Floyd Patterson by W. K. Stratton

Author:W. K. Stratton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

If Floyd had practiced self-denial at his training camps and in his choice of accommodations at earlier fights—a freezing jockey’s room, a rat-infested abandoned dancehall—he now indulged himself. He lodged at a villa in an upscale Miami neighborhood, apart from his wife and daughters and his recently born son, Floyd Jr. He trained at Miami Beach’s Hotel Deauville, a fabulous MiMo structure that was one of Sinatra’s favorite hangouts. At the villa, he greeted the New Yorker’s A. J. Liebling while wearing a silk dressing robe. To Liebling’s eye, it appeared Patterson had fleshed out to a full heavyweight, with ropey muscle showing around the base of his neck. But the champ exuded anything but confidence. Patterson said a bad dream was haunting him, so bad he couldn’t describe it. “It’s lucky I’m not superstitious,” he said. “If I was, I wouldn’t go through with this fight.”10 Liebling could hardly believe his ears. Neither fighter seemed particularly hungry for the title.

D’Amato, arriving in Miami with his position in the Patterson entourage reduced to little more than that of hanger-on, considered the fight to be a no-win situation for Patterson. D’Amato thought Johansson would be as good as ever in the ring, gluttony aside. Floyd would have to fight his best fight to win. But D’Amato thought the boxing press would refuse to recognize the situation as such. If Patterson won, D’Amato believed, the press would report it was because Johansson was fat and out of shape. If Johansson won, well, then that would prove that Patterson was really a bum all along, a bum who lost to another bum who wasn’t even in condition. No doubt the fighters themselves held similar concerns. For the average boxing fan, the bout promised to be a ho-hum affair.

Early on, ticket sales were as soft as Johansson’s expanding gut, only picking up once promoters resorted to fire-sale pricing: $100 ringside seats could be had for as little as $20. Matters were better organized than they had been at the Polo Grounds—there were no riots. This time, since the bout was taking place in Miami instead of in New York State, where he remained banned as a manager, “adviser” D’Amato was among those working Patterson’s crowded corner. The others were Dan and Nick Florio and Buster Watson. Liebling, watching from ringside, wasn’t sure having D’Amato as a second was such a good idea. He feared D’Amato’s presence made Patterson jumpy—“It must be like having your old man in your corner.”11

Patterson certainly seemed jumpy during the hours before the opening bell. Perhaps he was still haunted by the indescribable nightmare. He remained on edge when he climbed through the ropes for the fight’s first round. He had good reason to be anxious. The jab Patterson had been trying to improve in recent weeks was ineffective as the fight got under way. After throwing one, Floyd committed the cardinal sin of failing to follow it with another jab or with a right cross. He also failed to step out of Johansson’s range.

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