Boxing's Child of Destiny

Floyd Patterson, a dark-brown, wide-shouldered, slim-bodied child of destiny was 21 years old last January. Before his next birthday, if his stars hold true on their course, he may become the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. If he makes it, he will be the youngest man ever to do so.

Joe Louis was one month past 23 when he copped the title. John L. Sullivan was 23 and a few months more. Jack Dempsey and Jim Jeffries were 24. Accident, luck and surprise played a part in the lives of all of these fellows – like most of the rest of us, they grouped along the way. Louis toyed for a while with the notion of being a violinist. Sullivan learned the plumbing trade. Dempsey was on the bum, off and on. Feffries got into the fight game as an afterthought. Each of them burst into boxing fame with a certain dramatic (continued on next page) suddenness that startled the fighter almost as much as the public.

It's been different with Patterson. From the time he was a kid in Brooklyn (when he survived, with a little help, a light, early dose of juvenile delinquency), he had had no goal in life except to be the best prizefighter in the world. From the time he made his first pro fight, at 17, boxing experts and the boxing public have watched and marked him with the same possibility in mind. By then, Patterson had already served notice. He filed his claim before he began to shave, and before he'd earned a nickel in the ring.

The first evidences of Floyd's flashy future came in 1952, in the Helsinki Olympics. One day, Patterson hit a Hollander named Leonardus Jansen so hard that it was a quarter of a minute before the victim, lying spread-eagled on the floor, even twitched. In the final bout in his class, light heavy-weight, Floyd knocked out Vasila (concluded overleaf) Tita, a Roumanian, with his first punch in the first round. The Olympic crowds were shocked by the clear, savage superiority of the American kid. Patterson was not shocked. Neither was Cus D'Amato, a white-haired, bright-eyed old-timer in boxing management, who was waiting for Patterson back in New York. For them, the Olympics had been a training camp, a calculated investment in time and newspaper space. When the boat from Finland hit New York, D'Amato was there to meet it. In his gymnasium on East 14th Street, where Patterson had learned to box, they quickly signed the contracts they had always known they would sign. Six weeks after Helsinki, Patterson fought his first fight as a pro.

The next milestone came four years later. On June 8, 1956, in Madison Square Garden, with a coast-to-coast TV audience looking on and $140,000 in the pot, Patterson met and licked the only man who stood between him and a crack at the heavyweight title. For better or worse, Tommy (Hurricane) Jackson was the world's No. 2 ranking heavyweight. For better or worse, for all his daffiness and wild-eyed slapstick, Jackson was a true "big man," almost impossible to hurt, winner over half a dozen of the best in the business, outweighing the lean-shanked boy in front of him by fifteen pounds. When Patterson whipped the Hurricane in twelve rounds, Floyd proved many things, to his own and the crowd's satisfaction.

He proved he could hit hard enough to shake and hurt the man with the toughest shell in the game. He proved he had the fortitude and judgment of pace to go a distance under heavy pressure. He proved he was an intelligent fighter as well as a strong one: he changed plans in mid-fight, a real trick for a youngster. When he found he could not knock Jackson out with a quick burst of fire, he switched to a fight of attrition. He wore Tommy out, and beat the Great Vitamin with some vitamins of his own.

There were some things he didn't prove. Jackson is a light hitter – Patterson has yet to show he can take the punch of a hard-hitting big man. At 178 or 180, Patterson is still small for a heavyweight. The small men who have raised the most hell with big guys have been shifty, tricky defensive boxers, like Harry Greb and Billy Conn. Patterson is not that type. He fights like a puncher – aggressively, in a straight line, winging with both hands. His style invites a slugging match. Is he big and strong enough to outslug a full-fledged slugger? That's the question before the house as Patterson faces the last step on his way to glory.

The last step is blocked by Archie Moore. Arch hits like a heavyweight should. He's a cool man, in more ways than one. He is old enough to be Patterson's father (39 by Moore's own count, 42 by his mother's); and in growing to be twice as old as Patterson, he has learned at least twice as much as Patterson knows today.

