The Name of the Game

By Adam Heach

THE NAME OF THE GAME

Heavyweight Thad Spencer—he could have been the 1960 Olympic gold medalist. Instead he turned professional at 17 to be Eddie Machen's sparring partner. Poor management, poor training habits and a love of nightlife slowed his progress until in 1964 he hooked up with Willie Ketchum, trainer and manager of fighters from boxing's early days as a populist sport, controlled by underworld bosses. In his 30 years in the business, Willie had seen and done it all except manage and train a heavyweight of promise all the way to the Promised Land, the greatest prize in all of sports: the Heavyweight Championship of the World.  As a fighter, Spencer had it all. Admirers called him "another Joe Louis" for his cool, calculating demeanor in the ring and lightning fast hands. Along with Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali, he should be remembered as one of the outstanding heavyweights of the 1960s and early 1970s. Instead, today, Thad Spencer is boxing's all but forgotten fighter.

 

CLAY MOYLE, AUTHOR OF BILLY MISKE: THE ST. PAUL THUNDERBOLT: 

THE NAME OF THE GAME story concerns the life and boxing career of Thad Spencer who at one time was the #1 ranked contender for the heavyweight championship of the world in the latter part of the 1960's.  Author, Adam Heach, writes about Muhammad Ali's fight with Jerry Quarry in 1970 after his boxing license had been reinstated and says that when Spencer read about the fight he was jealous to the point of making himself physically ill. It was the Muhammad Ali bout Thad had wanted his entire career. Instead he was the forgotten man. "It should have been me, "Spencer thought regretfully. It should have been me." Yeah, that's pretty much what happened I thought as I read that part of the book, Spencer, a talented heavyweight basically became the forgotten man. I have to admit that prior to reading Adam's fine book about Spencer I had no knowledge of Thad's boxing career whatsoever. I'm not sure what possessed Adam to write a book about such a flawed character as Thad Spencer, but I'm glad he did. The book is extremely well researched and makes for fine reading. I highly recommend the book to anyone who would like to learn more about this period of heavyweight boxing history.

 

JIM AMATO, MEMBER OF THE BOXING WRIERS ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA (DWAA):  Author Adam Heach really did his homework on this book. Spencer's time in the limelight was brief but it was also full of controversy. I highly recommend it.

 

TRACY G. CALLIS , BOXING HISTORIAN AND DIRECTOR OF HISTORICAL RESEARCH AT CYBERBOXINGZONE: Adam Heach has written a most compelling and entertaining book about former '60s top ranked heavyweight contender Thad Spencer who boxed in arguably one of the most turbulent and interesting periods of ring history. Many/most of us around today were young fans when Spencer was active in the ring. Like Thad, we were disappointed when he failed to reach his potential. Here was a prime example of a man with outstanding talent who lost focus and allowed destructive habits get in the way of his important goals. Heach's account of the life and goings-on around Spencer contains some intriguing facts as it takes the reader back to a period in history when heavyweight boxing reigned as the number one spectator sport. 

 

J RUSSEL PELTZ, BOXING PROMOTER, MEMBER OF THE INTERNATIONAL BOXING HALL OF FAME, AND WORLD BOXIN G HALL OF FAME : "One of the best books on boxing I have read, and I have read just about every book on the subject. I could not put down this book."

• Language: English
• Publisher: NoCo Books
• Release date: Jun 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223358855

Adam Heach

Adam Heach is the pen-name of Brendan Granahan. He was born in New York City and raised and educated in Ireland. He is the author of the biographical novel “Voyager: An American Prayer” (2001), a collection of autobiographical short stories, “In the Belly of the Big Black Beast” (2003), and “Heaven and Earth (2008), a series of interrelated stories based on the tragic events of September 11, 2001. His short story “I Had my Shoes Shined in Istanbul on Christmas Day” was short listed in the Emerging Fiction category for the 2006 Hennessy Literary Awards. He is a full time teacher and writer. Contact the author at [e-mail]

Book preview

1

PROLOGUE

MANY YEARS AFTER THAD Spencer had retired from the ring and he was attempting to resurrect himself as a boxing promoter in his home state of Oregon, a diehard fan (identity unknown) saw fit to present the former ’60s heavyweight contender with a replica of a World Boxing Association championship belt. The belt was made of polished black leather with red trim and extra fur on the back to prevent chaffing. It was inlaid with three gold plates, the largest in the center, and topped off with a series of crowns. A sprinkling of faux diamonds and rubies completed the gaudy picture. Such replicas can be purchased from specialty stores, although authentic replica belts are not generally available for sale to the public. The belt is a garish trophy even at the best of times, but newly crowned world champions are happy to hold it aloft in victory, or strap it around their well-honed abdominals. On such occasions, it’s useful for posturing with and not much else, but Spencer in his vanity took to wearing it about his no longer slim waist at his boxing shows.

What exactly Spencer’s replica belt was supposed to represent is another matter entirely, one not so easy to determine. Spencer had been a top ranked heavyweight from 1963 through the middle months of 1968 but during his eleven year career as a professional fighter he never won more than a state championship. He never fought for the heavyweight title, although in 1967 he was slated to fight Muhammad Ali before Ali was stripped of the title for refusing induction into the United States Army. As a fighter, Spencer’s chief claim to fame was a decisive 12-round victory over former WBA titleholder Ernie Terrell in the WBA elimination tournament to determine a successor to Ali. By the end of the 1967, Thad was number one ranked contender in the world. For a brief, wondrous moment, Spencer’s name was spoken in the same breath as Joe Frazier’s and Muhammad Ali’s, but today he is heavyweight boxing’s all but forgotten fighter.

