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"Fought like madmen," said Mike, grinning at Leon. "Almost to kill. We were always mad about something. I thought I was the toughest in the house. I fought with everybody—my four brothers, my sister. I thought I was real good, so one day I boxed my sister and she busted my nose. Made me mad as hell."
"He never fought with Mother," Leon said. "She could whip him good."
At home in St. Louis, Kay Spinks had watched her sons' Olympic bouts on TV. The set was borrowed and not working very well. The St. Louis Post-Dispatch carried a story on her plight. The next day an anonymous benefactor in Webster Groves, Mo. called the paper.
"That woman deserves to be there to see her sons fight for the gold medal," he said. "I'll pay all her expenses."
"I felt like someone had just given me a diamond ring," said Mrs. Spinks. "God bless them. God bless them."
The first American to fight on Saturday was Leo Randolph. He was announced as Leon Rudolph. No matter. In the balcony, fans had draped three large American flags over the railing. Two of them were backward, stars on the right. In spite of all that and a Polish referee, Zanislaw Kozak, who was a third arm for Duvalon, the Cuban, Randolph hauled in his gold medal.
Then Mooney lost to the North Korean.
Next it was Davis, and all he lost was the official number on his back. He came in with a homemade 333, and a smashing, dancing attack that overwhelmed the game Cutov. Score: two gold, one silver.
Later, Davis fingered the gold medal around his neck and smiled. "So far I haven't had any pro offers," he said, "but now when they see the medal I may get a few."