Jimmy, at 16 years old, was a tough feisty kid. He spent most of his awaken days on the streets of Harlem. When he and his gang weren't fighting with the gangs of other neighborhoods, he spent the rest of the time, stealing from the pushcart vendors. The vendors lined the street of Park Avenue, and East 111th Street with all types of wares. The pushcarts were so close together, that there was little room to walk in between them. The carts were of every conceivable color and hue. Most having been there for years. Some were so weather-beaten that the wood sides were so rotten that it appeared to be eaten by termites. The vendors sold everything and anything. If you didn't see what you wanted, it probably could not be gotten anywhere.
Jimmy and his gang knew most of the vendors, and the vendors knew them. The vendors had no fear of Jimmy and his gang, but never the less, didn't want to see them or hear them. There never was any physical confrontation between the two. It was more like a cat and mouse game, and a shouting match, like "hey you kids get the h…out of here, before I call the cops." To which Jimmy or Franky, or Joey, or Pissy,(Pissy was not his real name.) The boys gave him that name because, no matter where he was he had to urinate all the time. He would have to go at the screwiest times, even when they were shooting the bull with the girls on the front steps where they lived. There was nothing wrong with him physically, he just liked to pee) would reply, "up yours, you dirty Jew b….., why don't you go back to where you came from." Apparently, not realizing or caring that they were Jewish themselves.
Boxing in this neighborhood, was an important way of life, and when the gang was not otherwise preoccupied, this is what they did. They all chipped in one day and went down to Davega, to buy a pair of boxing gloves. An argument developed between the boys as to what size of gloves did they want. Each had a personal preference and thus a decision was difficult. One wanted a size 6, the smallest and lightest glove available. One seldom used by even the professionals, except possibly in a championship match. Getting hit by one who was wearing this size glove was like being hit by a sledge hammer.A size 8 was brought up. Eventually, they decided on a size 14 glove, the largest available, and only used in practice sessions. Jimmy argued that such a pair of gloves would weight nearly two pounds and would soon tire the boxers that they would not be able to lift their hands up after a few minutes. After a short discussion, they agreed and finally decided on 10 ounce gloves.
Jimmy, at age 16, was the leader of the gang. The gang respected him and he respected them. Jimmy felt a deep responsibility as a leader, and was always looking for ways to lead and inspire them. His inspiration was proven when he demonstrated to the boys (as he always called them) his skills as a boxer. He could easily beat any boy in the neighborhood whether it was a street fight or a friendly boxing match at the neighborhood gym. What no one knew was that when Jimmy could get away from the gang, he secretly went to the gym, and since he showed such a sincere interested in boxing, the gym's staff allowed him to do anything he wanted to do, such as punch the bag, skip rope, toss the medicine ball around or anything that was available.
It was during one of his secret training sessions, that he was noticed
by Max Rappaport, one of the staffs boxing trainers. Max was well known
in the fighting game, having trained many successful boxers, but never
producing a champion and at age 62, had no plans to retire. Max's
mission in life was to produce a champion. Something that he had been
narrowly missing in his 35 years in the boxing game. And as he
occasionally remarked, "always a bridesmaid, but never a bride," which
was usually met with humorous remarks, such; "what are you a goil or
sumthin?" Max had kept his eye on Jimmy for several weeks, and thought
that he had a lot of talent as a boxer. He also felt that Jimmy could be
very successful as a professional boxer, but he had to try him out
first, to see if he could take a punch or give one. Max had seen Jimmy
box on occasions with some of the street punks in the neighborhood. But
this was no true test. He had to get Jimmy in the ring with a good
experienced boxer to prove once and for all whether his intuition as
maker of successful fighters was still working.
