent.” So they had just bought a house, and the mortgage was $250 a month, so I paid the mortgage, and I lived at home.

I always wondered why I went back, and I think it was because I wanted to go back, and make him proud, you know. I was boxing, and he loved that. He came to all my fights and came to the gym to watch me train. It just changed everything… because I would’ve been a welder for the rest of my life probably. That would’ve been my career, and we all know I would’ve wound up blind looking in to that arch, and you’re breathing in all that contaminated smoke.

JW: I have a few fun ones for you too. In your fight with Duran, I asked you about it. I asked if he had that imposing presence that everyone talks about, or if he sucked the air out of a room when he walked in. You had a funny response to that. Tell me about your experience with him leading up to that fight.

That fight came about because I had lost the title in my eighth defense in Puerto Rico against Wilfred Benitez. Benitez was number one in the world, and I was told I had to go to Puerto Rico for the fight. I honestly don’t see why I had to go fight him in his home town. I said let’s make the fight at a mutual site, anywhere else besides there: Las Vegas, New York… New York was like a second Puerto Rico, because the Latinos in New York are Puerto Rican. They said I had to go to Puerto Rico, and I thought I won the fight easy, but they gave him a split decision. They promised me a rematch, and time is passing, and I’m not getting my rematch. I get a call from Don King offering a fight with Duran, and one of the goals I had was to retire with the world title.

I had three goals: win a world title, graduate with a B.A. and retire with the title at the age of 30. When I didn’t get that rematch, Duran was offered, and I thought retiring on Duran is like retiring with the title, because when you talk about the best fighters, Duran usually comes up between one and three as one of the greatest. I was pretty sure I could beat him. I saw him fight a couple times as a welterweight, and he was kind of slow, kind of sloppy, so I told my manager, let’s take the fight, I’m gonna knock this guy out.

So the fight is made, and I told him, if he starts any crap in the weigh-in, which he does, he was always yelling at other fighters and cussing at them, if he does anything we’re gonna get it on right there. He says “Hey, whatever you’re gonna do, do it!” So I’m expecting it. In the first press conference we did, we get to New York, and he comes over to me and shakes my hand. He says “You’re a great champion, I have a lot of respect for you.” Then he asks “Do you mind giving an autograph for my son?” “He’s a big fan of yours.” So I think, this guy’s not so bad! He’s actually pretty cool! He might’ve used a little psychology on me because I was a riled up, and he settled me down.

The fight happened, and it just turned out he wasn’t the hardest hitting guy I ever fought, but you could definitely feel his punches. What surprised me was how quick he was, and how smart he was in the ring. A lot of people think of him as a brawler, and he’s not. He can box. He can box, he can move, he can do it all. That’s what he did with me. He was in, he was out, and I was trying to counter his shots, but I don’t think I ever caught him solid in that ten round fight. That’s what was amazing about him: the hand speed, foot speed and angles. He’s a very smart guy in the ring.

JW: Stylistically speaking, you were a well polished fighter, which was essentially the result of the Army experience where you built an amateur style foundation which isn’t similar to the “Mexican style.” You have a great explanation for the origination of the “Mexican style” of boxing. You also have talked about the signature “Mexican style” punch being the left hook to the liver. Can you explain it a little bit?

Throughout history, people think of these Mexican fighters as just brawlers, and I think that comes from a lot of these guys who come from Mexico to fight, they want to put on a good show, because this is where the money is. You hardly make any money fighting in Mexico, but you come to the United States, and they want to show toughness and put on a good show, because they want to come back. This is where they make their money.

I remember watching boxing with my father when I was small in Mexico, and there were a lot of great boxers in Mexico. Ruben Olivares was a great bantamweight champion of the world. He was a phenomenal boxer, he could move in and out, he had a great left hook to the liver, and I don’t know where that comes from. I guess it’s just the trainers down there making fighters repeat that left hook. But there were several great boxers that we watched from 118 to 125 pounds that were just beautiful boxers that would stand right in front of you and make you miss, and counter. But when you come to the United States, you have to prove yourself and put on a show, and the Mexican fans, they loooove wars. They just love wars. So I think that’s where it comes from. You want to please fans so you can come back to where you know you’re gonna make the best money for your performances.

JW: Now here’s one I have to ask: In the Miller Lite commercial, you say “Me and all my buddies, we always love having a Miller Lite.” Is it still Miller Lite for you?! (laughing)

Hahahah. I don’t drink a lot of beers nowadays, but if I do, it will always be a Miller beer, because when I did the first commercials back in 1981 through like 1987 when they ended the program, they would send me two cases every month, and my brother would take one, and I would keep the other. So that’s always my go to beer is Miller Lite.

JW: Your life had a lot of obstacles where you were checked at the door a lot of times, and you were literally checked at the door by your dad when you tried to leave, but you still persevered, and you still made a great life for yourself. What advice would you give to somebody else who might be going through a tough time, their dream is impossible, or they might not be able to do what they want to do at first. What advice would you give to a person in the same situations that you were in?

I’m asked to speak at a lot of high schools and middle schools that are heavily Latino populated, and it’s the same thing. I always tell them that nothing is impossible, as long as you’re willing to work for your dream. I tell them, it’s really up to you. It’s nobody else’s fault. If you come from an alcoholic family, 60% of the kids that come from that are going to become alcoholics. I ask why. Why? You have your own mind, you have your own ability to think and learn from your parents. I tell them, my father was a hard worker, but he was harsh. So what did I do? I took that from him, the idea that you have to work hard for everything that you want, for your dreams, but with my kids, I tell them I love them, I hug them and I squeeze them. So that part of his style, I didn’t take.

So I learned from my parents, but you don’t have to be an alcoholic just because they are, or you don’t have to beat your kid. You can think for yourself, and then you can change, and you can change the dynamic of your family. I’m the first one in my family to go to school. All my uncles, they had 9, 10, 12 kids. I had one uncle, he had 16 kids. Some of them, because of me, they decided to go to school. So my three kids, they all went to college. So you change the dynamic of your family when you have dreams, and you decide in your own mind that you’re gonna do this for the benefit of yourself to work hard, be disciplined, and make sacrifices for your dreams.

JW: How do you want to be remembered as a fighter and as a person?

I want to be remembered as a fighter who always gave 100% when he stepped in the ring. You always got 100%. I left my heart and my soul in the ring. You always got a guy that was in tip top shape that was not gonna fall in the 15th round because he wasn’t ready, like a lot of guys do today. A lot of guys today I see, even though the fights are only 12 rounds, I see them in the eighth, ninth, tenth round wobbly and saggy because they’re just not in the right condition. So I just want to be remembered as a guy who gave everything.

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