August 15, 1950: The heavyweight championship of the world was going to be defended in Buffalo, N.Y. Every boxing fan, every promoter, anyone who was anyone would be at the fight. Every kid who ever jumped a rope or punched the bag and could beg, borrow or steal the five dollar ticket price, would be there.

In Buffalo it was the main event of all main events. Ezzard Charles, the heavyweight champion of the world, would defend his title against Freddie Beshore.

Buffalo’s Memorial Auditorium was filled with fans. The tension was high. This was not the regular excitement of the Monday night fights. This was not on television – this was the real thing. If you couldn’t get to Buffalo, you were out of luck.

I had watched Ezzard Charles when he trained at the Downtown Gym. I also had gone down to Singer’s Gym to watch Freddie Beshore train. I was in awe.

Charles and Beshore were set for a 15 round bout. I saved up the money for my ticket by delivering telegrams for Western Union. The fight was postponed twice, enhancing the excitement.

A bunch of the guys from the neighborhood and I took our places in the cheap seats that night to watch the most exciting event in our lives.

Ezzard Charles had a reputation for being a mechanical fighter. He meant business. He didn’t say much, wasn’t flashy, but, oh boy, when he got in the ring, you knew who was in charge.

Freddie Beshore was a mauler – he was out-classed and outmanned in short order. In the end Beshore was a bloody mess. It was an amazing display of brute power. Charles took control and never let up.

In the 14th round, the referee stopped the fight. I gave Beshore credit for standing as long as he did. Charles was a cutter. He was the one who ended Rocky Marciano’s career by nearly taking off his nose the next year.

I was only 15 years old, but I knew right then that this was the path my life would take.

The Golden Gloves

I became involved with the Golden Gloves, an amateur boxing tournament, in the winter of 1950. I had just turned 16 and had boxed through the Babcock Boys Club. Some of the older guys from the neighborhood, Buffalo’s First Ward, were entered in the Golden Gloves. The tournament was sponsored by the newspaper The Courier-Express.

The winner of this series of bouts would go on to New York City in January and a chance to fight in Madison Square Garden. The tournament was organized to raise money for Christmas toys for needy children. As a result, youngsters like me who were interested in boxing could train and fight at no cost during the Golden Gloves season, which ran from September through December.

I got a chance to help out in the boxing corner. This was a great opportunity for me. I would be able to see the fights for free and get to know the people involved with the tournament. Some of the older guys from the neighborhood like Tommy Buzze, Jimmy Murray, Pat Sargeant and Jackie Coad fought that first night. The bouts in these elimination rounds lasted until after midnight, with the more populated weight classes fighting several times that same night to pare them down.

In Tommy Buzze’s corner that night, I watched as he won the first fight of the evening only to lose a split decision in his second bout. I remember it was 1:30 a.m. before we were done.

Jackie Coad also won but lost in the semi-finals to a kid from South Buffalo, Dick Roberts. Roberts, a welterweight, became a good amateur as an open fighter.

The neighborhood got a bad break in the draw, though. Two of our guys picked each other in the first round. One had to lose. The fight between Jimmy Murray and Pat Sargeant, two kids from the First Ward, was a good one. Jimmy had too much fight and power, but Pat never stopped trying. Jimmy got the nod.

In Jimmy’s second bout of the night he fought Charles Williams, a kid from Delavan. Williams also won his first fight of the night. Jimmy got the nod in that one, too. He would go all the way to the semi-finals before losing a three-round decision to Eddie Nowak, a very good fighter from Lackawanna. Eddie went on to win the Golden Gloves Novice Championship.

Another South Buffalo boy, George Supples, won the light-heavyweight championship.

Over my parents’ objections, I quit school. I would not be able to compete in the Golden Gloves tournaments until the following November, so I worked and still was able to follow my dream – boxing, though I wouldn’t realize that for another few years.

Then Bob Nappo called. He was an owner and trainer at the Downtown Gym who took an interest in me. Nappo ran amateur bouts called “smokers” throughout the summer. I fought as a novice and did well.