He had all the moves, wrote Los Angeles Times sports writer Jim Murray. The left was snake-like, the right punishing. He didn’t just win fights, he choreographed them. Commented Muhammad Ali trainer Angelo Dundee: He could punch and move and he was so brave. But Spencer was also, as Sports Illustrated contributor Mark Kram observed, a prince of the night and neon. By 1968, Spencer had completely disappeared from boxing’s radar screen. Complacency, cocaine and a love of partying had finished him as a serious contender and left in its stead a bloated caricature of his once svelte self, dealing cocaine and flirting with violent death. It was a spectacular fall from the top of the ring ratings and a sad ending to a once promising career.

Spencer’s co-manager and trainer during his peak years, Willie Ketchum, was the type of colorful boxing manager and trainer beloved of clichéd Hollywood boxing movies of the ’40s and ’50s where shady deals are done in smoked filled night clubs set to the honeyed voice of Lena Horne or trumpet strains of Duke Ellington.

It was no secret that in the 1940s and 1950s boxing was controlled by underworld figures and that Ketchum was, to some extent, involved with them. In New York in the 1940s and 1950s if you wanted to do business in boxing, you had to go through Paul John Carbo, also known as Frankie Carbo, whom New York Times sportswriter Red Smith described as the more or less benevolent despot of  boxing’s Invisible Empire. In those days gangsters were gentlemen; they wore tailored three-piece suits; they dined in the finest of restaurants; they were on first name speaking terms with congressmen and senators; they ran rackets and criminal empires, and from time to time they murdered people. It was the nature of the game.

By the early 1960s the gangster element was largely gone from boxing, but Willie Ketchum, in his 60s, was still going strong. His latest champion was featherweight Davey Moore. Davey won the world title from Hogan Kid Bassey in 1959 and defended it 5 times. On March 21, 1963, Moore defended against Sugar Ramos of Cuba, but was kayoed in the 10th round. He died four days later. Afterward there was a call to ban boxing. The controversy died down but Ketchum, deeply affected, dropped out of boxing for a while. In his 30 years of boxing Willie Ketchum had seen and done it all except manage a fighter with the ability to win the heavyweight championship of the world. John L. Sullivan, James J. Corbett, James J. Jeffries, Jack Johnson, Jack Dempsey, Gene Tunney, Rocky Marciano—these were names to be treasured and revered. Even lesser champions like Schmeling, Sharkey, Baer, Charles, and Walcott had worn the coveted crown and their names, too, would be immortalized, but the greatest of all champions, in Willie’s opinion, was Joe Louis, who reigned from 1937 to 1949. The legendary Brown Bomber was the consummate boxer-puncher. In the ring he was cool, calculating and deadly. Joe wore the crown for so long sometimes it seemed as if there would never be another, but Joe’s day came and went and there were other champions.

In April, 1963, Ketchum began to hear reports of a heavyweight out of Portland, Oregon, who could box and punch in the manner of the old champion. Willie watched him fight at the Moulin Rouge, a Los Angeles night club which was run, coincidentally, by Joe Louis. His hands were lightning fast and he moved with the same distinctive shuffle of the Brown Bomber. His name was Thad Spencer. Louis was impressed. So was Willie. Spencer’s manager Walter Minskoff was on the lookout for a new trainer. Still affected by the death of Davey Moore, Willie wasn’t ready to get back in the game just yet, but about a year later Minskoff again came looking and this time Willie said, Yes. At 60 years of age, Willie Ketchum was back in business again and in pursuit of the one prize in boxing that to date had eluded him, the greatest prize in all of sports: the heavyweight championship of the world.

I look at Thad Spencer, Willie told the press of the day, and I see another Joe Louis.

Thad and Willie; the game was on.

2

BETTER THAN CLAY

THADDEUS SPENCER, JR. was born on March 28, 1943, in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, but his father moved the family to the more populous and certainly far greener city of Portland, Oregon, when Thad was still an infant. The United States at this time was heavily involved in World War II, and Thad Sr. was shipped off to the sandy deserts of North Africa as part of the Allied effort to combat General Erwin Rommel’s Akfika’s Korps, leaving behind Spencer’s mom to take care of a growing family of 5 brothers and 6 sisters. Thad was the third oldest.

In 1948, the Spencer family lost everything it owned when the Columbia River burst a 200 foot section of the railroad dike and washed away Vanport, a wartime city of public housing located between the Portland city limits and Columbia River. It was constructed in 1943 to house workers at the shipyards in Portland and Vancouver, Washington, and was home to 40,000, making it Oregon’s second-largest city and the largest public housing project in the nation. About 40 percent of Vanport’s residents were African-American. The houses, constructed on wooden foundations, floated away in the deluge, leaving the entire population of Vanport homeless. Remarkably only 16 people died. Thad was five years old at the time.

Later Thaddeus Sr. worked for the city. My dad was the first black man to work for the Portland City Street Department. When he started, he couldn't ride in the truck. He had to walk to the job site. When he retired, he was driving the truck. Despite its size the Spencer family was not noted for its athletic ability. My dad was not a boxer or any other kind of athlete, Spencer said. Fact is, I don’t come of a family of athletes. My brother Mel was a fine baseball player, but he wasn’t about to succeed Willie Mays or Henry Aaron.

Whenever he could, Thad watched the Gillette Cavalcade of Sports, the Friday night TV show broadcast from New York’s Madison Square Garden, more commonly known as The Friday Night Fights. The popular show which ran on NBC primetime from 1948 to 1960 featured every great boxer of the time—Rocky Marciano, Sugar Ray Robinson, Archie Moore, Rocky Graziano, Willie Pep, Carmen Basilio and Bobo Olson. TVs weren’t plentiful, but there were always a couple of the neighbors who had one even if it was a tiny box set and who would let you sit on the floor and watch. The show started with an appearance by Sharpie the Parrot and the Gillette theme song which was Look Sharp/Be Sharp and Thad and the other kids would chime in on cue when Sharpie squawked, Look sharp! Feel sharp! Be sharp!  When the bell sounded it was just like at church. At first there wouldn’t be a sound. Then Jimmy Powers at ringside would announce, Friday night fights are on the air! and you knew you were in for a treat. Thad watched mesmerized as The Cuban Hawk Kid Gavilan and Sugar Ray Robinson glided gracefully across the TV screen to yet another victory. Afterward, he and the neighbors’ kids would arrange impromptu fights in imitation of their TV heroes. None of them could fight properly, of course; there were lots of bloody noses and swollen eyes, but seldom a clear victor. Occasionally, an older kid would come along who could fight some and Thad and the others would be in awe of him.

