Rocky Marciano versus Coley Wallace
By John Cameron: On the evening of March 1st 1948 Rocco Francis Marchegiano, a former private who had served with the 350th combat engineers during the final stages of the second world war, would step between the ropes against the vastly more experienced Coley Wallace in the opening stages of the prestigious New York Golden Gloves.
Marchegiano had cemented his place in the tournament due to winning the Massachusetts Golden Gloves and later the New England championship held in Lowell the previous month, in this tourney the thunderous punching Brockton heavyweight had blasted his way to both finals in turn, upsetting the odds each time and upsetting the purists into the bargain. This kid was merely a lucky fighter, most maintained, he had no style, merely wading in, sometimes he would sucker an opponent, fake tiredness, lure his opponent in then bang. These feelings were neatly summed up by Lowell columnist Frank Sargent:
“(Rocco)...used everything but his teeth on his foes, for he has appeared in two fights and both times his opponent has wound up on the horizontal end of a haymaker. The crowd boo's his apparent use of elbows, thumbs and head. Although Rocco (whose name sounds more like an Opera stars than a pugilist), will carry the colors of the state into battle...there will be a lot of Lowell fans rooting for his opponent – any opponent!”
Later those in Lowell would change their allegiance, especially when the crude fighter changed his name to the smoother Rocky Marciano, yet on this night Rocco still had yet to win over the crowd, and he was determined to do it...
The following is taken from the forthcoming biography of Rocky Marciano by this writer entitled; Redemption: The Life & Death of Rocky Marciano.
chapter thirteen:
Brooklyn
“You gotta knock out a New York fighter to be sure of a win.”
Tommy Rawson
Marchegiano’s crushing victories in Lowell opened up to him a celebrated whole new world as the week ahead would give to him a taste of success that would fuel his desire for more.
First the entire team representing The Lowell Sun charities in New York would be feted at a gala victory dinner held at the prestigious Parker House hotel in Boston, there they rested before their journey the following day on board the fabled Yankee Clipper, one of the fastest trains in America. Here the team were presented with their royal purple and gold silk robes and trunks emblazoned with sponsors logo, these items would remain a source of great pride to Rocco as early photo’s from his professional career would attest as he is captured adorned in those very trunks.
“Upon arriving at Grand Central (station),” proudly reported The Lowell Sun, “…the entourage will proceed to the Park Central hotel one of the finest in New York, where they’ll establish headquarters and a training table. The team will partake of only the best steaks, chops, green vegetables and other foods which grace the tables of boxing greats.
“When time permit’s the huskies will go on a rubber-neck tour of the town, drinking in the millions of interesting sights to be seen in Manhattan. Special buses will transport the fighters to and from the arena(s), with the final celebrations to take place after Wednesday nights finals. Win or lose, the team will be guests of the N.Y Daily News at a banquet at the Belvedere hotel…In between times the lads will be signing autographs for the many enthusiastic fight fans, meeting radio, stage and screen celebrities and enjoying themselves as they’ve never enjoyed themselves before.”
Yet despite being part of these celebrated times, the man himself barely registered on the Richter scale of the American boxing scene, indeed they caused only a minor ripple in his home state of Massachusetts with the local press at the time, although devoting almost entire papers to the New England tournament, gushing over the brilliance of the show and the skill of those boxers involved, merely giving this “…kid from the shoe city…” a cursory nod towards his punching prowess. As George McGuire would write of Marciano in the Lowell Sun retrospectively as late as February 1969, “…he was a burly, bruising, awkward fighter when he won the Greater-Lowell and New England heavyweight crowns here in 1948.” McGuire, seemingly in order to emphasize his point continued. “He was a lousy boxer. All he possessed was a sneaky right-handed uppercut.”
It would then be only in hindsight that many would reflect back on Rocco with fond memories as he scaled the professional rungs to greatness, for such is the fickle nature of a public. when this occurred they would take him unquestionably to their hearts, a feeling which would be reciprocated by the man himself, with those from Lowell in particular claiming his ascendancy began with them in their very ring.