Jimmy's secret ambition was to be a professional fighter, something he
had not told anyone, including his boys. He knew that he had some talent
as a boxer. How much, he didn't know? No one had ever told him, and he
never asked. All he knew was that he could beat any boy in his
neighborhood, even though they weighed more than he did. It was a normal
day getting out from school, he headed straight for the gym. He had
spent about an hour punching the sandbag, and lifting some weights, and
was so tired that he just sat in the corner watching the 2 boxers in the
large ring working out. It was at this time when Max Rappaport seized
the opportunity to talk to Jimmy. "Hi Jimmy, how ya doing?" Jimmy turned
around and to his amazement there was Mr. Rappaport standing in front of
him. Not only standing but talking to him. Jimmy was a tough and feisty
boy, who normally would reply with some sort of sarcastic remark. But
nobody spoke to Mr. Rappaport in the negative. "ER, just fine sir." Not
knowing what else to say, but suddenly recovering from his surprise and
bewilderment, continued with, "I'm doing great Mr. Rappaport, just
resting a bit before I continue my workout. How are you?" "I'm okay,
just wanted to tell you that I've been watching you for a while working
out alone, and I thought that I'd speak with you, if you would like to
work out sometimes with one of my boys." Jimmy didn't know what to say.
For the first time in his life, he was speechless. To have a great
trainer like Mr. Rappaport make such an offer was rarely heard of. It
took several seconds for him to reply to Max's offer. It was what he had
been waiting for, for a long time. "Gee, gosh, huh, Mr.Rappaport that
would be great." Call me Max. Ya hear? Max, no more Mr. Rappaport."
“Sure, Mr Ra…. Er, I mean Max, anything you say.”
"Tell ya what," replied Max. "Tomorrow's Saturday, Suppose you get here
at 8:00 am. Can you make it?" No problem at all", Jimmy eagerly replied.
"Bring a pair of trunks and a jock strap, I'll take care of the rest,"
said Max.
Jimmy couldn't sleep that night. All he could think of was tomorrow.
The excitement of not knowing what would happen kept Jimmy tossing and
turning all night. Gee, why did Max pick on me? There were others there
that would give anything to have this opportunity.
Jimmy suddenly sat up in bed, when he thought of how the heck he was
going to tell Joey, Franky, and Pissy. After all, he never did tell them
of his secret training sessions at the gym, and tomorrow being Saturday,
he was expected to be with the boys most of the day thinking of some
devious way of passing the time. He had to think of something to tell
them, without losing face. But right now he had to get some sleep, or he
would be useless in the morning.
The alarm woke Jimmy from a deep sleep. He shut the alarm off, and tried
to focus on the hands of the clock. He had forgotten as to what time he
had set the alarm for. As the hands became clearer to Jimmy, he stood up
with a start. Holy gee, 7 o'clock, I've only got an hour to get to the
gym. Rushing through, brushing his teeth, he thought, I'm so glad that I
don't have to shave.
Opening the icebox, Jimmy drank from the milk container, slopping most
of the milk on his shirt, aw heck, I ain't got no time for this.
Forgetting his tiredness and being hungry, he grabbed his trunks, then
suddenly remembered that Max had told him to also bring his jock strap.
Jock strap? What jock strap. He never owned one, never needed one. In
fact he had never seen one. But Max had been very specific in telling
Jimmy to bring one. He knew what a jock strap was. It was supposed to
protect a certain organ if he got hit. Jimmy's mind was racing. He only
had about 10 minutes to get to the gym. What was he going to do about
this? Max would never forgive him if he didn't bring one. He would think
that he was a kid, not mature enough to have a jockstrap. After all, all
boxers had a jockstrap. Some had two as a spare. But Jimmy wasn't a
boxer. Not yet anyway. Maybe Mr.Rappaport, would be kind to him, and let
him train without one.
Racing down the stairs of his tenement building, he was confronted by
his boys. "Hey Jimmy, what's your hurry?" said Franky. To which Jimmy
replied, "what the heck are you guys doing here so early?" "Early, what
you talking about?" said Pissy "We always get here about this time, and
where the heck are you going in such a hurry, got a date?
Jimmy knew that he had to tell them the truth, but now wasn't the time.
The gym wasn't too far away, but he only had a few minutes to get there.
"Listen fellas, I'm sort of in a hurry right now, but suppose we meet
later, and I'll tell you all about it. I promise. Okay?" Knowing that
Jimmy always kept his word, and when he said that he was in a hurry, he
meant it, and that there was some good reason for this. Without uttering
a word, the boys stepped aside-allowing Jimmy to continue on. "Geez,"
said Joey "where do you think he was going?" "He'll tell us when he's
ready," said Franky.