On Sundays, Nappo would take a group of us over to Singer’s Gym to spar. It was a great opportunity. We were all in the novice class, and the guys at Singer’s were mostly in the open class, which meant they were more experienced.

Nappo took guys like me, Melvin Green, Billy McGee and Adam Ashley. Ashley was trained by the former 1920s Featherweight World Champion Tommy Paul.

Some of the more experienced boxers at Singer’s were Manny Davis, Vince Calla, Danny O’Stagne and Bobby Scanlon. I had no idea at that time that Scanlon and I would meet in the ring some 10 years later and draw one of the largest crowds to the Memorial Auditorium for the New York State Title.

I would challenge Scanlon for the title and lose, but I probably got more recognition for losing to a fourth round after-the-bell sucker punch than if I had won.

In November 1951, I signed up for The Courier-Express Golden Gloves Tournament. I drew the first fight to open the tournament. I would fight Adam Ashley. There are only two things I remember from that fight. I recall thinking as I read Ashley’s name on the card that I had sparred with him and knew his style. I calmed down immediately because I knew I would beat him.

The only other recollection is that when I hit him with a right to the jaw, he went down. The papers described it this way: “Donnelly racked up the first victory of the tournament by scoring a second round TKO over Adam Ashley. Donnelly flared his foe for a count of nine with a right to the jaw, and the match ended moments later when Ashley tumbled through the ropes and out of the ring. The Ref. stopped the bout.”

Next stop, the semi-finals. I drew a tall southpaw from South Buffalo, Ronnie Willard. When I realized he was left-handed, I was scared to death. I had never matched a lefty. I was like a fish out of water. I held on for two rounds, but he caught me with a good left hand and I went down. I lost a close decision … but lost.

I remember in that second fight, although I had jumped right back up after the punch touching one knee to the ring’s mat, it was enough for the judges to give Willard the decision. Willard went on to the finals and lost to a kid I knew from the Boys Club, Ken Seifert.

It was exciting to be a part of that tournament. The papers described it this way: “Another sparkling chapter was added to Courier-Express Golden Gloves history last night as Western New York’s outstanding amateur boxers, headed by the battling Brewster Brothers of Hornell and Buffalo’s Jimmy Watkins, stashed and punched their way to championship honors before a record throng of 13,212 in Memorial Auditorium. The enthusiastic turnout was the largest ever to see a boxing show in the Aud. It surpassed the previous Golden Gloves’ record of 13,178 established in 1947.”

The most exciting fight of the night was, of course, the Golden Gloves title fight between Buffalo’s Jimmy Watkins and Billy Collins, a southpaw from Springville.

Nobody was disappointed. The papers described it this way – and I couldn’t have said it better: “The Watkins-Collins fight produced no knockdowns, though both boys connected often with lusty blasts to the head for two rounds. It was anybody’s fight. Collins found the range consistently with his southpaw smashes, but Watkins was a willing customer and hammered home several hard rights to the face and body.

“The turning point came midway in the last round (when) Watkins nailed Collins with a wicked right to the chin and another to the body. The Springville boy appeared hurt, and Watkins followed up his advantage with a two-fisted flurry that dropped Collins on the middle strand of the ropes. Collins had to take an eight count. Watkins continued in command until the bell.”

After the tournament, I had offers from trainers and guys in the fight business offering to manage what they thought would be a “comer.” They said I was determined, tough, and had potential.

For some reason, I still don’t know why, despite everyone around me trying to talk me out of it, I joined the Air Force. I knew I was too young, but did it anyway.

At 17, with my mother’s signature, I went to boot camp. Soon, though, I was chosen to be on the boxing team at Sampson Air Force Base in Geneva. They called it “Special Services,” and I met an old friend there, a two-time Golden Gloves champion, Rollie Hackmer.

Rollie showed me the ropes. He told me who to talk to and how to get myself in. In fact, Rollie was a boxing scout for the Air Force. After one tournament and a couple of TKOs, I won the championship, a three-day pass, and a spot as bantam weight on the Sampson Air Force Base team to vie for the All Air Force Championships.

