photo:
Meldrick Taylor
Dear friends,
As usual, all of the loudmouths who know nothing about boxing are all over the Internet pretending to be pundits and giving ideas about what to do with the corrupt sport.
There's been no mention, regarding boxers being pimped by everyone from trainers and managers to matchmakers and promoters.
Back in the late 70s, at Joe Frazier's Gym in North Philly, the late Jerome Artis began a petition drive among pro-fighters to start a boxers union. Guys like myself, Jimmy Young, Bennie Briscoe, Dwight Braxton (now Qawi), and Mike Spinks signed it. Unfortunately, it never went anywhere. In fact, it just went away, as if it never was. I’ve always suspect that Jerome (who we called "Roni”) may have gotten paid off or something to stop getting signatures.
At any rate, pro fighters are still getting $100 per round today, as they have been doing for decades. That needs to stop, more than anything else. All of the loud mouthing by the “pundit” is inconsequential, if fighters continue to be pimped like street corner whores.
And it, i.e., the pimping, even applies to the bigger name fighters, because I was Meldrick Taylor's financial advisor back in '86. Lou Duva and I ended up having a problem, because I didn't like the way that Meldrick's agent, Lloyd Remick, was transferring around hundreds of thousands of dollars of Meldrick's money between banks that were literally only across the street from his office, while giving no access to Meldrick - to his own money. Instead, they gave him a $250 stipend every week. What a laugh!
After Lou Duva stood me up for a meeting at Front and Lombard streets in South Philly, then took Medrick to this gay, Jewish lawyer named Shelley Finkel in New York City, (by the way, Meldrick told me later that night over the phone that in New York Shelley Finkel told him that something would happen to me if I didn't leave him alone. As if I, a former Black Panther , was concerned).
Nevertheless, Duva had George Benton, my former trainer and longtime friend, call me the next day and George asked me for a personal favor: to leave Meldrick alone. When I initially responded in the negative, until George lowered his voice and begged, "Djata, do it for me...for me...Okay?"....I then conceded to his arm-twisting request, and said, "Okay."
But it didn’t stop there. A little side story: Only about two months later, in September 1986, I got a call from Meldrick. He wanted to lease a brand-new Porsche, but they told him that 19 years old he was too young to sign the lease. He also told me that Lou Duva and his lawyer were against him getting such a fancy sports car. I then told him about the conversation with George, and that I just didn’t want to be bothered. Meldrick just started begging me. I finally caved in. I told him to pick me up at 9 o’clock the next morning, and we’d go over the bridge to the Porsche dealer in New Jersey where he had already seen the car he wanted.
The next morning, he picked me up on time. As I was a successful insurance salesman, I knew that it would be no problem for me to sign for the vehicle for him. So we started to drive toward Center City, on our way to the Porsche dealer. We stopped at a red light at Broad and Lombard streets. The light changed, but Meldrick wasn’t moving. I said, “Come on man…Let’s go!” Meldrick then really shocked me, by telling me that he had run out of gas.
Here I am sitting all fly, as usual, and the business suit, it’s rush-hour in Center City Philadelphia, cars had already started beeping like crazy, and I said to Meldrick, “Man you better get out of this car and get some gas,” He did, while I just sat and waited. He came back about 15 minutes later. Because of his notoriety, the guy at the gas station had let him borrow a gas can. So after we dropped that gas can back off, we drove over the bridge to the Porsche dealer.
Now, Meldtick had already picked out the car that he wanted. I just explained who I was and gave them my business card. I assured them that Mel had the money, and that he would pay. But he had to have insurance. So we told the salesman that we’d be right back, because I had a buddy on Broad Street who owned an agency.
We left the dealership, but the now too excited Meldrick, in too much of a hurry, and only about a block after we pulled out of the dealership, crashed his Camaro right into the back of the guy who was in front of us, because he couldn’t wait for the light yochange. Fortunately, while the front hood of Mildred’s car was standing up like an upside down “V”, nothing happened to the back of other guy’s car.
We went back over the bridge to Philly, I went to my buddy’s shop, and he got the insurance. At that point, I told him to call one of his brothers or somebody, so that he could drive the Porsche back, and the other person could drive the Camaro back. He thanked me, and we parted ways. The last time that I ever saw him in person was about a month later, while driving around the rotary at City Hall. I was in my Lincoln, and he his Porsche; we let down our windows and gave each other a holler.
About five or six years later, after he’d won and lost his world title, I saw him on ab HBO program with slurred speech. I was so devastated that I just changed the channel. I’ve been told in recent years that he drives a cab. I first met him, when he was 10 years old. Everybody was sure then that he would be both an Olympic champion and a professional world champion. He did at least accomplish that. But now he's broke!
Boxing is a dirty, mucky sport. The only reasonable answer to fix it is to ban all present and former promoters, along with all the blood relatives from boxing - for life. That's just for starters.
G. Djata Bumpus
Read full post