In a way they were right, for had this raw fighter not walked away with the titles from the Lowell-Sun sponsored tournaments it is doubtful he would have continued on for much longer. Not one to live by the, “It is better to have tried and failed” route, an inability to succeed was seen as an embarrassment that he would do his all to avoid, something which had been drummed into him by his father who felt his own life had not been all that it could have been, this feeling would instill in his son an almost morbid fear of failure. Yet ironically it was his having to come to terms with, that which on the surface at least appeared to be a failure which would convince Rocco that his future did indeed lay with boxing.
It was on the morning of Monday, March 1st, that the New England amateur boxing team would rise early in the Park Central Hotel, their Brooklyn, New York base for the forth-coming Golden Gloves tournament, all eight boxers, ranging from featherweight Francis Collins through to Rocco at heavy quietly crept into the room of coaches Tommy Rawson and Frank Cabral who, slightly startled at being awoken, informed the boys that they didn’t need to rise this early. Yet it was not for extra-curricular training, nor through the sheer nervous excitement of what was for many their first trip to New York which had caused them to arise at the crack of dawn, more it was an innocent and almost naïve need to vent their collective faith through prayer. In this regard it was arranged that later that very morning, and for the subsequent three thereafter, the entire team could be found amassed about the altar at the small St. Francis of Assisi church which was situated with-in but a short walk of their accommodation. This was seen by many as an edifying incident which illustrated that despite the stereotypical image that had been harnessed by both the press and public alike of the time as portraying boxers as soulless thugs who fought in back-street saloons many, indeed most were in fact just your typical boy-next-door type. However there was nothing typical about Rocco Marchegiano, and that evening the paying customers at Ridgewood Grove Arena who had come to see these initial stages of the National Golden Gloves finals being played out here would find out just how atypical he truly was.
This tournament in New York was viewed by both competitors and public alike as the pinnacle of amateur boxing, success here almost guaranteed you a path into the professional ranks and an undoubtedly glorious future. It was here that boxing buzzed, anyone who was anyone could be found amongst the many who had lost their way, from the top managers, to top fighters, champions of the world walked these streets by day and by night taking in the bright lights that even the most gifted knew would one day fade. The city was also home to Madison Square Garden, the most prestigious venue in all of sports, to step between the ropes of this palace of pugilism was to have ascended the summit.
Everything rested in the gloved and bandaged hands of Rocco now and he knew it, here at last, after all his ups and downs was his moment to truly make something of his life, both for himself and his family, these thoughts undoubtedly permeated through his mind as he walked through the dazzling, daunting streets of Brooklyn with his team-mates venturing their way to the offices of the New York Daily News, sponsors of that evenings entertainment. Accompanying Rocco were his erstwhile manager Gene Caggianoand the ever present Allie Colombo, who was now firmly established as his trusted second and conditioner, even though, as New England coach Tommy Rawson would reflect, “…he was no more than his training buddy, running with him and carrying his spit bucket, but he broke up the monotony of the grind and I guess in that way he was invaluable.”
The almost countrified boys awestruck by this metropolitan city had made their ways to the offices of this sponsoring paper in order that they may be appraised as to the order of that evenings bouts. Most seemed quietly pleased with their opponents, but when those there gathered discovered Rocco’s first round pick they were stunned almost to a man, I say almost, the only one who seemed blasé about it all was Rocco himself. The reason for the, to most, groans of disbelief was that the name thrown into the ring with the New Englander seemed an almost insurmountable obstacle to overcome, that name was Coley Wallace.
Wallace was big, according to his officially recorded weight at the time he was scaling some 221-pounds, Rocco, although blockier than he would be in later years, still only pushed the scales to the 190 mark, also to add to his burgeoning task this Wallace was considered by many to be a truly outstanding fighter, in fact, the local New York papers, so convinced were they that this man was going to walk away with the title that they were advertising in big bold letters how you could sit back and watch his coronation from the comfort of your own living room. “Fight Fans see the local favorite Coley Wallace in action…as he wins the Golden Gloves tournament.” Faith indeed in a fighters ability for this advert was placed on Monday, the tourney not concluding until Wednesday, their “local favorite” still had three prospective opponents to maneuver past first.