As a still growing teen, Spencer attended Roosevelt High School for one year, then Jefferson High for another. Jefferson High was a predominately black school. It had pretty solid football and basketball programs and over the years several nationally recognized athletes emerged from it: Pete Ward played 9 seasons for the Baltimore Orioles, Chicago White Sox, and New York Yankees, and Terry Baker, a quarterback for the Oregon State University football team won the 1962 Heisman Trophy. But the school had nothing when it came to boxing and becoming a world champion like Sugar Ray Robinson and appearing on TV were all Thad could think about. He dropped out of Jefferson after his sophomore year. It did not have a boxing team, Thad recalled, and I was for boxing from the age of 13. It was all I wanted to do.

Thad’s first cousin, Willie Richardson, a professional boxer, taught Spencer the fundamentals of the sport when he was 14; Willie would spar with Thad and show him how to jab and cover up; in reality, they were artless sessions in which Thad fighting his older cousin ended up with a sore nose or bruised eye, but Spencer was game. Big for his age and strong, he usually managed to sneak in a hard punch or two of his own under Willie’s suspect guard. We’d go out in the back yard and lace on the gloves. I got belted about a lot, but eventually I learned to hold my own. Sometimes Thad accompanied Willie to the Grand Avenue Gym where his cousin jumped rope, hit the heavy bag and sparred but Thad, still a juvenile, wasn’t allowed to work out there. Professionals, only. Sorry, kid. That’s the rule. Spencer looked on in envy as the fighters sparred and went through their paces, but he knew he would be back some day when nobody would ask, How old are you, son?

Thad boxed at the Knott Street Community Center. If he was still too young to work out in the Grand Avenue Gym, the center was the place to be. The boxing club was part of the city parks and recreation department. It was begun in 1951 in the basement of the Knott Street Community Center, which was later renamed the Matt Dishman Community Center. The center is located in the heart of one of Portland’s busiest African American neighborhoods, which in the 1950s and early 1960s was also one of the most impoverished. The objective of the community center, then as now, was to get kids away from the violence, drugs and hopelessness of the streets, and give them a chance to participate and excel in sports. At this time there were more than a dozen amateur boxing clubs in Portland, but Knott Street, once it established itself on a national level, soon became known as Oregon’s boxing club par excellence.

These were exciting times for the fourteen year old Thad Spencer. Being a Knott Street boxer and fighting on a weekly show was as about as thrilling as it could get. More than 150 aspiring amateur boxers came to the gym every day, among them a starry eyed Thad Spencer who was determined to make a name for himself. He couldn’t have arrived at a better moment. In 1959, the city hired former Knott Street boxer Chuck Lincoln to coach the boxing team and so began a golden era of boxing for the Portland community center.

Lincoln had a sound pedigree as an amateur fighter. A Golden Glove champion, he qualified for the 1950 National AAU tournament in Boston as a welterweight, losing in the second round. He turned professional for a while and though still weighing in as a welterweight, he often fought as a middle and light heavyweight. Chuck was a little too good on the local scene and had trouble securing fights. Soon, however, he found his niche as a trainer, motivator and father figure at the Knott Street Center which he helped run with coach Clyde Quisenberry. Every morning, Chuck drove around the neighborhood, picking up the team members to go running, and waiting for them in the gym each evening after school. Chuck expected the best, and if you were in the club and he trained you, you wanted to do your best for him. His attitude was Spartan at times, gentle at others, but the results spoke for themselves. Between 1961 and 1972 Chuck trained 9 of the club’s 10 national champions.

Thad fought and won regularly. Sometimes he fought every week, but after each victory his family, and his dad in particular, had a difficult time believing Spencer could be successful as a boxer. Thad, you just stay off the streets and stay out of trouble, hear? But the victories kept coming, the medals and trophies kept coming; soon his name and picture began to appear in local newspapers, and they had to believe. Not only could Thad Spencer fight but he could fight well.  He won several Golden Gloves championships in Oregon and Washington. When he was 16, he fought all-Army champ Elmer Rush and knocked him out in the 2nd round.  As an amateur, he racked up an outstanding record of 101 victories and 3 defeats. Thad Spencer was going places, possibly even the 1960 Tokyo Olympics.

At age 15, Spencer became a sparring partner for top-ranked heavyweight contender Eddie Machen who fought fighters such as Zora Folley, Floyd Patterson, Joe Frazier, Ernie Terrell, Sonny Liston and Jerry Quarry. Originally, Thad had hoped to qualify and secure a berth for the 1960 Rome Olympics but instead was convinced by Machen to turn pro so he could begin earning money. What do you want another trophy for? asked Machen. You can’t eat gold.

Eddie Machen was the fighter I looked up to, said Spencer. He was a good fighter.

Eddie Machen, from Redding, California, was more than a good boxer, though brilliant may seem like hyperbole for a fighter who never fought for or won the heavyweight championship of the world. Eddie was the type of skilled boxer you inevitably referred to in defense of the blood sport of boxing when somebody was killed or hurt in the ring and the public call arose to ban boxing for its undisguised intent of inflicting bodily harm on another human being. Machen was an apologist’s dream, as skilled and as crafty as they came. For Eddie, boxing was as much an art as it was a sport.

