Sweet Thunder - book

Sweet Thunder The Life and Times of Sugar Ray Robinson, by Wil Haygood (Alfred A. Knopf, 2009)

Man, o’ man, did I love this book! This is partly because Sugar Ray Robinson was a rags-to-riches, larger-than-life, stranger-than-fiction, pull-no-punches, quick-as-a-cat, hard-as-nails, sly-as-a fox, cock-of-the-walk, king-of-the-hill, generous-to-a-fault character, who was tooling around the streets of New York in his flamingo colored Cadillac convertible with his armed midget chauffeur when most other blacks were still riding in the back of the bus… and thus an outstanding candidate for a biography. That Hollywood has seen fit to make movies of Jake LaMotta and Rocky Graziano, but not of Sugar Ray Robinson (neé Walker Smith Jr.), is a mystery I cannot fathom.

I also loved it because Wil Haygood’s more than adequate prose brought back to life the bustling Harlem of the 1940’s and 50’s, and Sugar Ray’s finest moments, in all their color and glory: “As the American calendar kept rolling over the emotional headlines of the forties and the dangerously quiet fifties, a part of the world was spinning in a singular rhythm all its own. From private home to nightclub, from lodge to auditorium, there was a gathering of caramelized and brown and black faces. Sepia dreams – lovely, spilling forth at night – were everywhere, thousands captured in their net. These dreams could not escape segregation, or the laws of the land. But still, art poured from their conditional existence, like music lyrics written on a windowpane.”

I think I also liked it so well because of the “and times” part of the story. It was my finest time as well. I was a teenager and young man during the Sugar Ray period. We followed his every fight (on the radio and in print, of course) and were convinced he was the greatest pound-for-pound fighter of all time. This was the era of Miles Davis, Sammy Davis Jr., Langston Hughes, Lena Horne, Billy Eckstein, the Dorsey brothers, Walter Winchell, Frank Sinatra, Damon Runyon, Hype Igoe, and Jimmy Cannon, and so many more, all of whom patronized “Sugar Ray’s” popular and beautifully designed nightclub. The time when Sugar Ray won his first championship, taking the belt away from Tommy Bell, and fighting often against the likes of Jimmy Doyle (whom he involuntarily killed in the ring), Bobo Olson, Carmen Basilio, Jake LaMotta, Rocky Graziano, Randy Turpin, and many others. Before he was through, Sugar Ray had won both welterweight and middleweight championships, and were it not for the exceptional heat one June night in 1952, he would also have claimed the Light Heavyweight title from Joey Maxim, who outweighed him by 15 pounds. Haygood captures the hype, excitement, and outcome of most of these famous bouts, and also some of the circumstances leading up to them. His account of Sugar Ray’s bout with the Great Henry Armstrong, in which Robinson defeated the aging warrior but left him with his dignity and a much needed purse, is quite moving, as is his account of how Sugar Ray fought exhibitions after the death of Jimmy Doyle to insure that Doyle’s mother would have a house and security.

Having seen what happened to most boxers of the time, like his idol Joe Louis, Robinson not only managed to avoid the gangsters who muscled in on the fight game, but also, from very early in his career, took over his own management of it. He was a sharp businessman, not to be outsmarted by greedy promoters or crooked managers, and with the help of his only manager and close friend, George Gainford, became not only an outstanding champion, but an International celebrity, idolized in Europe as well as America.

Sugar Ray was “class,” and he brought it to boxing, understanding there was more to the sport than simply violence. He and his entourage (which grew larger over the years) dressed in style, stayed only in the finest hotels, ate in the finest restaurants, and hobnobbed with musicians, movie stars, and even royalty. He and his remarkably beautiful wife, along with Billy Eckstein and his equally beautiful wife, were show stoppers wherever they went.

Sugar Ray had dreams of becoming a dancer and show business personality, and was not without talent. He played piano, drums, and took dancing lessons for years. When he finally had to retire from the ring he attempted to enjoy a second career as an entertainer, but he was just not professional enough and soon failed. Haygood does not delve into what must have been the temptations for a person in Sugar Ray’s position, but there are hints, and eventually, after many years of a happy marriage, his first wife divorced him. He found happiness with a second marriage, to an equally beautiful woman, moving to Los Angeles, and starting a large foundation to help poor and neglected children. Hundreds of such children testified to the importance of the foundation and what it meant to them. At the height of his fame, and because of his pal, the strange but powerful Walter Winchell, he became involved in raising money for the Damon Runyon Cancer Fund, which he continued doing until the end. The end came much too quickly for this remarkable man, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, but mercifully died of a heart attack before it overwhelmed him. His life was remarkably scandal free (except for some unanswered questions about how he managed to get discharged from the army when he did). It is impossible to know how many thousands of people, fighters, children, others down on their luck, he helped during his lifetime. His unprecedented negotiations with the TV industry over TV rights was a victory for all fighters and led to exposing the widespread corruption that existed and a number of antitrust lawsuits, as well as to much more lucrative purses for all fighters. Sugar Ray was truly a man about whom it is fair to say, “he did it his way.” As Haygood put it:

“The final record stands at 173 wins, 19 losses, and 6 draws against a backdrop of a quarter century spent in the ring. It is easy and far too simple to keep making the pound-for-pound claim; the arc of his fighting career demands a deeper consideration. He lives because he lies beyond imitation. He is, as Stravinsky was to music, a wonder, a mystery, a piece of time.”