Wallace’s reputation however was not built on sand, there was definite substance there, on the eve of his opening bout against Marchegiano he was coming off an unbeaten streak of seventeen straight wins, sixteen of them by knock-out. Included in his resume was the previously untouchable amateur Paul Simpson whom he took apart in three clinical rounds, it was through this bout that he would gain the almost unique distinction of being compared to the legendary Joe Louis, previous comparison had already been made due to a clear similarity in looks, particularly profile, but now his skills led to a belief that he would be a future world champion, no doubt about it, it had become not a case of if he could beat his opponent but how quickly, the public, especially in New York, expected him to win and win big. This unknown kid wouldn’t stand a chance.
It would appear that the omens leading up to the headline bout between Marchegiano and Wallace did not bode well for the Brockton fighter, (who was announced as representing Lowell for this evenings festivities) of the three previous contests featuring members of the New England team all had ended in defeat, coach Tommy Rawson put it down to the fact that under the New York rules each match was run over the three rounds of only two-minutes duration meaning that the boys from that state were already conditioned to fight with-in the allotted time frame which leant towards them being quicker, both in movement and punching, whereas those from other areas where the three-minute rounds were in affect had allowed themselves to become accustomed to, as Rawson termed it, the “three-minute instinct.” Meaning they did not fight with the same tempo. The losses of all three by decision that night seemed to validate this theory. Next to be served up would be Marchegiano, would he too carry this ‘instinct’ into the ring, or would some other force be driving him on, it mattered little to the crowd who gave him perfunctory applause as he entered the ring, they saved their throats for Wallace.
The ensuing bout has become an almost mythic match-up not just in the life of Rocky Marciano, but in the history of boxing itself, there have been so many versions of the events which unfolded in the ring that night that it has become almost impossible to separate actuality from the Chinese whispers which have led to its convoluted reality over the ensuing sixty-years, even now it remains an enigmatic, yet still most commented upon amateur bout in the history of the sport. The reasons for this are two-fold, first the account which Wallace himself would give, and take to his grave in 2005, the second is the account which would pass through the hands of those Marciano biographers who have gone before. The constant truth of it however is that Coley won, but it is the manner of his victory that has become elaborated upon.
“It was an easy fight, I had him down twice,” Wallace would recall, adding. “Marciano was like a street fighter, a good beginner. He was swinging wild, never hit me solid, and didn’t hit that hard. I found Rocky to be a strong determined fighter. After I floored him in the second round, Marciano came up swinging. Although I won the decision I had to admire his grim determination.” This account has since been taken as fact for generations leading the Pulitzer prize winning commentator, sometime boxing writer, and friend of Marciano’s, Jimmy Breslin, to concur with Wallace, he felt that those who did not believe that Coley won the fight in the manner he maintained were taking part in a sort of, “…revisionist history. Were they there or were they making it up?”
Marciano on the other hand remembered the bout rather differently; as did his team coach Tommy Rawson, although with a slightly altered account to his famous charge, as late as 1965 the pair would reflect back to the bout in question. “I got underneath his punches and hit him in the ribcage and clubbed him on the back of the head. He stood tall like Ezzard Charles but he couldn’t box me because of my awkward maneuvers, I had a little bob and weave even then. So I did fairly well in the first round,” remembered Rocky. Rawson however stated quite categorically that he did not have such a good start, Wallace roughed his fighter up with forearms and elbows, hitting him at will with solid shots. “He threw Rocky all over the place,” he declared. In the second Rocky conceded that he was soundly beaten for the full two-minutes, nevertheless Rawson again disagreed. “Rocky took the bull by the horns, he just lifted Coley Wallace like a sack of flour and shoved him around, and Wallace began retreating.”
In the third however both were in accord with Marciano tearing into the taller fighter, stubbornly attempting to pin him to the ropes, with 45-seconds left he succeeded and teed of on his foe with abandon. Added Marciano “Then the bell rang and I’ll never forget what happened next, because I was standing there watching Wallace’s corner and saw it. One of his handlers threw a towel at Wallace in disgust, as if to say, ‘You big bum, you blew the fight!” Yet still the New York fighter got the decision leading Marciano to comment, “I don’t like to put a rap on boxing, but even in the amateurs there was maybe some skullduggery.” It was Allie Colombo who on another occasion would add the reaction of the crowd to his friend’s denial of victory, “They booed so loudly, I couldn’t hear myself talking to the Rock as we left the ring. Everybody in the place wanted to pound Rocky on the back. We could hardly get through the crowd to the dressing room.”
