Moore didn't bother to pick up his check. He's off in his Cadillac and his black cowboy outfit, a dark-skinned, pugnacious Burl Ives, gypsying around the country and talking about fighting Rocky Marciano. Or the top heavyweight contenders Valdes and Cockell.
What he's really saying is that after all those years in the financial desert he'd like to linger around the I.B.C.'s oasis. More pay nights like that debut in the Garden. There were times last week when he walked back to his corner like an old man waddling home from a tour of the gin mills. But he's the last of the great journeymen and it's still a pleasure to watch someone who knows his business in a day when underdeveloped and oversold kids bob up and down the ladder like the popular songs you can never remember once they've slipped off the hit parade.