Both Rollie and I lost in the finals, but we had good fights. I won four fights, two by KO, but lost to a kid named Lopez, the defending champion. Still, I secured my spot on the team.

I trained and traveled, winning tournaments all over New York for the United States Air Force. When I was on base I pulled duty as a PT (physical training) instructor. This involved waking raw recruits at 5 a.m. in the frigid New York winter to follow me through 45 minutes of calisthenics. I’m sure they hated me, but I didn’t mind at all. I was hungry to train for the ring and the win.

In February 1955, at 20 years of age, I left the service and was happy to bid the Air Force adieu.

Many of the best fighters had been drafted, but I fought at my discretion in tournaments here and there. I was a five-round fighter with talent, ambition and drive. I knew I could be a contender and challenge champions, but I also knew the commitment and devotion it would take. I had to hold myself to my own standards of perfection in training. I took some time off.

About a year later, I was working out at Singer’s Gym a couple of nights a week when a friend and boxer, Paul Moran, told me about a great trainer from his hometown, Scranton, Pa., who had a gym there. Danny Dempsey had fought Tommy Paul, the featherweight champion of the world. The Moran brothers said Dempsey was in Buffalo working for Bethlehem Steel. I had been thinking of getting back into the ring and needed a manager/trainer. I had no idea that this would be a match made in heaven.

Dempsey lived in a rooming house on Franklin Street. I had heard that he frequented the House of Quinn, a bar on Chippewa Street. I arranged to meet with him one night. He asked me if I smoked or drank. He told me to run every day and go to the gym every day. He said he would stop by in two weeks to take a look at me. He said he would give me his decision – if he had one – after that.

Dempsey, I would learn, was a man of few words. He never, ever, gave a compliment. He was tough and a hard task-master. In fact, he stood me up twice. I got to the point where I decided I was going to give my all to boxing, whether Dempsey was with me or not. Besides, there were all kinds of trainers asking to train me and manage me. What did I need Dempsey for? Yet, something told me to wait for Danny. I can’t explain it. Dempsey didn’t give me an inch of a reason to like him, but I waited for him. It was the best career decision I ever made.

Three weeks later, Dempsey showed up. He didn’t say much – just told me what to do and, for some reason, I did it.

We never signed a contract, never had our lawyers negotiate. We just shook hands and fell into a relationship of mutual trust and respect. Dempsey was what I needed. He was a man who knew what he was talking about. I respected that. Furthermore, I needed a no-nonsense trainer who wouldn’t tell me how great I was – only how much harder I would have to work. We were more than trainer and boxer, we were like father and son.

I learned that I meant more to Danny than he would ever say. He told others, but would never tell me.

Danny’s son, Jack, had been his pride and joy. Danny thought Jack would be a champion boxer one day. Young Dempsey answered the call. Things were happening fast and furious over in Korea. Jack Dempsey was in the thick of it. One day, Jack stopped a piece of shrapnel with his right shoulder, which packed most of his punching power in the ring.

Even before the doctors told him, Jack knew that his fighting days were over. His father took it hard. After that, Danny wouldn’t go near a gym or even watch a fight on television. For some reason, he decided to take a look at me. Dempsey told my friend, Paul Moran, that I reminded him so much of his son, even our names were the same. Just like his son, Dempsey told Paul, I loved to fight and worked very hard in the gym.

After a couple of months of working together, Dempsey agreed to let me fight Sam Cardinelli’s fighter, Rocky Carbone – the Golden Gloves Novice Champion from the year before. Danny said it would be a good “tune up” fight to prepare for the Golden Gloves tournament in November. The fight took place in October. This is the newspaper’s account:

“Jackie Donnelly, former Air Force boxer, won a split decision over Rocky Carbone, 1956 Golden Gloves champ, in a grueling five-round lightweight bout which highlighted an amateur boxing show last night in Lackawanna’s Memorial Hall. The Donnelly-Carbone clash was a sizzling battle all the way, with both boys landing damaging wallops during the lively exchanges which featured every round. Donnelly always moving forward landing the more effective punches particularly solid rights to the head, during the middle rounds to gain the nod from two of the officials. Carbone, a novice Golden Gloves champion last year, tried to pull the decision out of the fire in the last round, but the rally was not enough to overcome Donnelly’s advantage."

