It was a wintry February night in 1948 and I was at the Chicago Coliseum with my dad to watch recent Italian import Enrico Bertola duke it out with Jimmy Bell.

This was a big fight for Chicago Italians as Bertola was born in Carrara, Italy and most of his fights had been fought in Rome. In fact,

this was his first fight in the States but it might as well have been in Lucca, Carrara, Firenze, Milan or Rome since the excited crowd was about 95% Italian and they were there for the kill.

The smell of foamy Tavern Pale beer, sausage and roasted peppers with olive oil seeping through brown paper bags was in the thick smoke-filled air...and so was the smell of anticipation...and Bertola did not disappoint. He dispatched the hapless Bell by KO in the 5th round and the crowd went berserk. "Scali" caps were thrown into the air. But both my dad and I were not as thrilled; In fact, I said something to the effect that he was slow and plodding.

As for Jimmy Bell, he would finish at 28 -24 -3 (12 KO's) and retire in 1954. Amazingly, he would fight one Ed Clark in 1962 in Clark's only professorial fight and take him out in 3. In a testimonial to false credentials, Bell claimed to be 39 years old, from Baltimore, and said his record was about 90-25-10. Clark's record was reported as 22-4. This was supposed to be Bell's second knockout win over the immortal Clark.

Two months later, Enrico went on to fight and KO limited James Roberts at the same Coliseum. Then two months after that he beat two more American fighters within the same week, this time at Marigold Gardens. He knocked out Orlando Ott in one and garnered a UD over tough Art Swiden (who had been KO'd in one by Bob Satterfield just a month earlier).

Enrico Bertola had won four fights in short order....all in Chicago. He had become something of a hero in the Chicago Italian community of which I was a member, but I had my doubts, for even as an 11 year old, I could distinguish between great and average and Bertola was not great. He was a good club fighter though I probably could not have articulated it that way at the time.

He then would beat well traveled Eddie Cameron in Newark, NJ by UD in 8. This set him up for a fight with rugged Bob Foxworth (18-3 coming in) in August 1948 at the Marigold Gardens Outdoor Arena in the "friendly" confines of Chicago or so Bertola thought. Foxworth was a KO artist and previously had dispatched bomber Bob Satterfield in one. He was another great Chicago favorite and one of mine as well. He could pop with the best of them and when I heard he was scheduled to fight the slow Bertola (29-4-1 by then), I sensed something special was going to happen and was not disappointed.
 

He would then take another bad beating from Chicagoan Richard Hagan losing by KO in 8. But then, in 1949, he beat rough and tough Phil Muscato (56-16 at the time) in Buffalo in what may have been his career best. This solid win positioned him for a fateful fight on Oct. 4, 1949 with tough Lee Oma (58-26-3) coming in, also in Buffalo. Oma, whose real name was Frank Czjewski, ironically was born in Chicago and would have a career marked by controversy.

Sadly, after losing a bruising 10 rounder by UD, Enrico was taken to a hospital and died the next day after a brain operation. He was just 27 years old. His final record was 34- 7-1 (22 KOs). His death was mourned in both Chicago and Italy.

So much for the tragic story of Enrico Bertola. No big deal, except it was a big deal to me. It was my first experience with a ring death, albeit an indirect one, and it was both scary and indelible. It also was my first experience with spotting flaws in a fighter that others missed. I soon found I had a skill in detecting flaws in a fighter....a skill that I would later translate into successful handicapping. But the most profound thing for me was to see how much drama and tragedy could be squeezed into a short space of time between February 1948 and October 1949. In just 20 months, a highly touted boxer fought 13 times winning 10 and losing 3. In just 20 months, an ethnic favorite went from local hero to death in the ring. And while I am almost ashamed to admit it, it was that kind of real life drama and irony that hooked me, in part, to this sport of boxing.

And it all began in the Coliseum.