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A fight to remember
Video
By Joe Scalzo
Girard boxer retired gloves but not memories
GIRARD — Step back in time 59 years, to the musty locker room inside Rizal Memorial Stadium in the Philippines, about 50 miles from Manila.
It was May 5, 1949, and a 21-year-old Air Force sergeant named Jim Wilkins was about to fight a three-round exhibition in front of 30,000 fans against one of the most famous — and most feared — men on the planet, Joe Louis.
Louis’ trainer, Marshall Miles, walked in, looked Wilkins in the eye and issued a warning: “People didn’t come here to see you; they came to see Joe. So don’t get cute, and everything will be all right.”
Before we go on, you have to understand something about Wilkins: He was still a pretty darn good boxer. Two years earlier, he had been runner-up in the Cleveland Golden Gloves in the novice division, and since then he’d beaten just about everyone the Air Force had to offer. He was a tough kid.
Oh, and one more thing: He was 21. He was giving up 25 pounds — Wilkins weighed 205 at the time — to a guy with 25 successful title defenses, and yet it didn’t stop him.
“I thought I was tough,” he said. “What made me do it? I’m crazy.”
Wilkins had heard Louis was coming to Clark Air Force Base a few days earlier. Someone asked him if he’d be willing to fight him, and Wilkins said sure, especially since they were offering $1,500.
“For nine minutes, I like that,” said Wilkins, now a retired bricklayer who has lived in Girard for more than 35 years.
Problem was, to get the money, he had to be a professional. Wilkins was still an amateur.
“So the next day I went and got my professional license,” he said.
As the fight got closer, Wilkins got more anxious. “Scared to death,” is the phrase he used. But he also knew it was one of the biggest moments of his life, so when Miles issued his warning, Wilkins made a choice.
“We stepped into the ring and touched gloves and the first thing I did after the bell rang was hit Joe with a left hook,” Wilkins said. “Well, that upset him and he beat me up a little bit after that.”
At one point, Wilkins got in a good shot, and Louis went down on one knee. They played it up as Louis doing some ring comedy, but Wilkins still isn’t sure.
“To this day it’s sort of, ‘Did I or didn’t I?’” he said. “I don’t know. But it really doesn’t make any difference. I could have gone all night. My adrenaline was flowing so great that at the end of the three rounds, I could have gone 20 rounds and still been fresh as a daisy.
“It seemed like time just flew by.”
Exhibitions aren’t like regular fights. Points aren’t tallied; results aren’t announced. But it’s still boxing. It still hurts. And it’s still the only time in Wilkins’ life he got a black eye.
“Let me tell you something,” he said. “I’ve been hit pretty hard by guys, but I remember him hitting me with a jab and I thought, ‘Holy smokes, what is this?’
“The next day I had a rope burn on my back from when he knocked me into the rope. It was 4 inches long and about an inch and a half deep.”
Afterward, Wilkins went into the locker room to thank Louis for the opportunity.
“Joe’s not a man of a lot of words,” said Wilkins. “But it was a great experience, and Joe was a true gentleman. We talked afterward and he said, ‘Sarge, you’re gonna do OK.’”
Wilkins moved to Florida after his stint was up and fought 11 professional fights — they were called “smokers,” since they were fought in smoky back rooms — and won nine, picking up $60 for six rounds, win or lose.
“After that, I just kind of packed it in,” he said. “But I had fun.”
Wilkins was born in Youngstown, went to school in Cleveland (although he never graduated) and eventually settled near Warren. He got married three times. The first two lasted a few years, but the third one, to a Girard teacher named Bonnie Jean, stuck. They were married for 48 years before she died a year and a half ago. Now, his main companion is his dog, a boxer (what else?) named “Xena the Warrior Princess.”
“She’s the greatest dog in the world,” he said.
He doesn’t follow boxing much anymore, although he keeps up with Youngstown’s Kelly Pavlik. His eyesight isn’t very good, which keeps him from seeing Pavlik in person. But he watches him on TV.
“He amazes me,” Wilkins said. “The last guy he fought [Jermain Taylor] was nothing but a mass of muscle. And Kelly’s just a skinny white kid. When I first saw them, I thought, ‘Kelly’s gonna get killed.’
“But it doesn’t work like that. Pavlik is something else. He can really bang.”
He’s not the only one.
scalzo@vindy.com