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THE DAY THE GOLD TURNED GREEN

Feb. 14, 1977
Feb. 14, 1977

Table of Contents
Feb. 14, 1977

Wild West
Record Run
Lift Lines
  • By William Oscar Johnson

    Some come to ski, but many come to ski and be seen doing their number, and there are no better spots than the trails under the lift lines. From California's Mammoth Mountain at right, where Chair No. 3 is front row center, to the runs on the following pages, all the best slopes are really a stage.

College Basketball
Nature
Hockey
Figure Skating
Fish Story
19th Hole: The Readers Take Over

THE DAY THE GOLD TURNED GREEN

With Muhammad Ali's trainer, Angelo Dundee, working in his corner, Olympic gold medalist Sugar Ray Leonard brought boxing back to Baltimore, whipping Luis Vega and collecting a cool $40,044 in his professional debut

TELEGRAM TO: JIMMY CARTER, THE WHITE HOUSE.
I respectfully invite you and your family to be present at my professional debut in Baltimore, Saturday, Feb. 5 at 4:30 p.m. This will be my first bout since winning the Olympic gold medal at Montreal. If you are unable to attend, please tune in CBS television. With great expectations, Sincerely,
SUGAR RAY LEONARD

This is an article from the Feb. 14, 1977 issue Original Layout

Now it was the turn of the one they call Sugar. His last fight had been against a Cuban in Montreal more than six months ago, and when it was over they had given him a gold medal. "I'll never fight again," Sugar Ray Leonard said then. "My journey has ended, my dream is fulfilled." But there he was last Saturday afternoon in Baltimore, climbing into the ring to face a sturdy Puerto Rican named Luis Vega, and for this six-round fight they would give him $40,044.

"Why?" Leonard smiled at the question one day last week. At the Olympics he had said he would attend the University of Maryland rather than turn professional. "I guess you could say it was reality," he said. "And my responsibilities." Reality for Leonard is his mother Getha, a slender, attractive nurse. She suffered a mild heart attack just before the Olympics and no longer is able to work. Reality is his father Cicero, who is hospitalized with meningitis and tuberculosis of the spine. Reality is the support of his 3-year-old son, Ray Charles Leonard Jr.

"Even then it wasn't an easy decision," Leonard said. "I meant it at the time when I said I didn't want to fight anymore. But I felt I owed it to my family. They are down and I am capable of lifting them up and putting them in a good financial position."

In addition, there were heavy outside pressures. After returning from Montreal, Leonard was besieged daily with offers to turn pro, and for endorsements and speaking engagements. People would call at 3 a.m. Strangers were always knocking at the door. The handsome 20-year-old shook his head at the memory. "The living room was always full of people," Leonard said. "They'd sit around all day, and half the time I didn't know who they were. Every time I opened the front door another stranger would walk in."

Desperate, Leonard sought out an old and trusted friend, Janks Morton, who had helped train him as an amateur. In turn, Morton introduced Leonard to another Maryland friend, attorney Mike Trainer. "I'd trust Mike with everything I own," Morton told Sugar Ray.

Working gratis, Trainer lined up Leonard with Arthur Young and Co., the accounting firm, and a public-relations man, Charlie Brotman. Then he talked 24 friends and business associates into underwriting Sugar Ray's career with an investment of $21,000, to be repaid within four years at 8% interest. Finally, Trainer incorporated Leonard, the sole stockholder, as Sugar Ray Leonard, Inc. Leonard draws a $475 salary twice a month; the rest of what he earns will be invested.

"You can't believe the things Sugar Ray had been trying to do on his own," Brotman said. "He just didn't know how to say no. Everyone wanted him as a speaker, and he was running everywhere morning, noon and night."

Leonard signed on as a boxing analyst with CBS, and last month in Las Vegas he worked at ringside when his Olympic teammates, Howard Davis and Leon Spinks, made their pro debuts. He has been offered roles in movies, and the people who made Roots say they wish he had come along sooner, that he was a natural for one of the parts.

"The offers coming in are tremendous," said Brotman. "Motown records wants him to do a song for them. And the licensing people—dolls, games, T shirts—are talking numbers that spin my head. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. What Sugar Ray makes as a fighter probably will be only one-third of what he makes overall."