Eddie was a troubled teenager. As a youth, he spent a while in reform school and jail, but when he got out he learned the rudiments of the game from his uncle Dave Mills who at one time claimed to be heavyweight champion of South America. In his youth, Mills had learned the nuances of the sport from that well known master of the art and troublemaker, Jack Johnson. As a rising contender, Eddie never forgot that the aim of the game was, as much as possible, to hit your opponent while not allowing yourself to get hit in return.

Machen could jab, slip punches, feint, counterpunch, and throw combinations, and like a will o’ the wisp be elsewhere in the ring when his opponent attempted to retaliate. Of course, there was a downside to Eddie’s style of boxing which frequently made him box office poison to fans and promoters alike and it was this: Eddie didn’t like to get hit. He didn’t like to mix it up. He didn’t like to get his movie star good looks messed up. Like Gene Tunney before him, Machen was a scientific boxer. He wasn’t a primordial throwback to the Stone Age like Jack Dempsey intent on slaying any man or beast sent before him, leaving a trail of broken bones and blood in his wake. No, you didn’t go to an Eddie Machen fight for the thrills and excitement of seeing one man pounding with his gloved fists on another. Unless you were a purist, and you appreciated the finer nuances of the sport, oftentimes your chief preoccupation at an Eddie Machen fight was trying to stay awake.

Mr. Excitement he was not.

In 1958, Machen was ranked number one contender in the world, but he lost his chance for a shot at the heavyweight championship held by Floyd Patterson when he was knocked out in the opening round by Sweden’s Ingemar Johansson. It was Machen’s first defeat. Subsequently, he relocated to Portland with manager Sid Flaherty to lick his wounds and decide on his next move. It was at one of the weekly amateur boxing shows hosted by the Grand Avenue Gym that Machen first spotted the talented Thad Spencer. Eddie liked what he saw: a young, fast, eager, if slightly bullish youngster. Thad had started his amateur career as a middleweight but quickly filled out to become at 16 the Northwest amateur heavyweight champion. Eddie invited Thad to join his training camp as his sparring partner and Thad didn’t have to think twice before accepting. He didn’t have to ask permission to train at the Grand Avenue Gym anymore. It was a proud moment walking through those doors.

Eddie was a slick and talented boxer, but hanging with Eddie Machen was a risky proposition for an impressionable 15 year old. Eddie was a poor role model. Under the direction of Chuck Lincoln, the Knott Street Center had taken Thad Spencer away from the worst temptations of the streets, but now Eddie Machen presented them back to Thad as gifts on a silver platter: alcohol, marijuana and even cocaine. Spencer still boxed as an amateur but he was moving in a man’s world now, and if this was the price of admission he was not about to say no. Thad liked being part of Eddie’s world and entourage. It made him feel grown up.

About the neighborhood, Spencer liked to brag he was Machen’s chief sparring partner, but it was stablemate Johnny Massey who a year older at 17 and 10 pounds heavier at 190 was able to hold his own against the accomplished Machen, not Spencer. Not only did Massey hold his own but he also managed to get in a couple of jolting right crosses that had, according to observers, Machen holding on. But it was the younger Spencer that Machen’s manager, Sid Flaherty, had his eye on. Flaherty didn’t believe in a man going into the ring simply to slug it out with his opponent. A slugger lasts a year or two and then you never hear of him again, but a good boxer can be a top flight contender or champion for 10 years easily. Flaherty knew what he was talking about. His main charge, former world middleweight champion Bobo Olson, wasn’t known for his kayo punch, yet he had 47 of 97 victories inside the distance to his credit, usually the result of an accumulation of blows rather than any one definitive punch. What Thad did have that Massey lacked was finesse. The punching power will come in time, said Flaherty. Massey would go on to have an undistinguished 13-2 record as a pro, his only fight of note being a six round decision loss to Billy Daniels at Madison Square Garden, New York, in 1961 and it was Thad Spencer who would develop into a world class contender.

Sid Flaherty had brought former champ Bobo Olson to Portland with him. Over the years, Flaherty had grown fond of the steady income of cash that Bobo provided and even after Olson lost the championship he was reluctant to let it go. Together in Portland, Flaherty and Olson opened up a nightclub. In 1959 Olson was on the comeback trail for the middleweight crown he had held for a three year span in the mid-50s. Bobo put on weight easily and fighting as a light heavyweight, he had beaten former world light heavyweight champion Joey Maxim in 1955 and Thad often went toe to toe with the stocky and balding Hawaiian. Fighting the determined Olson was always a daunting task and it was the former middleweight champ who taught Spencer the value of body punching.  I used to spar with him and he was the best in the business as far as body punching goes, said Thad. You could never tell where his punches were coming from. But it was the taller, slicker and far more polished Machen who gave the young Thad Spencer nightmares. Machen used to give me a licking ever time I sparred with him, but I just stayed in there, and finally I got to a point where I could defend myself and counter.

Outside the ring Thad was moving in a man’s world and growing up fast. But true to form, there was seldom a situation Thad Spencer could not make instantly more complicated simply by showing up. As a professional, his moniker of choice was Babe, so called because of his youthful looking and roundish baby face and California newspapers of the day liked to refer to him as Big Thaddy but Thad Spencer preferred to refer to himself as The Player, a term which is as pejorative today as it was in 1960. For Thad Spencer, life at 17 was about making a name for himself inside and outside the boxing ring. Outside the ring, he was something of a ladies’ man. For Thad, in this worldly game of ego and respect, winning meant less than the taking part. Spencer was competitive and gregarious by nature and he measured the extent of his game by the respect he commanded in his neighborhood from his peers and the more game a player has, the more respect. Fellow stable mate Johnny Massey had turned professional and, at 17, Thad Spencer could now legitimately claim to be Eddie Machen’s chief sparring partner and these days he walked the streets of Portland with a certain swagger, confident in the knowledge he was somebody. Thad Spencer was playing by a different set of rules. Playing around was always part of my life, Spencer said. I started trying cocaine when I was about 18.