All of these retelling s nonetheless are subject to the human frailty of memory and perceived reflection, neither wishing to deny for himself that which he felt was rightfully his. In Rocco’s case this meant a victory, and in Wallace’s it would be a vindication of his legacy, for, despite his initial brilliance, he would never fulfill that enormous potential which had been hoisted upon his broad shoulders, sure he would go on to win this tournament on a decision over the highly regarded Bob Baker, he would even carry himself through three more victorious Golden Gloves competitions at regional level before finally coming unstuck in 1949 against the same Bob Baker, he would also fall short in his attempt to win a place on the ‘48 Olympic team on which many felt he was assured. In 1950 Wallace would turn professional and began what many felt was a guaranteed path to greatness, but it never happened.
Initially Coley would remain unbeaten, that is until he met an unassuming and unremarkable heavyweight in June of 1951 by the name of Elkin Brothers who literally blew Wallace away inside of two-rounds, his career would never recover, retiring in 1956 with a less than impressive record of seven losses in twenty-seven fights. He would forever blame his inability to make an impression in the paid ranks to the intervention of his manager Frank “Blinky” Palermo who was a fully paid up member of the Mob, that gangster element who unofficially ran boxing after the war, however in reality, the plain fact was that he just wasn’t good enough.
Coley did however find a modicum of fame through his unnerving similarity to Joe Louis by portraying the man no less than three times on both the big screen and small, before retiring into the background and ending his career as a liquor salesman, a rather strange career choice for a man who abstained from alcohol all his life. Thus his victory over the then Marchegiano would forever remain, in hindsight, his greatest moment, a triumph over the man who was destined never to lose a bout in the prize ring, what harm would it do to embellish it, but not merely by a little, never did he recall a narrow victory, one that maybe, just maybe he may not have deserved, but rather one in which he totally dominated his inferior opponent. It seemed the more he told his side of the story the more it became entrenched as an established truth, he was such a sincere individual in his advancing years that many were to fall under his spell, and, as the bout fell further and further back through time, its echo’s became distorted and unimpeachable, who would be able to refute it. Well there was one man who could, one amongst many who was there that night and who would not wait years to recount it’s unfolding, that man was the late John F. Kenney, sports editor for the Lowell sun, and on the evening of March 1st, he would scribe the following for the edification of his readers the following day:
“A tree grows in Brooklyn, and for all of the boxing fans packed in Ridgewood Grove for the first round of the All-Eastern Golden Gloves championship yesterday afternoon certain of the so-called authorities associated with the judging of relative ring merits of amateur boxing boys could well be lashed to the trunk and left to the vultures, or even suspended by the neck from one of its spreading branches. In one of the most putrid decisions ever handed down from a Golden Gloves tournament anywhere…Rocco Markegiano (sic) of Brockton was penciled into the limbo of eliminated contenders after glorifying The Sun Charities’ New England team in the hearts of 3000 fans by administering Coley Wallace, New York metropolitan champion, the pasting of that…goliath’s career. In a word it was a stinkeroo.
The fans from Brooklyn, Manhattan, Bronx and Queens who up to bell time didn’t know Markegiano from a hole in the wall, milled their way from the back of the arena down to the very ropes after the final bout’s decision was rendered. They raged for fully 15 minutes in fruitless protest, button holing anybody who looked like an official, and at times even threatening violence. Said a reporter from the Puerto Rican newspaper, El Mundo, ‘How can New York expect various zones of the United States which have district tournaments, to return after a decision like that?’ He was talking as fans picked up Markegiano as a baby and smothered him with pats on the back,…finally setting his feet on the Grove floor at coach Tommy Rawson’s insistence. All the way up to the far dressing room the bewildered Rocco was pounded enthusiastically, his way impeded by fans who just wanted to shake hands with him. Hundreds of throats gave volume to the one yell, ‘You won that fight son,’ or another, ‘The decision is only two blind men’s not ours boy!’