On the recommendation of Muhammad Ali, Leonard selected Angelo Dundee as his manager. Dundee, who has trained or managed 10 world champions and has been with Ali since his second professional fight, will work for 15% of what Leonard makes as a fighter. As trainer, Leonard picked Dave Jacobs, who has been with him since his earliest days as an amateur in Palmer Park, Md. With Jacobs in his corner, Sugar Ray won 145 of 150 amateur fights (with 75 knockouts), three Golden Gloves titles, five international championships, two national AAU crowns, as well as Pan-American Games and Olympic gold medals. As an amateur, he was unbeaten in his last 40 fights, or since Jan. 17, 1973.

"It's beautiful," Leonard said. "I'm with people I trust. I was always afraid of being just a piece of someone's property, with no say in my career. I don't have to worry about that anymore. And as soon as I repay that $21,000, I'm my own man."

When Leonard announced he was turning pro, the city of Baltimore, which considers him a hometown boy although he lives a few miles to the south, said it would like to stage the fight. Baltimore promoters, however, were loath to come up with the money. "To heck with them," said Louis Grasmick, a local lumberyard owner and a commissioner of Baltimore's Civic Center. "I'll put up $10,000 toward his purse." CBS came up with another $10,000. Leonard also was promised the first $5,000 after the live gate passed $30,000, and half of everything beyond that. The other half would go to the City of Baltimore, which acted as the promoter.

Dundee was offered four opponents by matchmaker Eddie Hrica, and selected Vega, a low-slung brawler out of Reading, Pa. with a 14-8-3 record. "Vega's no setup," said Dundee. "He's tough and he knows how to fight. You can't start off against stiffs. I want to know right away if Leonard will carry over into the pros the same type of potential he had in the amateurs. All of us have seen kids who look like world-beaters, but for some reason they don't make it when the money is on the line. Against a guy like Vega we'll find out right away how well Ray is going to adjust."

At his noon workouts in the Civic Center, Leonard drew 500 to 800 fans, many of whom admitted they had never been to a fight. The match was ballyhooed on billboards, posters and even on the backs of buses, and by Friday night more than $47,000 worth of tickets had been sold. The highest previous indoor fight gate in the city was $41,000 for an Ali exhibition.

But by Friday, even the gracious Leonard had become exhausted from the nonstop promotional campaign. Up early in the morning for a run, he went back to bed without eating breakfast. In the afternoon he took some friends and his son Ray Jr. to see the movie Rocky. That night he had been scheduled to make an apearance at a local Chinese restaurant. He had to say no. Instead, he had dinner at a downtown hotel and went to bed. Saturday morning he reappeared as fresh as ever. "The only thing I can find wrong with him," said Commissioner Dr. Charles Tommasello at the noon weigh-in and medical checkup, "is that he can't stand cold hands."

Climbing into the ring that afternoon, Vega—nicknamed the Bull—looked as tough as Dundee had predicted. He had never been knocked off his feet. For this fight he would make only $650, and he knew a victory over Leonard would put him in line for bigger money. He was predicting a knockout.

A few minutes later Leonard entered the arena, a slender figure in a sharp purple robe he designed himself, and when the Civic Center's PA system blared forth the Olympic theme song, the crowd went wild. Smiling, Leonard climbed into the ring.

"When he does that," said Jacobs, "something happens to him. Outside of the ring he's a gentle, kind human being. In that ring he becomes a killer."

The fight started slowly—Vega, in the center of the ring, turning to follow the circling Leonard, who seemed content to run up points with his jab. Halfway through the second round, a different Leonard, a professional, emerged. He began to work quickly, confidently, banging away with furious combinations, although the long post-Olympic layoff had left him less than sharp. In the fourth round he sliced open the corner of Vega's left eye and had the Bull bleeding from the nose. The pace slowed in the fifth round, but for Vega it was only a momentary respite. "Let's see you back him up," Dundee said to Leonard as he came out for the sixth and final round. Throwing murderous shots, Leonard bounced the game Puerto Rican about the ring, but at the end Vega was still on his feet.

"It was like a replay of Rocky," Leonard said later. "I hit him so many combinations and he still didn't go down. He was the courageous underdog and he was still in there at the end. Vega is a champion, too."

The three officials gave every round to Leonard. The shutout was witnessed by 10,270 who paid $72,320. Adding Grasmick's $10,000 and CBS' $10,000 brought Leonard's share to $40,044. There's no telling how much he might have taken home if he had ever made it to the Chinese restaurant.

No matter. He'll get another chance on April 2 in Baltimore. Grasmick has already put up the first $10,000, and Jimmy Carter will get another invitation.

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