More seriously, Thad had gotten two girls pregnant at the same time and, as it happened, both women gave birth on the same day, reportedly four hours apart and one can only wonder if the precocious Spencer also managed to impregnate the lovely young ladies four hours apart. It was a tricky situation even for a player of Spencer’s status, and complicated by the fact that Thad was about to turn professional. I remember in February, 1960, when I won the Pacific Northwest Golden Gloves title and I was contemplating going to the 1960 Olympics, said Spencer. The Olympic trials were three months away, set for May at the Cow Palace, San Francisco. Promoter Mike Morton who had not yet got the nickname ‘Motormouth’ moved to Portland and did everything in his power for me to go to the Olympics. But I was Eddie Machen's chief sparring partner. Sid Flaherty received a waiver from the Oregon State Athletic Commission so that I could turn pro at 17. Sid had bought me a new car. The Olympics seemed out of reach. I turned pro and was informed that I could not fight again as an amateur until I was 18.

Thad married one of the girls, Brenda, and moved with Sid Flaherty and Eddie Machen to California. The couple settled in San Francisco where Brenda gave birth to a girl, Tammy.

Thad Spencer made his professional debut on May 3, 1960, at the Armory in Tacoma, Washington. His opponent, Frankie Rowe, alias The Laughing Clown had not won a professional fight since 1951 and his luck and moniker of choice were not about to change tonight. Spencer won by TKO in the third round. I got paid $50 for that fight, Thad remembered. Not a lot of money, but it meant I was a professional fighter. For his next fight on September 7, at Sicks' Stadium, Seattle, Washington, while pal and mentor Eddie Machen fought and lost in the headline event to Sonny Liston, Spencer won a 6 round decision against sacrificial lamb Theo Lolanzo who was outfitted as a professional fighter for the evening, and having tasted Thad Spencer’s sweat soaked leather for 6 long rounds, afterwards decided, quite wisely, to retire to civilian life. Thad opened his 1961 account with points decisions over seasoned but fading journeymen Harvey Taylor, Franklin Rocky Haynes and by KO in three rounds over Roy Smith on the undercard of the Machen-Mike DeJohn bout at the Cow Palace, San Francisco. 

Spencer enjoyed his best victory to date over tough trial-horse John Riggins at Spokane, Washington, on May 4. Riggins brought a 23-6-1 record into the ring with him. He had been fighting since 1954. In 1956, in a losing bid for the Michigan State light heavyweight crown, Riggins went 10 rounds with tough Marty Marshall, who had broken Sonny Liston’s jaw early in Sonny’s career. Later that year, Argentine fighter Alejandro Lavorante would lapse into a coma following a knockout loss to Riggins and die 19 months later. However, at Spokane it was all Thad on the night. Spencer won on points over six rounds. In July, Spencer traveled long distance to the Convention Hall, Atlantic City, New Jersey, to fight Shirley Pembleton on the undercard of the nationally televised Eddie Machen-Harold Johnson main event. Pembleton had been a pro since 1949. He had a record of 15 wins, 9 losses and 3 draws. Early in his career, Pembleton had drawn with heavyweight contender Tommy Hurricane Jackson and, in the mid-50s, served as a sparring partner for heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson who was training in upstate New York for his own bout with the eccentric Jackson. Pembleton was also a southpaw, the first leftie Spencer would face as a pro. Throughout his career, Shirley had endured a great deal of kidding over his given name, but perhaps not as much as those opponents who fought and lost to a man with a first name more commonly associated with a woman. Thad Spencer was one of those. He lost the 4-round decision to the ring-wise veteran. It was Spencer’s first loss as a professional and afterward he had a tough time living it down. Hey, Thad—when you get through fighting your sister, my Aunt Ida says she wants a go at you! Buddy Eddie Machen lost a close decision to future light heavyweight champion Johnson. It was a bad night all around.

Forget about it, manager Sid Flaherty told him. Everybody loses one or two on the way up. He didn’t want Spencer dwelling on the loss, and 10 days later at the Fairgrounds Ballpark, Spokane, Washington, Thad took out his frustration on Jerry Gaines, bouncing his hapless opponent off the canvas no less than six times before the bout was halted in the second. Before this bout, Thad had been fighting at a relatively light 185 pounds, and this was the first occasion he weighed in at over 200. His best fighting weight was just a shade under 200 pounds. Through the first 10 months of 1962, over modest opposition, Spencer reeled off another 6 straight victories, including a repeat win over John Riggins. 

On Oct. 20, 1962, Portland hosted a rare world title fight when local boy Denny Moyer faced Joey Giambra for the inaugural world junior middleweight belt. In 1959, also in his home town of Portland, Moyer had been outpointed by Don Jordan for the world welterweight title. It was Moyer’s first defeat in 21 bouts. This time, in front of the home crowd, Moyer came through. Denny, managed by Sid Flaherty, won a unanimous decision over Giambra, and the city of Portland had a world champion on its hands. The semi-final event featured another exciting home grown prospect, heavyweight Thad Spencer in a 10-round bout against Leonard Dugan.

Leonard from Oakland, California, had a short but interesting professional background. In 1953, in only his sixth professional fight as a heavyweight, Dugan was matched in a non title bout with light heavyweight champion Archie Moore. Moore at the time had a record of 134 wins, 19 losses and 9 draws in an outstanding career that began in 1935. Moore had won the light heavyweight title in 1952 with a unanimous points win over Joey Maxim and his match up with Dugan was expected to be nothing more than a walk in the park for the crafty veteran nicknamed The Mongoose, but Leonard who outweighed Moore by 30 pounds surprised the small crowd at the Winterland Arena, San Francisco, by his gutsy performance. He took the fight to the experienced veteran, soaking up all the leather Moore could throw at him, at one stage pushing him across the ring, and winning the 6th round. However, the novice fighter paced himself poorly and ran out of steam in the 8th round, when Moore tagged him with a perfect right hand.  Subsequently, sports reporters and champion Moore predicted a great future for the unknown Californian, but Dugan’s immediate future was a long spell in the penitentiary for crimes unknown. His bout with Spencer in 1962 was his first fight in over 9 years and despite the ring rust, he managed to last the full 10 rounds. 