Danny was not pleased with my performance. I knew I was a little rusty, but after all, I won the fight. I was upset that he was not even a little bit happy, but he knew I had a long, hard road to make it as a pro. He was not prone to get excited about an amateur win.

In spite of myself and Danny’s admonishments, I was in the gym the next day working even harder. Danny said that now, since the boxers and trainers had seen me fight, they would be getting ready for me in the Golden Gloves. One month later, I entered the 1957 Golden Gloves Tournament.

The first elimination round were wins for me. The paper read: “Donnelly, former Air Force ring star, eliminated Jacko DeMarco of St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada, in the 135 pound open bracket competition by winning a decision in three action-filled rounds. It was an interesting battle all the way, but Donnelly had an edge in every round. He scored often with jarring left hooks and had the best of several lively exchanges.

“Donnelly gained a crack at the lightweight crown by carving out a clean-cut verdict over Walter Kelly. Donnelly used a right hand attack to gain his winning margin over Kelly. After an even first round, Jackie found the range in the second. He scored often with rights to the head and mixed in several left hooks to the body and head. His solid rights wrapped up the verdicts in the third.”

The finals – and the lightweight championship – would be mine if I could beat Lamarr Adams – a 5-foot-11 fighter from Lackawanna, who packed a long left jab that he used to set up the right hand power he packed.

Despite tremendous pressure from my friends telling me that Memorial Auditorium would be packed by them to see me win the championship for the neighborhood, I was surprisingly relaxed. I was even joking with the guys in the dressing room.

Adams was a formidable opponent, but Danny told me to get inside the left jab and work the body, then come up with the combinations to the head, the right hand to the body, and then come back with the left hook and finish him with a right hand to the head – so, I was relaxed about it.

In the first round I was a little off. Maybe I didn’t warm up enough. Maybe I was too confident. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t get on track. Adams was scoring – hitting me with jabs and good right hands, which was his style. He was fighting well. I was falling into his hands.

At the bell, when I got back into the corner – boy, did I get it. The music I had faced in the ring with Adams was nothing compared to the beating I took in the corner.

I had never seen Dempsey so mad. He wouldn’t give me any water and took my mouthpiece out. He said, "You look like a bum!” He said that if I didn’t fight the way he told me to, he wouldn’t be there when I came back to the corner. I felt sorry for Adams. I came out of that corner on fire!

It’s funny, of all the amateur fights that I’d had, and all the professional fights I would have, I remember bits and pieces of some fights and other fights I don’t remember anything at all. But, that second round with Adams – I remember like it was yesterday.

Adams got off his stool and I was right in front of him. I hit him with a right and a left to the body and hurt him. He started to dance away, sticking out his useless left hand. He was running away from me all over the ring. After chasing him for most of the round, I caught him in the corner and hit him with a left hook to the body and a right hand to the head … he went down.

I thought Adams showed a lot of guts getting up at the count of nine, but as soon as the referee wiped his gloves, I was on him. I threw a bunch of lefts and rights to the head, he dropped his left and I threw a right square on his chin. I felt the punch all the way up my arm. I knew he wasn’t going to get up. At the bell, I went back to my corner … Danny was there and I was the Golden Gloves Lightweight Champion.

I think the opportunities that the Golden Gloves gave to amateurs is without measure. Surely, no one could have guessed that a young kid like me, from a relatively poor, ethnic neighborhood would have risen to the level of champion in the professional world of boxing.

In boxing, a sport where mind, body, spirit and business must come together in the same place, at the same time, you can punch yourself to the limit, exhaust yourself for a dream. And if an organization, like the Golden Gloves can offer an opportunity where you can shine beyond your imagination, you will make it, and you will make it big.

The Courier-Express Golden Gloves Tournaments gave youngsters a chance to realize a dream. And me, a chance to build a lifetime of memories that gave me and my children and my grandchildren the knowledge that you can make it. You can have your dreams and you can be a champion – no matter what your endeavor.

• People
• Sports
• Western New York