…Rocco came out of his corner at the first bell and swished one of those uppercuts right at the giant's jowls. He missed. Wallace closed in to devour this presumptive New Englander, where-upon Markegiano slammed one into Wallace's stomach and threw a right to the…face that you could hear as far as Beaver brook in Dracut. Mister Wallace's expression changed. The fans began to take off their overcoats. If there has been any thoughts in the minds of the Lowell fans that Rocco acquired his Lowell victories too easily, or that he went to New York actually untested by reason of the fact that he never had to take it, well, they should have been here. Wallace beat Rocco back to the ropes by sheer power in that first round, but Markegiano wheeled quickly and put Wallace into the same spot, trying desperately to connect with that uppercut. Momentarily, the…behemoth put both gloves to his face for self-protection. The fans loved it.
Apparently they had not seen this before from Wallace. They adopted Rocco, heart, glove and trunks from that moment. Markegiano bore right in. Belting Wallace to a point where it was reckless. Having only attack in his instincts, he was wide open. But here's where Wallace lost the fight in this man's book. Wallace swung back…again and again, but missed by the margin of home plate to outfield.
They were tied in at close quarters at the first round's end. Markegiano couldn't knock Wallace out. That was evident in the first round. It was that kind of a fight. As the second canto started however, Rocco pitched everything he had into an aggressive, always moving offense. The bigger man backed up, circled, wheeled away and never counter-punched. Wallace always covered, then fought his way out with ungainly punches that only landed without aim. Wallace apparently had figured at this stage that if he swung often enough he might catch Rocco with something wild. Markegiano was driving rights and lefts to Wallace's head in a neutral corner when the bell rang. Markegiano didn't win the third and final round. Nor did he lose it. Wearied to a point where only self-gumption carried him through, the Brockton…hope kept on whirling them in there, but his Sunday punch was ineffective. It wasn't because he wasn't connecting, but because Wallace was too tall for the smaller Rocco's whameroo. His big poke to the jaw connected often enough, but by the time it reached its objective it had passed the radius of effectiveness.
To hit Wallace with that sleeper Markegiano had to hoist it upwards as a hod-carrier carries up the bricks. The stronger Wallace kept on weathering a terrific attack, but when he threw a fresher set of punches at Rocco in the third round he always found more gloves in his face…these were mostly exhausted punches, but they were there. Just before the bell sounded, Markegiano rallied all he had left and was fighting only with his heart as Wallace awkwardly stumbled with what appeared to be puzzlement and panic. They were all in at close quarters when the last bell sounded. By that time the joint was going crazy. Gene Caggiano, who handles Rocco back in the Bay State, leaped into the ring with wild delirium. So did Rawson and Cabral. The fans were applauding the happy Markegiano to a point where the announcer could hardly be heard. The loudspeaker finally got its request for quiet.
The announcer looked over the slips in the traditional manner then spoke: ‘The winner,’ he said, ‘Wallace.’ Ridgewood Grove became pandemonium. A roar went up first and it was of one word: ‘No.’ It continued for a quarter-hour. Reporters demanded explanation. These were from Jacksonville and Buffalo and other spots unacquainted with Markegiano. All they knew was that they had seen a fight won and lost and they wished to record it that way.”
Thus Rocco, who had to all appearances won the day hadd not, according to the officials marking the scorecard for the bout, emerged triumphant from this match. It was Wallace, so they agreed, who had won the fight, “…but scoring sheets are not as articulate as thousands of fans,” continued Kenney. A demand for the scoring of the bout brought out the objective facts, Judge Rudy Keppler voted for Marchegiano, while Judges Delaney and Referee Barney Smith voted for Wallace.