The guy must have been 6-foot-8, said Thad. He just got out of the penitentiary, but I beat him up.

In the ring that night in Portland was newly crowned world heavyweight champion Charles Sonny Liston who was guest referee for the Moyer-Giambra main event. Liston had won the title by devastating kayo over Floyd Patterson in the first round a month earlier on Sept. 25, 1962, and Thad spent as much time studying Sonny’s hulking form in the ring and wondering how he would do if he were to go up against him as he did cheering for Moyer to win. Even in civilian clothes, Liston appeared brutish and menacing. Sonny was an awesome champion.

Thad was 19. Standing 5-11, and weighing in at a shade under 200 pounds, he still had not fully matured as a heavyweight, but his professional record stood at 14-1 and if he kept winning it could only be a matter of time before he was world ranked and challenging Liston for the crown. Even at this early stage of his career, Spencer was sure he could take Sonny. Patterson fought stupid. He tried to slug it out. I’d jab and box his ears off.

Apart from the 4-round loss to Pembleton, so far it had been smooth sailing. However, it was at this point in Spencer’s young career that events took an unexpected turn. On Dec. 18, 1963, friend and mentor Eddie Machen was committed to Napa State Hospital for treatment and observation. During the week, Machen was found by a state trooper in a parked car on U.S. 40 outside San Francisco with a loaded gun in his hands. There was a suicide note in the car and Eddie had already fired off two test shots. He was finished as a boxer, or so said sport writers who were quick to pen Machen’s professional obituary. And, yes, it was true Eddie was in bad shape mentally and emotionally but perhaps not as bad as his suicide attempt seemed to suggest.

In the boxing world, Floyd Patterson had a reputation as the possessor of one of the most fragile of psyches; as a precaution, in case he lost to Sonny Liston a second time in their 1963 rematch at the Convention Center, Las Vegas, Floyd brought with him a fake beard and pair of sunglasses to disguise himself with afterward and sneak away. But Machen made Patterson look as secure as Fort Knox. These days the source of most of Eddie’s problems was money, or to be more precise the lack of it. Since his one round flop against Johansson in 1959, he hadn’t been in any big money fights. In 1960, he lost to champ Sonny Liston and it didn’t look as if Liston’s people were about to offer him a rematch and day and night Eddie worried about how he was going to pay his monthly bills and look after his wife and kids. The stress and worry were too much for him.

His mind was over worked but a couple of weeks of rest and relaxation were all Eddie really needed, not some shrink poking at his mind. On his release from hospital in January, 1963, Machen parted company with long time manager Sid Flaherty and hooked up with Walter and Leo Minskoff, wealthy property developers in Los Angeles and New York, in partnership with Vince Correnti, a San Francisco car wash owner. (Eddie was driving Correnti’s car at the time of his purported suicide attempt and he found the gun in the glove compartment). Though he was a novice in the business, Walter Minskoff was smart enough to figure out what the psychiatrists and doctors who treated Machen at Napa State Hospital could not, that the source of Eddie’s problems was money, and not a whole lot else.

Minskoff offered the talented but neurotic Machen what Sid Flaherty could not: the promise of a steady income and with it the peace of mind and security that Eddie so badly sought. He offered Eddie a signing bonus of $5,000 and a grand a month against future earnings. It sounded good to Eddie who signed on the dotted line and made a rapid recovery. These days Eddie was more like a salaried employee going to work to a job every morning and punching the clock. He felt fine, but it wasn’t exactly the stuff that boxing legends are made of.

Machen and Spencer were a two for one deal. Wherever Eddie went, Thad was sure to follow and when the Minskoffs signed Eddie, Thad went with him. Spencer had nothing personal against Flaherty. It was just how things had to be. Eddie and he were like brothers. I won’t ever fight Spencer, Eddie promised. I first saw him as an amateur in Portland. He’s a natural who is both fast and powerful. He’s just 20 and he’ll get better. Now here we are, fighting together, and going for the heavyweight crown. Who’d ever have thought it?

Manager Walter Minskoff now had 3 heavyweights in his growing stable of fighters—Machen, Spencer and Tommy Fields, a journeyman fighter who had managed to do something Thad could not, which was to beat veteran southpaw Shirley Pembelton by TKO in 6 rounds in 1962. Minskoff, who drove a Rolls Royce, joked he knew the way to stop the seemingly indestructible Sonny Liston. I’ll put all three of my fighters in the ring with Sonny at the same time. It wasn’t exactly inspirational stuff.

I’m pulling out all the stops for Spencer and Machen, said Minskoff. I’ve hired Eddie’s old trainer, Fred Bianchi, to work with them and I film most of their workouts to study like a football coach. I’ve also got a muscle therapist named Bert Gustavson working with them two hours a day to build up power through the use of weights and dynamic tension.

In the spring of 1963, Minskoff hooked up with former champion Joe Louis. These days the all time heavyweight great was working as a boxing promoter at the Moulin Rouge night club on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood in his ongoing but futile efforts to pay off the massive tax debts he had incurred during his twelve years as the longest reigning heavyweight title holder in the 1940s and ’50s.

In 1962, Louis went into the business of promoting boxing shows but found the task of trying to fill larger venues such as the Los Angeles Sports Arena too onerous. Instead, he decided to concentrate on nightclub boxing. In 1963 he obtained a license to put on shows at the Moulin Rouge in Hollywood, which seated 1,000 and arranged for a series of double-billlers to be televised locally by KCOP-TV, channel 13. Still, it proved a tough task for the aging ex-champ to remain solvent. The curiosity factor alone wasn’t enough to entice the sporting public to Joe Louis’s latest business venture. Louis also had problems signing attractive matches. To date the club’s biggest draw was a Feb.11 sellout bout featuring future welterweight champion Curtis Cokes and undefeated Johnny Newman.

