Freddie would give me a few lessons. They started gradually at first, but by the time I turned fifteen in November, we were making a regular thing out of it. He didn’t pay me much to work there—we decided that the bulk of my salary would be in lessons.
I continued to work at the diner until Christmas. By then, Freddie and I had become good friends. He liked me—not in a sexual way, but more like a father-daughter thing, I’m sure of that. Freddie once told me he wished he’d gotten married, but hadn’t. Maybe I was the substitute for the son he didn’t have, ha ha. Anyway, he gave me a raise and I quit the job at the diner. Lucy and I remained good friends and I still went in there all the time to have meals and stuff.
Then, shortly after the New Year in 1953, I was complaining to Freddie about the apartment I was in and how the neighbors were nasty and noisy. He just said, “Come with me,” so I followed him to the steel door that led to his quarters. I knew Freddie lived in an apartment above the gym, but I’d never been up there. Behind the door was a stairwell leading up two flights to compensate for the gym’s high ceiling, and then to what would have been the building’s third floor. Freddie led me to a door and opened it. It was a large, spacious room with a twin bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, and an adjoining bathroom.
“Want to live here?” he asked. “It’s a spare bedroom I have no use for.”
I squealed with delight and clapped my hands like a schoolgirl. Then I gave him a big hug.
And that’s how, dear diary, I came to live above the Second Avenue Gym and become the assistant manager of the place.
The year 1953 was a blur. I was fifteen and I’d been gone from Texas for more than a year. Dear diary, I want to say something here. Seeing that I’m writing this in 1958, I’ve actually been away from home for five years. You might think I was awful to run away without telling anyone. I do think about my mom and brothers, and I often have dreams about them. Every now and then I feel a pang of guilt for leaving without telling my mom where I was going. She probably worried about me like the dickens. I’ll bet she had the police looking for me. They’ve probably written me off for dead. Well, I can’t give it too much thought. I hope my mom is okay and that maybe she’s gotten away from Douglas. That creep is never far from my mind. The vow I made when I left Odessa still has meaning for me. I know I’ll return someday and give him his comeuppance.
Sorry, I had to cry for a few seconds, dear diary.
Okay, back to 1953. I trained as a boxer. Freddie was great. He worked me hard after I told him not to treat me like a girl. He soon realized I was pretty tough and could take a lot of punishment as well as dish it out. He taught me about stances, different kinds of punches, defenses, and how to guard. My long legs were an asset for the “dance” in the ring. I eventually developed my own style of boxing, and Freddie said I was a classic “out-fighter.”
That meant I could maintain a decent distance from my opponent and fight with faster, longer-range punches. Freddie told me that Gene Tunney, Billy Conn, and Willie Pep were out-fighters. Willie Pep was a popular professional boxer at that time. Anyway, when I say “my opponent”—ha ha—it was usually Freddie! There wasn’t anyone else I could really spar with. He wouldn’tlet me spar with the boxers in the gym; in fact, he didn’t let anyone know he was training me. Figured he wouldn’t hear the end of it.
I did exercise during daytime hours when I wasn’t working. I’d use the speed bag and got to where I was damned good. Sometimes I attracted an audience of guys who’d stand there and watch me keep it going for a half hour. They’d whistle and catcall at me; usually I ignored them but there was also a part of me that enjoyed the attention. I’d get on the rowing machine or use the wall pulleys, but most of the time I
I continued to work at the diner until Christmas. By then, Freddie and I had become good friends. He liked me—not in a sexual way, but more like a father-daughter thing, I’m sure of that. Freddie once told me he wished he’d gotten married, but hadn’t. Maybe I was the substitute for the son he didn’t have, ha ha. Anyway, he gave me a raise and I quit the job at the diner. Lucy and I remained good friends and I still went in there all the time to have meals and stuff.
Then, shortly after the New Year in 1953, I was complaining to Freddie about the apartment I was in and how the neighbors were nasty and noisy. He just said, “Come with me,” so I followed him to the steel door that led to his quarters. I knew Freddie lived in an apartment above the gym, but I’d never been up there. Behind the door was a stairwell leading up two flights to compensate for the gym’s high ceiling, and then to what would have been the building’s third floor. Freddie led me to a door and opened it. It was a large, spacious room with a twin bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, and an adjoining bathroom.
“Want to live here?” he asked. “It’s a spare bedroom I have no use for.”
I squealed with delight and clapped my hands like a schoolgirl. Then I gave him a big hug.
And that’s how, dear diary, I came to live above the Second Avenue Gym and become the assistant manager of the place.
The year 1953 was a blur. I was fifteen and I’d been gone from Texas for more than a year. Dear diary, I want to say something here. Seeing that I’m writing this in 1958, I’ve actually been away from home for five years. You might think I was awful to run away without telling anyone. I do think about my mom and brothers, and I often have dreams about them. Every now and then I feel a pang of guilt for leaving without telling my mom where I was going. She probably worried about me like the dickens. I’ll bet she had the police looking for me. They’ve probably written me off for dead. Well, I can’t give it too much thought. I hope my mom is okay and that maybe she’s gotten away from Douglas. That creep is never far from my mind. The vow I made when I left Odessa still has meaning for me. I know I’ll return someday and give him his comeuppance.
Sorry, I had to cry for a few seconds, dear diary.
Okay, back to 1953. I trained as a boxer. Freddie was great. He worked me hard after I told him not to treat me like a girl. He soon realized I was pretty tough and could take a lot of punishment as well as dish it out. He taught me about stances, different kinds of punches, defenses, and how to guard. My long legs were an asset for the “dance” in the ring. I eventually developed my own style of boxing, and Freddie said I was a classic “out-fighter.”
That meant I could maintain a decent distance from my opponent and fight with faster, longer-range punches. Freddie told me that Gene Tunney, Billy Conn, and Willie Pep were out-fighters. Willie Pep was a popular professional boxer at that time. Anyway, when I say “my opponent”—ha ha—it was usually Freddie! There wasn’t anyone else I could really spar with. He wouldn’tlet me spar with the boxers in the gym; in fact, he didn’t let anyone know he was training me. Figured he wouldn’t hear the end of it.
I did exercise during daytime hours when I wasn’t working. I’d use the speed bag and got to where I was damned good. Sometimes I attracted an audience of guys who’d stand there and watch me keep it going for a half hour. They’d whistle and catcall at me; usually I ignored them but there was also a part of me that enjoyed the attention. I’d get on the rowing machine or use the wall pulleys, but most of the time I
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