A Hard Hitter In The Ring, Max Baer Was A Real Softie Around Children

My early childhood in Sacramento during the 1950s was close to idyllic. I was smart enough to understand that even at the time. School and friends were close by. Family was secure and loving. Summers were long. Baseball was king, and I could catch and hit as well as any kid.

Many warm memories of those years come to mind, and as any parent would, I try to give my boys an idea of what my childhood was like. One thing I can't adequately describe for them is a special friendship I had as a kid. From the time I was five until I was 13, my buddy was Max Baer, who had been heavyweight champion of the world.

Max resided in Sacramento from the 1930s, when he was in the middle stages of his boxing career, until his death in 1959. Those who saw Max in his prime say he had the best physique ever seen in the ring. When he defeated Primo Camera in 1934 for the title, Max stood 6'3" and weighed around 210 pounds. These statistics aren't particularly imposing by today's standards, but 50 years ago Max Baer was a very big person, even for a heavyweight.

During his ring years, Max was a swaggering, lovable, happy-go-lucky guy. He was adored by his fans, especially the ladies, and he enjoyed their attention. He trained infrequently, which tried the patience of his manager, Ancil Hoffman. Though rarely in peak condition, Max won the title and most of his bouts—he had a 70-13 career record—because of the absolute crushing power of his right hand. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say he had the most colorful personality in heavyweight history until Muhammad Ali came along.

When I met Max his career was long over. He'd put on 30 or 40 pounds since his fighting days. He had a huge head with a goodly amount of curly silver hair. His voice was deep and booming. He was our town's most renowned citizen and he clearly enjoyed that eminence. He exuded charisma and celebrity but never an ounce of arrogance. Max liked everyone, and everyone liked him. He loved children and kids idolized him.

The first recollection I have of Max was at the grocery department of the Stop & Shop on Riverside Boulevard in 1951. While my mother and I waited in the check-out line, a large shadow fell over us. Before I could turn around to determine the source of the eclipse, I was swept up by a huge pair of hands, hugged with firm gentleness to a big, gray, hairy chest and addressed by the former heavyweight boxing champion of the world.

"Who's my little tow-headed friend?" came the rumbling baritone of this giant who was holding me, with no effort, five feet off the ground.

"His name is Timmy, Max," said my mother.

"Hello, champ. My name's Max and you're my new friend." Max told the checker to put some Hershey bars and bubble gum in our bag and charge them to him.

As I began my descent back to the floor, Max asked if I liked baseball and told me to come over to his house to play catch anytime. I don't know what, if anything, I said in response. I only knew I'd just met someone special, and that as soon as we were alone I had to talk to Mom to find out more about this guy.