Thad fought a brace of 10-rounders at the Moulin Rouge. On April 8, Spencer stopped novice fighter Al Carter in the 5th round. Carter was a late substitute for Sonny Moore, who was denied a license by the California Athletic Commission after he flew in from Texas and it was discovered he had a cataract condition. The fight wasn’t much more than a workout for Thad, but Louis was impressed with what he saw in the 20-year-old from Portland, Oregon: a cool and calculating professional who could both fight and box, a sound prospect in the division about whom he could build his club’s future. Joe took a liking to the gregarious Spencer. Louis’s first year anniversary as a boxing promoter was fast approaching and Joe decided to celebrate in style on his 49th birthday, May 13, with a double-bill topped by Spencer.

These days Joe was feeling more optimistic than he had in a long time and he was smiling a lot more as he went about his daily business. Louis had not been active as a heavyweight since 1951 when Rocky Marciano stopped him in the 8th round at Madison Square Garden, New York, but hoping to drum up business he announced he would spar with promising young heavyweight Thad Spencer at 3 in the afternoon at the Main Street Gym, May 10, in a session open to the public. In truth the sparring session was more of a photo opportunity session as Joe, paunchy in his middle age, his hairline receding and gray about the temples, outfitted in sweat pants, gray t-shirt and heavy gloves, moved cautiously but still gracefully about the ring with the youthful Spencer, feinting moves, combinations and tepid jabs. To the small crowd of people in the Main St. Gym watching, it was more like a senior trainer putting his charge through his paces than a serious sparring session where menacing blows are traded for real. Still, it was a treat to see Louis back again in a ring. 

Close to 50 years, Joe’s once handsome and angelic face was aged prematurely and jowly from the stress and depression of his ongoing battles with the Internal Revenue Service. Nevertheless, it was a thrill for the still young and impressionable Spencer to go through the motions with the all time great champion. Even at his age, Joe’s huge closed fists carried immense power behind them and to Thad it seemed as if they could still knock-out most of the top ranked heavyweights in the division. Whenever Thad let fly with those fast hands of his, Joe would stand back out of harm’s way, and smile that enigmatic smile of his. Right now, like father and son, the Brown Bomber’s approval was the only recognition that young Thad Spencer sought.

Still in the practice ring, Spencer and Louis posed for pictures. Thad mugged for the camera, wrapping his bulging biceps about Joe’s shoulders.

How much do you weigh, Joe?

Well, my fighting days are over, smiled Joe, but I guess I'm about 235 or 240 pounds.

How do you keep in shape?

I keep trim doing a little refereeing and playing golf. That’s enough about my weight. Thank you. Next question. 

Some laughs. It was clear the no longer svelte ex-champ wanted to get off the subject of his weight.

Joe, how do you think Floyd Patterson will fare in his rematch with Sonny Liston, July 22, at the Convention Center, Las Vegas?

I have to go along with Liston, said Joe. He's too strong.

How good is Spencer? asked a reporter.

Louis smiled. (It was good to see the ex-champ in a good mood. He hadn’t had much to smile about recently). He was still sweating from the short workout in the ring, his gray t-shirt stained about the chest and arms. Thad’s the best looking prospect I have seen in 20 years, said Joe. He fights out of San Francisco and he's much better than Clay.

Before you said Cassius Clay was the best prospect in the division. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?

Reporters were always looking for angles for their stories, but Joe was far too experienced speaking with the press to be suckered by the question. Clay’s good, but maybe not as good as he thinks he is. Maybe when he gets a little older. First, he needs to learn to hold up his hands and protect himself.

How would you rate Spencer’s chances going up against Sonny?

Right now Thad’s had 17 fights and lost only one—a four-rounder, said Louis. So he needs more experience against tough fighters like Cleveland Williams and Zora Folley, fighters who will test him. But yes, said Joe, a year or two from now if Spencer stays serious and lives clean, there's no reason he can't win the title. Ask him yourself, why don’t you? He’s not shy.

More laughs. The champ was in good form.

Thad, how do you rate your Moulin Rouge opponent, Monroe Ratliff?

He’s nothing, said Spencer. There’s no way possible Ratliff can beat me.

But Monroe, if you remember, holds wins over one time title challenger Roland LaStarza and former state light heavyweight champ Sixto Escobar, a reporter reminded Spencer. He’s working hard here at Main Street Gym under Howie Steindler who says Ratliff is in terrific shape, so beware of a surprise.

If he’s here, I don’t see him, said Thad, surveying the gym from the practice ring, leaning on the top rope. But if he is he better stay hiding.

Thad, aren’t you being a little overconfident ?

I don’t undersell anybody, said Spencer, assuming a serious expression, but I always train like this is a title fight. But I know I can beat anybody.

Thad, you sound like you’re copying Cassius Clay.

The gaggle of reporters laughed; upstart Clay had the reputation of being a clown in the ring.

I don’t write poetry, snapped Thad. I fight.

What’s your opinion of Clay?

He’s overrated, said Spencer. In my opinion Doug Jones beat him last month in their fight at Madison Square Garden. He’s the most overrated hunk of ballyhoo since Chuck Davey.

Welterweight Chuck Davey was a white, all-American made for TV boxing star in the 1950s who enjoyed 39 straight wins until he met with Kid Gavilan for the world welterweight title in 1953. The disparity in class and ability was alarming and Davey never recovered his lost reputation.

Clay is top ranked challenger for Sonny Liston’s title. Do you think he deserves the shot?

Huh! sneered Spencer. All he’s fought are has-beens. One of these days he’ll run out of push-overs and then there’ll be no more Clay.

Thad, who in your opinion are the top heavyweights today?