In the immediate aftermath there was talk, in an attempt to pacify the growing feeling of chaos with-in the arena that Rocco would be named alternate on the All-Eastern team to meet Chicago’s standouts in a later tournament. Whilst all this turmoil bubbled over meanwhile, Rocco had eventually made his way through frantic applause and congratulatory abandon to his dressing room where he was to entertain for the first time an enthusiastic press eager to get his reaction to the universally condemned decision. "Why can't I go in as a number one heavyweight?" he inquired on hearing of the ruling regarding his possible inclusion into the all-eastern team. "I think I could lick Wallace again." Yet to the incredulity of those present he refused to talk down about his alleged conqueror, “Wallace is a good boy. He gave me the hardest fight of my experience.” Yet in private the vanquished Marchegiano would resent his erstwhile victors glory as down through the years Coley’s lavish reworking grew more and more improbable. “Wallace really got under his skin,” said Colombo in 1968. “He was pissed that Wallace never credited him with beating him, once The Rock said to me, “Why does he have to make up this bullshit, why don’t he just fez up that I won. You know my biggest regret in life is that I never had the chance to prove I beat him. I wanted that bad.’ Yeah, Wallace really got under his skin.”
Whilst still in the dressing room immediately after the bout the then unknown fighters turbulent emotions, at one time somber, at another ecstatic, were alleviated when he met face to face with the former heavyweight champion Gene Tunney who entered his dressing room in order to congratulate the amateur on his fight whilst reiterating the opinion of the majority that he was robbed out of victory, he would add to this his complements on Marchegiano’s unique style of infighting which Caggiano had been attempting to add to his fighters limited arsenal just prior to the bout. “It was this fight and the comments of Tunney that convinced Rocky that he could go places in the sport,” remarked Rawson later. “He wanted another shot at Wallace, and with the AAU tournament to be held in Boston just a month away we both knew that victory there would seal for him another crack at Coley.”
Rocco himself would later admit that this setback again left him disillusioned with the sport to the point that he was almost on the brink of walking away once more, that is until he read the above article whilst sat in New York’s famous Times Square the following day, “When I read that article in the morning I knew I had a future.” Many years later, by which time having ascended to the heavyweight championship the then Rocky Marciano discovered that the author of the piece lay ill in Lowell’s Meadowcrest hospital, he saw this as his chance to thank the writer for his inspirational words, thus he sat down to pen a few of his own to the stricken Kenney:
“…I wonder, Jack, if you ever realized how much your wonderful story on the fight I had when I represented your Lowell Sun team in ’48 in New York meant to me. It was the inspiration I needed to continue fighting. First of all your Lowell Sun Tournament gave me the opportunity to get started in boxing again after being away from it for two years after being out of the Army. Then when I did so well and qualified to make the trip to N. Y., I wanted to win that tournament very much, and then to lose in the first bout of the N.Y tournament was a disappointment, but then I got your wonderful story for me. Jack I still have that story and it is on the first page of my wife’s scrapbook. That was the real beginning for me….
Your Friend
Rocky Marciano
Eventually, in 1954, Marciano would get to visit Kenney in person whilst appearing as a guest referee at the very same Lowell Sun Charities tournament that had launched him on his path to the championship some six-years earlier. Upon meeting the afflicted writer he would produce the fading and well thumbed article.
“I can’t emphasize enough how those words affected me,” said Marciano. “I owe John everything, I have a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.” At the meeting Kenney vowed that when he had regained his strength he would come to see Rocky defend his championship in person, alas it was an oath he would not be able to keep for he was to languish in ill health for the next six-years before passing away in 1960. Marciano, despite his fondness for the man who had been the first to see the spark of genius in this raw uncultured lump of granite over a decade before never attended the funeral; it would not be the last time he failed to pay his final respects to someone who had helped to shape him.
For now though Marchegiano had returned to Brockton and this time his homecoming allowed him to greet his family and friends with his head held high, he was the toast of the city, at least in terms of sporting achievements, his name, albeit spelt wrong, was in every major paper in the United States, he had tasted his first bite of fame and he liked it....
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Comments (12)
Great article, John, I can't wait for your book to come out... :D I've always been a firm believer that Rocky Marciano was the greatest fighter of all time.
For some more info and pictures on Rocky cut and paste link to theboxinghistorian.com forum room. Scroll through the 4 pges. Enjoy
He is interred in a crypt at Forest Lawn Memorial Cemetery in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. His wife, who died five years after him at the age of 46, is entombed next to him. His father died in March 1972, his mother in early January 1986.
@ Harry If I had one dream fight it would be Marciano vs. Frazier, that would have been a great fight.