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Chuck was a fearsome-looking, giant
of a man, 6-6 with a face full of
scars advertising proudly all the
bleeding he'd done. First thing
Chuck did when he came up to me was
throw a right hand, but with the
fist open. I took his grizzly bear
paw and I was shaking, yeah, I admit
it, I was shaking. But I stayed on
my feet!
Round One
First shot's on me. Chuck takes it
without flinching. Second shot is on
him. I can feel it right away. But
Chuck, he looks fresh as a daisy. It
goes like this, shot after shot, a
real battle royale, until finally, I
can't take no more. I throw in the
towel. Chuck by TKO, 2:31 of the
first round. No more shots.
I say, "You ready to give me orders
now, Chuck?"
Yeah, I was a wuss, but I had a job
to do. At that period in my life,
after 19 years as a sportswriter at
The Star-Ledger, I had traded up and
was a bartender in Hoboken, the town
that once made the Guinness Book of
World Records for having 80 bars in
four-squared blocks near the piers
along the Hudson River.
I also did the liquor ordering for
the "Chatterbox," owned by my
ex-father-in-law George Palermo.
George goes back a long way with
Chuck. George can remember when the
mob reined On The Waterfront
(somebody should make a movie) and
the factories were running 24/7 and
he always had a line around the
block at 6 a.m., a mix of
longshoremen, factory workers and
Wall Street guys (gin martinis, no
Starbucks please).
He even had one early rising patron
who Mr. P. gave a spare key to so
the guy could go in the bar at 5
a.m., drink his fill, then leave
cash on the bar, lock up and head
off to work. I once asked Mr. P. why
he had bricked up all the nice
brownstone length windows in the gin
mill, he said: "Guys used to throw
each other out the windows, so I got
tired of replacing the glass."
Chuck never threw anybody through a
window, although he may himself have
made a few whiz-bang trips through
ring ropes. The man who would knock
down Muhammad Ali in the 9th round
and come within 19 seconds of going
the 15-round distance was now a
liquor salesman, which is how our
match came about.
Chuck, no surprise, did well selling
booze. Naturally, he trucked on his
pugilistic reputation and the fact
that the Ali fight was the
inspiration for the original "Rocky"
movie. But it was also simply a
matter of who could say no to this
guy? I mean, if I needed just a case
of Dewar's, he’d say, "Order two,
I'll give you a 10 percent
discount." It was an offer I could
never refuse.
Besides selling liquor, Chuck was
even more primo at selling himself.
Mickey Ward made a fortune off of
being Arturo Gatti’s punching bag,
and Chuck cashed in big on both his
fistic tango with Senor Ali and his
connection to the Rock-head movies.
Naturally, like all good war
stories, Chuck’s slightly
embellished Rocky tale went like
this:
"After my fight with Ali, Stallone
comes to see me about making a movie
based on it. He offered me a
one-time cash deal of $75,000, or a
share of the movie's profits.
(shrugs, smiles) I took the money --
hey, that was a lot of scratch back
in the '70s. Who knew from this
Stallone then, he was just another
bum actor."
As court records would later show,
the story was completely untrue. No
deal was ever struck, although
Stallone made promises to throw a
little coin Chuck’s way for the
better part of three decades before
a federal judge this week stamped
his ticket.
But Chuck's version made the rounds
back then of the only courts he put
stock in, the bars. Later, when he
branched out to selling liquor to
the casinos in AC, any high roller
seeing him would say, "That guy's
Chuck Wepner. He went the distance
with Ali, and the stunad! (smacks
his forehead), takes 75 large
instead of the vig from the movie!
Marrone a mi! But, I love that man."
It was hard not to. Though he looked
like the proverbial guy you would
never want to meet in an alley while
you’re taking a piss outside a bar,
Chuck is a gentle giant, quick with
the smile, generous and loyal as
long as you don't cross him. Then
you look for another zip code.
I worked the day shift, and in
gentrified Hoboken that meant nobody
under the age of 60 was coming in to
drink. The bar attracted mostly
retired guys. The only working
stiffs I got were the local bookies
who came in for a liquid break, or
were just tired of drinking at the
mob social club on Adam's Street
with its wallpaper of Frank Sinatra
and Jimmy Roselli photos and album
covers. From these guys, and Chuck,
I heard stories I would have written
about, but then I would never have
lived to see my royalties or
reunited with Marvelous Michael
Marley, but that's another story.
Let's just say I knew where all the
bodies are buried, even Hoffa's. (Is
the NSA reading FightNightNews???)