It was a tough question and Spencer thought hard about it for a moment or two, his brows furrowed, and his torso still glistening with sweat. Honestly, there are only five heavyweights in existence who I figure might give me a little trouble, allowed Thad. First, Eddie Machen—who I’ll never fight... then I guess I’d have to say... Sonny Liston... Harold Johnson... and Floyd Patterson...

That’s four, said a reporter.

OK, said Thad, add quiet man Zora Folley to the list.

Where’s Clay on your list?

Clay? He’s nowhere, said Spencer. He’s not on my list at all. Uh-uh. Thad shook his head, tight-lipped. I don’t rate him at all. 

Who do you regard as your toughest test to date?

John Riggins, said Thad. I fought him twice. Beat him both times.

Didn’t Riggins knock you down in your first contest?

So, snapped Spencer. I got up, didn’t I? That’s the mark of a true champion.

Why did you fight Riggins twice?

Reason I fought him twice, said Thad, was to teach him a lesson not to do it again.

In Joe Louis’s mind, Thad Spencer was the real deal—not only was the cocky but affable youngster from Portland, Oregon, now based in San Francisco the future of the division, but he was also about to become the backbone of his fledgling business as a fight promoter at the Moulin Rouge, former haunt of Hollywood stars on Sunset Boulevard. In fact, Joe was so sure he had found the missing ingredient he needed to be a successful promoter that he hiked ringside tickets prices to $10, hoping for a birthday present for himself in the form of a sellout crowd. Joe got his wish. With the former heavyweight champ celebrating his 49th birthday, a sellout crowd of 1,100 turned out at the Moulin Rouge to honor Joe and to cheer the fast rising Spencer. 

The May 13 Moulin Rouge double-bill wasn’t a club record, but it was a rare success for Louis. Official gross was $4,539 with a net of $3,989, falling short of the $4,167 net for the Curtis Cokes-Johnny Newman bout held Feb 11. But it was the first big turnout in nine weeks at the club and an encouraging sign to promoter Joe Louis. Thad Spencer will be back in June, and I hope to match him with veteran Mike DeJohn or else Cleveland heavyweight Tony Hughes, said a delighted Louis who saw nothing but financial success ahead of him with Spencer as his main drawing card.

John Hall of The Los Angeles Times: Spencer, 201, displayed a lightning right, surprisingly swift for a big man, as he rocked Ratliff repeatedly and had him out on his feet when it was stopped. It was a flashy showing by the San Francisco stalemate of Eddie Machen. Louis, who tells fewer lies than George Washington, may not be kidding when he claims Spencer is a better prospect than Cassius Clay.

The ambitious Louis hoped to have Thad in the ring three weeks later against heavyweight contender Doug Jones who had given Cassius Clay his toughest test to date, March 13, at Madison Square Garden. Joe was granted June 1 and June 15 dates at the Sports Arena and the promotion was an attractive one, a twin bill featuring heavyweight Doug Jones vs. Thad Spencer and bantamweight sensation Jesus Pimentel vs. Jose Lopez. Once again the big time was beckoning, this time working as a fight promoter, and boxing great Joe Louis was giddy at the thought of it.

Although the Monday night bouts at the Moulin Rouge typically drew a small paying crowd, over the past couple of months the double bill televised locally by KCOP-TV was reportedly the highest of any channel for Monday nights between 8:30 and 10. However, Joe’s anniversary card featuring Thad Spencer vs. Monroe-Ratliff drew only a handful of viewers, but it had nothing to do with the quality of the match. The feature bout wasn’t televised. Joe deliberately had it blacked out. If you want to see Thad Spencer, the hot new prospect on the heavyweight scene, you’re going to have to pay to see him, was Joe’s thinking, because you’re not going to see him for free on TV.

The executives at KCOP didn’t take too kindly to Joe’s machinations. The ex-champ was getting too greedy for their liking and so they announced that the weekly television contract would be cancelled May 27, following a run of only 16 shows. Joe’s refusal to put the May 20 heavyweight match between heavyweight Wilhelm Von Homburg and Bobby Sands on television was the key reason. Station management was also distressed when a dull match between welterweights Cecil Mott and Frankie Davis who was making his first ring appearance in three years was presented as the television main event May 13 while the Thad Spencer-Monroe Ratcliff feature was blacked out. When Louis and matchmaker Johnny Flores announced the weekly doubleheader format was going to be made permanent with the main attraction blacked out, KCOP suits said, Enough.

Adding to the bad news, Joe’s next Monday night card on May 27 attracted only about 300 persons to watch late substitute Memo Lopez of Tijuana, Mexico, kayo lightweight Dave Camacho in the 10th round in the main event. The poor turnout temporarily put a halt to all shows at the club, and a clearly distressed Louis said his next show might be at the Shrine Auditorium, but it definitely would not be at the Moulin Rouge. Joe still hadn’t given up on his dreams of promoting Spencer but a July 10-rounder at the club between Thad and Jimmy Fletcher had to be cancelled when Fletcher cracked a knuckle on his right hand sparring at Main St. Gym. while slugging it out with Wilhelm Von Homburg.

One of the bouts Louis hoped to seal for his June 15 twin main event at the Shrine was Thad Spencer going in the ring against seasoned Italian heavyweight Santo Amonti in place of the unavailable Doug Jones, but it was not to be. The Brown Bomber was quickly losing his taste for promoting fights at the Moulin Rouge and elsewhere and soon they would be added to his long list of failed business ventures. But Joe never stopped believing in Thad’s ability to succeed in the heavyweight ranks and one day accede to the throne he once so proudly occupied as king of the division.

They called me the second Joe Louis because I drug my right foot, said Thad. He once said I was a better prospect than Cassius Clay, and that tells you something, don’t it? True, Joe Louis sung the praises of young Thad Spencer at every opportunity he could, but the observation was not quite the unreserved