point! You could maybe beat the crap out of him !” I wasn’t used to saying words like “crap”—but Lucy said stuff like that all the time.
“Judy, you’re nuts. Women don’t learn how to box.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. They just don’t.”
“Do you know anything about that gym that’s a couple of blocks south of the diner?”
“The Second Avenue Gym?”
“That’s the one.”
“Not really. I know the guy who runs it. He comes in the diner sometimes. You’ve seen him. His name is Freddie. Freddie Barnes. Middle-aged guy, late forties, I guess. Used to be a boxer himself. Has dark curly hair with spots of gray? Bushy eyebrows?”
“Oh, yeah!” I did remember the guy. He was always one of the nice customers who said hello every time he came in, and he left decent tips. “Do they let girls in there?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. A gym is where men go.”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that,” I said.
It took me a couple of months to get up the nerve to go into the Second Avenue Gym. In the meantime, I worked at the diner, continued to live at the YWCA, and explored the city. New York was a fascinating place. Growing up in Odessa was like being in a vacuum. The whole world was at my feet in Manhattan. It was exciting and vibrant. I felt alive for the first time in my life.
They made me move out of the Y once they figured out I had a full-time job. I found a studio apartment on 8th Street near Sixth Avenue, but the rent was higher than I could afford. Noisy neighbors lived next to me, too, and I could hear them having sex at night. That drove me crazy. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I moved again, but I tried to make it work for the time being.
It was September 1952 when I finally went into the Second Avenue Gym. I saw Freddie Barnes in the ring with a couple of young guys. Freddie was training them, playing referee for a practice fight or something. I took a position against the wall, stood there, and watched, trying to be inconspicuous. Nevertheless, all the men in the place stared at me. Now, in those days I wore justregular old boys’ trousers, the blouses I’d wear at the diner, maybe a jacket or sweater if it was cold outside, and a baseball cap. Because of my height and build, I might have passed for a boy if it hadn’t been for my long hair.
I was obviously a girl.
No one said anything to me, though. Maybe they figured I was someone’s girlfriend. The men on the sidelines continued to jump rope, or work on the rowing machines, stand in front of the wall pulleys and use them to strengthen their arm muscles, slam into the heavy bags hanging from the ceiling, or punch the speed balls. The place was noisy and smelled like sweat. I liked it.
Finally the sparring was over. Freddie saw me and made a funny expression, as if to say, “What are you doing here?” After giving the two athletes some instructions, he climbed through the ropes and jumped to the floor.
“Hi,” he said. “Judy, right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Freddie.”
“Not workin’ at the diner today?” Freddie had a thick Brooklyn accent.
“I’m working the dinner shift later.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to learn how to box.”
“You what?”
I repeated what I said. Freddie shook his head and replied, “Why?”
“So I can beat the devil out of anyone who bothers me.”
Freddie didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and then he laughed. I didn’t appreciate that, and he must have sensed it. “I’m sorry, Judy, but girls don’t learn how to box. How old are you, anyway?”
“Seventeen,” I lied.
“No, you’re not. I asked Lucy about you once. She told meyou’re really not old enough to work at the diner, but she didn’t tell Manny how old you really are. You’re what, fifteen?”
I told him the truth. “I’ll be fifteen in November. Look, Freddie. I think you could use my help around here.” I made a sweeping gesture, taking in the entire gym. “This place
“Judy, you’re nuts. Women don’t learn how to box.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. They just don’t.”
“Do you know anything about that gym that’s a couple of blocks south of the diner?”
“The Second Avenue Gym?”
“That’s the one.”
“Not really. I know the guy who runs it. He comes in the diner sometimes. You’ve seen him. His name is Freddie. Freddie Barnes. Middle-aged guy, late forties, I guess. Used to be a boxer himself. Has dark curly hair with spots of gray? Bushy eyebrows?”
“Oh, yeah!” I did remember the guy. He was always one of the nice customers who said hello every time he came in, and he left decent tips. “Do they let girls in there?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. A gym is where men go.”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that,” I said.
It took me a couple of months to get up the nerve to go into the Second Avenue Gym. In the meantime, I worked at the diner, continued to live at the YWCA, and explored the city. New York was a fascinating place. Growing up in Odessa was like being in a vacuum. The whole world was at my feet in Manhattan. It was exciting and vibrant. I felt alive for the first time in my life.
They made me move out of the Y once they figured out I had a full-time job. I found a studio apartment on 8th Street near Sixth Avenue, but the rent was higher than I could afford. Noisy neighbors lived next to me, too, and I could hear them having sex at night. That drove me crazy. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I moved again, but I tried to make it work for the time being.
It was September 1952 when I finally went into the Second Avenue Gym. I saw Freddie Barnes in the ring with a couple of young guys. Freddie was training them, playing referee for a practice fight or something. I took a position against the wall, stood there, and watched, trying to be inconspicuous. Nevertheless, all the men in the place stared at me. Now, in those days I wore justregular old boys’ trousers, the blouses I’d wear at the diner, maybe a jacket or sweater if it was cold outside, and a baseball cap. Because of my height and build, I might have passed for a boy if it hadn’t been for my long hair.
I was obviously a girl.
No one said anything to me, though. Maybe they figured I was someone’s girlfriend. The men on the sidelines continued to jump rope, or work on the rowing machines, stand in front of the wall pulleys and use them to strengthen their arm muscles, slam into the heavy bags hanging from the ceiling, or punch the speed balls. The place was noisy and smelled like sweat. I liked it.
Finally the sparring was over. Freddie saw me and made a funny expression, as if to say, “What are you doing here?” After giving the two athletes some instructions, he climbed through the ropes and jumped to the floor.
“Hi,” he said. “Judy, right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Freddie.”
“Not workin’ at the diner today?” Freddie had a thick Brooklyn accent.
“I’m working the dinner shift later.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to learn how to box.”
“You what?”
I repeated what I said. Freddie shook his head and replied, “Why?”
“So I can beat the devil out of anyone who bothers me.”
Freddie didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and then he laughed. I didn’t appreciate that, and he must have sensed it. “I’m sorry, Judy, but girls don’t learn how to box. How old are you, anyway?”
“Seventeen,” I lied.
“No, you’re not. I asked Lucy about you once. She told meyou’re really not old enough to work at the diner, but she didn’t tell Manny how old you really are. You’re what, fifteen?”
I told him the truth. “I’ll be fifteen in November. Look, Freddie. I think you could use my help around here.” I made a sweeping gesture, taking in the entire gym. “This place
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