Anyway, besides Chuck, the
Chatterbox had its share of
celebrity visitors, including former
native sons Joe Pesci, Joey "Pants"
Pantaleone (cheap friggin' tipper),
Bronx’s Danny Aiello (never drank
alcohol, big tipper) and also Willie
"The Weeper," a bookie so nicknamed
because he was always bitching about
something -- but he passed away so I
won't say nothing bad about the
dead, even though he only left a
worn-out buck on five Heinekens.
Finally, there was Buddy and Petey,
who owned and cooked in,
respectively, the two best
restaurants in town, "Augustino’s"
and "Anthony's" (Roman emperors, get
it?). What made them celebrities was
that way back when they had jointly
owned a restaurant tucked in the
back ass of town between factories
called "The Lamppost." Legend goes,
whenever Famous Hoboken Person Frank
Sinatra came to town, first thing he
did after kissing his mother, he
would shut The Lamppost down to the
public and have the boys cook him
sausage and peppers and mozzarella
(pronounced "mootz" in Hobokenese).
(On his birthdays when ensconced in
Vegas, Sinatra flew Mr. P’s son out
every year with a big box of sausage
and peppers. I asked if I could
carry the box, but he told me I was
Jewish. I understood).
Then there was Louie La Russo, no
relation to the manager of similar
name, who gave up working the docks
to write plays, one of which was
"Lamppost Reunion" -- based on
Frankie holding court at the Hoboken
eatery, which had a good run on
Broadway.
But of all the nefarious celebs to
pull up a stool at the Chatterbox,
none stirred up more excitement than
Chuck Wepner. Soon as they spotted
him coming in, the old-timers were
up off their stool and throwing
punches at him and these were guys
so decrepit they only got off the
stool to hit the "terlit," as my
father used to call toilet in
Bayonnese (he grew up there, too and
was a "three-sewer hitter," you
gotta know mean streets to know what
that is, but Willie Mays was a
"four-sewer hitter," can you imagine
that, but you won't read that in the
Hall of Fame).
While many have broken noses to show
off as souvenirs from Chuck, I
treasured a photo taken of my son
Alex when he was like two months
old, being held in Chuck's arms in
the Chatterbox, Chuck managing to
keep a grip on both Alex and his
bottle of Bud, one dexterous guy. I
put the picture up on our
refrigerator, then lost it, along
with the refrigerator and everything
else when my wife divorced me, but
that’s another raw story.
Now I'm living in upstate New York,
writing screenplays and boxing
stories and digging the country
squire life. But tonight I will take
a few shots of JD for my man Chuck.
Congratulations, you went the
distance with Sly "Tightwad"
Stallone. A salud!
P.S.: Chuck was no one-trick pony.
Besides Ali, he got in the ring with
three other guys who became, or had
been world champions, and fought
three more boxers who would get
title shots. (Nobody tells you this
because it ruins the Rocky baloney
story).
Chuck also lost a 3d round TKO in
1969 to a young guy who had a 3-0
record at the time, George Foreman.
Two bouts later, Chuck went 10
rounds before he lost by TKO to
Sonny Liston in 1970, at the
illustrious Jersey City Armory. It
was the final time Liston would step
in a ring. Immediately after Liston,
Chuck added to his string of
celebrity TKO losses by traveling to
Wembley England (probably by
freighter) for a three-round-and-out
to Joe Bugner, who was European
Champ and would later lose two title
fights to Ali. For those counting,
that’s Foreman, Liston and Bugner in
a span of five fights. Not bad for a
“club fighter.”
Chuck also had his own "trilogy,"
although not one for the ages. Three
times Chuck fought one Randy Neumann
for the "New Jersey State
Heavyweight Title," the only title
recognized by the sanctioning bodies
in Jersey bars. In 1973, Wepner beat
former heavyweight champ, Ernie
Terrell in AC, the next to last
fight for Terrell before he retired.
Towards the end of his career, in
which he had a 35-14-2 record, Chuck
added a TKO loss to then undefeated
Duane Bobick (36-0). Fittingly,
Chuck's last fight (in a ring) was
to a young boxer named Scott Frank,
just 4-0 at the time. This was at
Lou Duva's palatial Ice World in
Totowa, N.J. Chuck went the
distance, but lost. The referee was
Jersey Joe Walcott. Frank would go
on to be 21-0 when he fought Larry
Holmes for the title, lost that
bout, then retired two victories
later.
So, as anybody who is nobody in
Jersey can tell you, Chuck Wepner
was no bum outside the ring like
Rocky, he just fought like him
inside the ropes. |
