Jim

The big man speaks with his elbows on his knees on the couch next to me, shaping the vivid scenes in his mind]s eye with a flutter of big active hands.

“We wrestled in school, of course. I boxed at [names small Oregon town rec center] and then finished boxing out of Mount Scott [the major Southeast Portland Rec center]. [1] Mike was the boxer in the family. Rick and I got involved in professional wrestling, which was crazy—in a way not as crazy as the arm wrestling scene. You need to talk to Kelley about that.”

Mike and Jim ask about stick fighting and I show them the oft broken right index finger. Mike shows a badly healed broken finger and Jim grins, working his left hand around his right hand like a curator of knuckle head mysteries.

“I was in a cage fight, had this guy against the cage on one knee and was grounding and pounding. I got the Kayo, didn’t realize that I had caught my finger in the fence. [I think I recall this being the left middle finger. I’m not waiting to check it as I do not know if I will ever see Jim again. The whiskey was beginning to impinge my recall.] So, I think, oh, this will be fine. I just need to straighten it out. I straighten the finger out, and it’s straight alright, but the bone is coming out of the skin!”

[This calls for, if I see Jim again, an interview focusing on just cage fighting.]

Mike

The long-haired man in the leather jacket with the wide cheek bones and hawkish face generally paces or stands, sometimes sitting near Kelley. He is cagey, but likes to laugh. He is still lean, with wide shoulders and long boned arms and hands at 62 years. Mike asked a lot of questions about the author’s boxing and stick fighting experience, which account for the gaps in the slim text below. Mike doesn’t talk at length, in narrative, like his younger brother Jim, but prefers bullet point exchanges.

“Middleweight, all the way, amateur, pro. I was mostly taller then the guys my weight, especially in the gym. Found myself punching down a lot and had to be careful of the top of the head.

“Only got dizzy once, but I won that.

“Did bare knuckle a few times.

“Yep, generally easier then glove, quicker.

“You’re not a loser if you boxed, if you fought. You maybe led with your face. But the losers, they’re the ones that never boxed. It’s a small club really.

“I only lost twice, to the same guy, Mike McCully. Those were the only two times I lost, and the only two times I fought on TV. I had sparred him in the gym and tuned him up. Then for the TV fights, it was like he was a different man, like he had a problem in the gym—but none in the ring! I can tell you that. So, I only lose twice. But no one knows who I am, because McCully beat me in my only two TV fights. Oh, well.

“A toast, to Mike and whoever the hell you fought twice and could never beat.”

I lifted my glass, and said, “Aaron.”

“Beat you twice, fist or stick?”

“Stick, thirty-five out of thirty-five!”

“God Damn!”

[laughter]

And we drank.

Notes

-1. I have recently visited Mount Scott, which is now closed for a 16 month earthquake proofing renovation. I knew from Kelley and a boxer named Derek, that Mount Scott produced amateur boxing champions and well regarded pros. I went in looking for a punching bag or two, figuring that there might at least be a bogus boxing fitness program. When I asked about boxing and boxing equipment the staff were horrified. I was pointed to the all weight training and machine fitness room. Beyond this point I wandered until finding an abstract art of two boxing figures. Next to this were two sentences memorializing a coach Minsky who had been a national amateur champion and was a cofounder of this same facility, whose staff members cringe at the very notion of a punching bag.