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Gerardo,
"Kid Gavilan" Gonzalez: one hundred and forty three
professional fights... The first thing I noticed were the
boxing gloves: an arrangement of red carnations on white pom
poms background, small orchids serving as accent on the
corners of the wreath, set as a picture frame.
Gerardo,
"Kid Gavilan" Gonzalez: one hundred and seven
wins.... The next thing I noticed was the wreath in the
shape of the Cuban flag; beautiful red, white and blue
carnations seemingly undulating in virtual space.
Gerardo,
"Kid Gavilan" Gonzalez: thirty
losses.... The third thing I noticed was how cold the room
felt... I looked beyond the flowers, and there he was ....
How small he seemed, how at peace he looked. Dapper in a
dark suit, a boxing robe white with black satin trim over
the suit, a well placed red rose tie pin poking out of his
chest. Red gloves hanging from the casket lid, as if
watching over his eternal sleep.
Gerardo,
"Kid Gavilan" Gonzalez: twenty-eight
knockouts... I noticed his hands, so small and thin; perhaps
in life they didn't pack a tremendous KO wallop, but they
did the talking for this very courageous and flashy fighter,
who unlike many of today's 'super stars' fought in an era
when his weight class was laden with top tier talent. The
hands had no visible scars, they looked more like the hands
of a concert pianist than the hands of a Hall of Fame
legendary boxer. In a twist of irony, and perhaps by choice,
they laid him out with his arms stretched out, instead of in
the customary folded across the chest position.
I knelt in
prayer, very humble in this -our final encounter- and
particularly grateful for a special moment Gavilan and I
shared in July of 2001. It was at the Ultiminio "Sugar"
Ramos tribute dinner, when I introduced my friend Olga
Naranjo to the Kid... Although not a big boxing fan, she was
nevertheless very excited to meet him; shook his hand, gave
him a semi-hug and asked if he felt up to taking a picture
with her. Next thing I heard was roaring laughter, and
feeling a bit left out, I asked the
two
scoundrels what was so funny. The champ motioned me
to come closer. "She wants to take a picture with me?" he
asked. "Yes, champ, she does," was my reply. "Are you
sure?," he insisted. "Yes, champ, she is a fan, and she
really wants to take a picture with you." Gavilán looked at
me, broad smile and impish twinkle in his eye, and said,
"Well, let's take the picture. She is the most beautiful
woman I've ever seen... let's take the picture before she
changes her mind." With that comment, I too laughed, and the
very special picture was snapped.
I looked
around the funeral home's parlor last night and saw many,
many faces. Mostly mature males, you could tell the fighters
in the crowd, they wore their scars proudly. Lots of talk
going on in the room, so I decided to mingle, to listen to
what was being said about the sad passing of this boxing
great...
Some of the
things I heard shouldn't have surprised me, self serving
individuals seem to abound in the sport of boxing. As I
moved around I noticed a man who stood out, if not in
stature definitely in deed, and that was Julio Martínez.
Julio, a former boxing promoter in the state of Florida, was
one of Gavilán's legal guardians, and the organizer of a
moving tribute to the champ, held in Miami a year prior. On
that evening, Martínez managed to reunite Gavilán with some
of the best Cuban fighters of all times. Nothing like paying
homage in life, I say. Julio Martínez, a perfect gentleman
and an even better friend, didn't need to remind anyone of
what he had done for the Kid. Martínez's pain was very
genuine; his sadness didn't need to be expressed, it was
felt.
If some
individuals were out of line that night, what can be said of
those who share country of birth, profession and local place
of residence, but were NO SHOWS? I was appalled at
their absence; in Cuban culture, their absence implied
tremendous disrespect. Not one flower wreath from any of the
modern era Miami-based Cuban fighters and/or their
managers/promoters. Actually, not one wreath from any boxer,
not even from the great one, Sugar Ray Leonard, who has
shamelessly adopted Gavilán's signature bolo punch as his
own. The sports equipment companies who pay millions in
endorsements to lesser athletes didn't see fit to pay
tribute either. In a great display of class though, the
International Boxing Organization sent the stunning flower
arrangement in the shape of boxing gloves which I described
above.
The sport of
boxing is a sub-culture within itself; a very rough sport,
and an even rougher business. There is talk of a national
commission, federal regulations, sanctioning bodies
re-arrangement, etc., etc., etc. In my way of thinking,
boxing's survival hinges on its ability to make changes,
physical and mental. Greed must be set aside, the sport
needs to learn how to take care of its own. Some of the
behavior exhibited following Kid Gavilán's demise did little
to show the world that the first step towards taking care of
its own has been taken.
May you rest
in peace, "Keed." You will always be loved and remembered.
2-15-2003
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