How are you going
to begin my story?" Rocky Marciano asked, leaning against the counter in
the kitchen of his Brockton, Mass. home. "I like the way you started that
Teddy Williams story. I read it up at camp...about the taxi driver telling
Teddy that all the cabbies in Boston thought he was a nice guy and then Teddy
saying he didn't pay any attention to the nice things people said about
him...only the criticism bothered him.
"I know Teddy
Williams," the heavyweight champion said, pleased at the thought of his
friendship. "He is a nice guy. He really feels that way—and you know
something—so do I.
what's nice about being champion—to be accepted and liked." He hesitated
before he spoke again, concerned perhaps that it might sound like bragging,
then he continued boyishly. "Tomorrow I'm going to have dinner with the
governor," he said. "It makes you feel proud to be accepted with these
fine people. They admire you and have a lot of respect for you and they're
interested in you.
kids look at you and say, 'Gee, he must be the strongest guy in the world, he
could lick anybody; whatta tough guy; look at his muscles; look at his
hands.'...They only think of strength and muscles and toughness. They don't
know that the nicest part is that people like you."
There was an expression of intensity in his deep brown eyes. "So many
people think the boxing profession is for bums," he said slowly, "but a
fighter is a different kind of a guy; he's in there fighting for a living. If
he hangs around his old poor neighborhood, they call him a hoodlum, or if he
does a foolish thing—as anyone can do—they put in the papers 'Ex-fighter or
ex-pugilist picked up for speeding.'
really good guys, the best-hearted." The champion was on the defensive.
"There are so many improvements now," he said, "so many protections
that you don't see too many punch-drunk fighters anymore or so many guys with
cauliflower ears. Look at mine. My ears don't have a scratch."
his head and fingered his well-set ears, then suddenly aware that he was being
watched closely, he became self-conscious.
he quickly changed his pace. "I've got some errands to do. We can talk more
on the way.
"Barbara," he called into the den, where his wife and the Marcianos'
house guests, Mr. and Mrs. Francis Gengler of Mount Carmel, Pa., were watching
television. "I'm going over to Mom's. Frank, you come along. You can do the
"I met Frank
about a year ago in Carbondale, Pa.," he explained. "They had a
terrible fire down there in a church and they asked me to come down to try to
raise some funds. I gave them a day in the middle of my training program—I was
training for a very important fight with Charles... . Frank flew over to
Grossinger's to get me in his own plane and brought me to Carbondale. Then he
drove me down the street in the parade. They gave me quite a day. Then Frank
flew me to Pittsburgh, the very next day. I thought that was such a nice thing
he did for the church that I wanted to be friendly with this guy. He's a
brilliant guy. Once he likes you, he'll go all the way, like what he did for