Can't A Fellow Make A Mistake?

Despite Liston's denials, Mitchell has admitted: "I don't definitely know the intricacies of the deals, but Blinky was definitely using his interest. But it's not in writing." And Liston said at one time: "I think that Norris has a piece of my contract, but I don't know how much he owns."

It would be unrealistic to deny that Vitale and Palermo, a Carbo lieutenant, controlled Liston. There was ample testimony at the Kefauver hearings to indicate that Vitale and Palermo shared in Liston's purses according to Lieut. Kuda's percentages. In 1958 the mob moved Liston out of St. Louis to Philadelphia and got him a new manager, Joseph (Pep) Barone (two arrests), who had never managed a fighter until he was given Liston to handle. Barone is a longtime associate of Palermo's and was reportedly his "detail supervisor" for several years. Barone self-righteously denies that he was a front for anyone, but when he, like Mitchell, had the opportunity to testify before the Kefauver investigating committee last December he turned up in a hospital suffering from anxiety and deep depression.

Earlier this year Liston seemed to be exhibiting similar symptoms when it became obvious he would never get a title fight with Floyd Patterson because of the hoodlums in his background. He therefore reluctantly discarded Barone, agreeing to buy his contract from him for $75,000. "Me and Pep was getting to be one big happy family," Sonny says, "and I hated to let him go. But there wasn't anything else to do."

After arranging to buy Barone's 50% interest in himself, Liston was besieged by prospective managers ranging from Rocky Marciano to Joe Louis to Pete Rademacher. Sonny finally settled upon Georgie Katz of Philadelphia. Katz, who managed former welterweight and middleweight Gil Turner, is a vain, pleasant, garrulous man whose thinking and conversation are larded with family responsibility, good name and flag waving. His professed views on boxing, too many of which he put off the record, are naive. He thinks, for instance, that the only thing wrong with boxing is "bum officials." "In all my years in boxing I have never heard Frankie Carbo's name mentioned," is another of his astonishing statements. "I started with a clean broom," Katz is fond of saying. "I'll end up with a clean broom, except for wear and tear. I'm president of a pretty big picture-framing company. I could retire tomorrow and just tour the world, only I don't fly, get seasick and can't swim. The first time Liston came to me I turned him down. This is a headache, I said to myself. I don't know why I came back to managing fighters. I have no answer. Why did I come back? That's a good question."

"I decided to pick Katzy because I like the way he speaks up for his fighters," says Liston.

"I have screamed," Katz says, proudly. "I was fined by the Pennsylvania Athletic Commission. I was fined by the New York Athletic Commission. I called some of their officials bums. I've been screaming and hollering that for years. But Gil Turner is a wealthy kid. I'm driving just a plain '57 Chevrolet. Gil has a $7,000 Cadillac."

The second time Liston came to Katz, Katz turned him down when he discovered he was only to get 10% of his purses. "It was," he says, "an insult, and I told Liston, 'George Katz doesn't manage a fighter for 10%.' You can print it. It's true. But then I stopped to think, what had I done to deserve a bigger share? Sonny's already the best heavyweight around and the No. 1 challenger. So I usually have a 50-50 arrangement with my fighters, but 50% of nothing is nothing, while 10% of Liston could be $200,000 in two years. I thought about it. I knew this would bring me right back in the limelight. I signed an affidavit: in effect, no one cuts, no one has nothing to do with anyone. I'm Liston's manager—no ifs, no buts, no nothings. They wanted to know whether Sonny was getting an honest manager. He is. Proof enough—Senator Kefauver doesn't know Katz. My only vice is smoking.

"I don't believe," Katz says, "the American people will allow a man to be kicked when he's down. In the United States we give a man a second chance." Katz's favorite expression is: "It's nice to be nice." When it was remarked that George Katz's outlook on life hadn't changed since he read his last fairy tale, Katz agreed. "That's right," he said. "Everyone should live happily ever after. I think Liston's going to be on the level," Katz says somewhat desperately. " Sonny Liston's lived a clean and beautiful life since coming to Philadelphia. He won't spit on the pavement because he's afraid." A few days after Katz's pronouncement Sonny got himself arrested for corner-lounging. A few weeks after that he was arrested for the incident in Fairmount Park. Katz, a man of considerable imagination, said that he had ordered Liston to do road work during the early morning hours to avoid the oppressive heat. Then, hopelessly, he decided it had just been a "lark." Liston said plaintively: "But anybody is entitled to a mistake."

"We were moved by compassion," Pennsylvania Boxing Commissioner Alfred M. Klein said after he had approved the Liston-Katz boxer-manager contract. "We decided to give Liston a break. We instituted our own investigation of Katz. He was clean; not even any rumors or whispers. I'm not a friend of his either; I didn't talk to him for two years." After Liston's two latest arrests Klein had second thoughts. "I feel that Liston has let boxing down," he said. "He continues to fail to show that he has any perception of his position as a potential heavyweight champion." On July 6, Klein advised the commission to order Liston to show cause why his license should not be lifted. The commission did so, and Liston will answer this week.

Between fights, or between arrests, Sonny and his wife Geraldine live modestly: his car is a Ford sedan; his home, in a well-kept integrated neighborhood of row houses in West Philadelphia, couldn't have cost more than $15,000. Liston has not yet reached the big money. He says his largest purse was $30,000 and the most he earned in a year was $39,000.