Talking to Patterson, you realize that the thought of Moore's strength and cunning do not disturb him. He has acquired great confidence in his golden destiny. It doesn't show in what he says. It shows in the serene, self-assured way he moves, smiles, listens, and takes life as it comes – because it seems to be coming his way. D'Amato does the chatting. "Moore is an easier fight for Floyd than the Jackson fight," the manager babbles, full of excitement over the big prize that is in their reach. Patterson turns his slow, quizzical glance from his white hardtop Cadillac, which is parked near by, to D'Amato. "In some ways, Floyd is smarter than I am," says D'Amato, catching the glance. Patterson smiles his secret little smile, not confirming this or denying it. It's not important for him just now to be smarter than D'Amato. Between them, they have grossed about $125,000 since he turned pro, and will do much better as time goes on. What's important for Patterson is to be smart and strong enough to handle Moore. What about that? "Well, I'll try to be ready for him," Patterson says. There is no doubt behind this remark; just a quiet, matter-of-fact determination to miss no bets.

After the Jackson bout, Patterson began to study TV kinescopes of some of Moore's fights– Moore with Bobo Olson, Moore with Marciano. That is Floyd's way of scouting opponents. He runs fight films over and over with his own projector in his two-room flat in the Bedford-Stuyvesant region of Brooklyn.

The flat is not far from the tenement where his family lives, where Floyd was raised after the family came north from Gastonia, S.C. There are 11 kids in the family, all but two of them boys. The father, Tom Patterson, has been a chauffeur and a truck-driver. The mother, Anabella, is a big, forceful woman who makes quick, forceful decisions. She made a decision for Floyd about 10 years ago. He was running with a rough street gang, raising hell and looting in a small way. With no hestitation, she sent him for a year to Wiltwyck, an upstate New York school for problem children. It seemed to do the job she wanted. Afterward, Floyd finished two years of high school. By then, he was already boxing in D'Amato's gym, as two of his brothers had done before him. And there was no thought in his mind but the one that controls it today: to be the world's best fighter.

He is still a young monk of the ring, a dedicated athlete. There has been no time yet to develop glossy quirks and sidelines. The Cadillacs – he trades in for a new one every year – represent one slight sign of bloom. He has a relatively steady girl, Sandra Hicks, with whom he goes to movies or on the Coney Island park rides he has always liked. "But I have no plans at all for marriage yet," Patterson says, when asked about it. In the matter of clothes, he is just beginning to "move" – nothing yet like the pleats and drapes of Maxie Baer, or the sophisticated berets and bop trimmings of Archie Moore, or the flaming sports clothes and tarns of Joe Louis.

It's Louis you think of first, as you watch Patterson's smooth, fast, exciting rise toward the top. He lacks – and this is a major disadvantage – Louis' size and hitting power. But there is something of the same flair for dramatic action in the ring, the same sense of purpose, the same quality of youth that Joe had 20 years ago. There is also the same big eating (Patterson specializes in wolfing a Carolina dish, pork and yams), and the same big sleeping. Perhaps Patterson is naturally wiser and quicker of mind that Louis was at the same age. But Joe had a gift for home-spun truths and simple bons mots which Patterson, to a degree, seems to share. Just before the Jackson fight, as we sat around talking in Floyd's Catskill training camp. Cus D'Amato began to make a speech about why Patterson would not insist on championship conditions for the fight, such as small, six-ounce gloves.

"Small gloves would favor us," proclaimed D'Amato, "but we won't ask for them, because Floyd hates to take advantage of anyone. Hey, Floyd?"

Patterson gave him an ironic look. "What advantages?" he said. "He'd be wearing the small gloves too."

Later the same day, under pressure, Patterson talked a little about himself. "I have to prepare for all the possibilities, going the distance, and so forth," he said. "After all, I'm not supposed to be a big hitter, like Bob Baker and Bucceroni and those." Ever so faintly the word "supposed' was underlined by his tone of voice. The implication was: maybe I'm a little stronger than you think. For himself, Patterson thought he was big and strong enough for Marciano, before Rocky retired. He thinks he is big and strong enough for Archie Moore. He thinks he can go all the way the first time he fights for the title.

And – if he's wrong about that – do you know anybody who can stop him on the second try? Or the time after that? And once this child of destiny has grabbed hold of the title, who's going to take it away from him?

Floyd Patterson

Archie Moore

21........... Age ...........39(?)

6'.......... Height .........5'11"

180.......... Weight ..........188

33........... Reach .........351/2

31.......... Total bouts ......146

30............ Wins ...........121

1........... Losses ............20

0........... Draws ..............5

20............ KOs .............82

Under supervision of manager Cus D'Amato, Patterson trains for his title bout with Moore.

In his twelve round win over Tommy "Hurricane" Jackson, Patterson showed the style and stamina of a champion