Joltin' Jeff Chandler

Jonnyherb · Posted: October 19 2008, 16:28 PM Post subject: Joltin' Jeff Chandler

Two days before defending his WBA bantamweight championship, Joltin' Jeff Chandler was explaining the difference between boxing and South Philly street fighting: "In the street, you lead with your power. Oh my, yes! In the ring, you touch them first. Then you lower the boom."

And that is exactly what happened last Saturday at the Resorts International Hotel in Atlantic City. Chandler was fighting the man he had taken the title from last November, Julian Solis, a 24-year-old Puerto Rican. With nearly 21 minutes gone in the fight, Chandler threw a left jab at Solis—the same left he had been missing with most of the afternoon. Solis leaned back and the left barely brushed him. That was the touch. Then, with startling speed, Chandler lowered the boom, a straight right hand that caught Solis on the chin. "The right was on its way before the left had really extended itself," Chandler said afterward. Solis staggered forward, clutching at Chandler as he fell. "When he rolled over onto his back, I could see his eyes cross," Chandler said and smiled. The champion, once accused of being a patty-cake puncher, guessed that that right hand may have been the most devastating blow of his career. It ended the fight at 2:58 of the seventh round, extending his record to 26 wins, no losses and two draws.

An hour later he was slipping his greyhound-taut body into a whirlpool full of great, fleshy gamblers. The 5'7", 115-pound Chandler is well known in Atlantic City, where he has fought six times, and he graciously accepted the congratulations that were showered on him. Then he spoke of what will probably be his next defense—not in the ring but in the courtroom. Chandler faces a charge of possession of cocaine, and his trial has been set for late September in Philadelphia. The incident occurred in early June as he was driving his wife, Charlotte, to the hospital. A policeman stopped him, and when Chandler handed the officer his wallet, two packets of coke allegedly fell out. "It's a very heavy charge, but I'm innocent," Chandler says earnestly. A conviction could mean the loss of his title, and right now that's a greater threat to him than any bantamweight fighter on the horizon. In the past six months Chandler has defended the 118-pound championship against the top three WBA contenders, and the WBC champion, Lupe Pintor, apparently wants none of him. "I'm just trying to protect the title," Chandler said last week. "I hope I'll have the same outcome in my trial as I did in this fight."

Chandler, who will be 25 on Sept. 3, is the first American bantamweight champion in 30 years. The last was Manuel Ortiz, a Los Angeles fighter who held the title in 1950. Remarkably, Chandler never stepped into a ring until he was 19. He still remembers the date—Oct. 6, 1975—when he followed a friend into the Juniper Gym in South Philadelphia for his first workout. "I paid my dues the next day and I haven't looked back since," he says. But Chandler had a good job as a foreman with a waterbed manufacturer, and he entertained no intentions of pursuing boxing as a career. "I was working, but there wasn't a sport in my life," he recalls. "I just wanted to stay in shape." At first he boxed as a southpaw—because, as mentioned above, in the streets of South Philly one leads with one's power, which in Chandler's case meant his right—but the coach at the gym, Pat Patterson, turned him around. And he saw something in the kid. "I was rough," Chandler says, "but I had good hands and a good heart."

As with so many top fighters. Chandler's hands and heart were the product of his environment. He learned to fight out of necessity. As a kid he was constantly challenged because, as he says, "everybody wants to fight the little guy because that's a win, right? Only pretty soon I got a reputation for having good hands. But I was also very smart and a very good talker." Walking to school, he had to pass through other neighborhoods, other "turf." The boys there would demand a quarter or a dime to let him pass. "So I learned to punch them in the eye and run two miles home," he says. "That's how street gangs are formed. Ten guys from one neighborhood get together to walk to school, fight their way there and then fight their way back home. You help me and I'll help you."

In December 1975, a little more than two months after putting on the gloves for the first time, Chandler fought his entire amateur career in a single week. On Monday he knocked out his first opponent in the second round. On Friday he lost a split decision to a highly touted amateur with 75 fights behind him. "I thought I'd won," says Chandler. "I figured if I was already as good as a guy with that much experience, I'd just be wasting my time fighting amateur." So in February 1976 he turned pro.

Over the next two years, Chandler went 8-0-1, but only one of his wins was by knockout. "The jokes about not being able to dent a marshmallow had already started," he says. But in fact he was being matched against heavier opponents, featherweights mostly, because there just weren't that many bantams around. Further, he was just learning his craft. He was raw and prone to reaching instead of putting what little weight he had behind a punch.

Late in 1977, Chandler's manager, Arnold Giovanetti, disappeared without a trace. Giovanetti's car was found at the Philadelphia airport, but he hasn't been seen or heard from since. "It makes you wonder what kind of a sport you're getting into," Chandler says. He approached Willie O'Neill, a jovial white-haired Irishman who was always hanging around the gym and going to the fights. O'Neill is regarded locally as a walking encyclopedia of boxing. He even remembers Manuel Ortiz. Chandler asked him to be his manager.

O'Neill demurred.

Chandler asked him a second time.

This time O'Neill, a retired operating engineer who had no interest in managing, thought of a solution. Her name was K.O. Becky O'Neill (n�e Birenbaum), his wife.

"With me as manager," K.O. Becky says, "we knew Joltin' Jeff would get more publicity, because I'm a midget, a pixie, a Jewish shamrock." Check the box marked: all of the above. She's 4'8", 87 pounds, and two minutes after she meets you, she'll challenge you to try to lift her off the ground. Don't bite. Her pixieish thumbs press into some nerve center in your wrist, and 87 pounds might as well be 87 tons. Or if you're so foolish as to try to lift her by the elbows, she will practically dislocate her shoulders to forestall you. Muhammad Ali failed to get her off the ground in front of 400 people at his training camp. Last Friday night Sugar Ray Leonard crept up behind her at the casino to try it, but like the Titanic, K.O. Becky refused to be raised.

Vaudeville lovers of the '40s might remember K.O. Becky as Tiny Baron, who was Madison Square Garden's national jitterbugging champion between 1944 and '46 and part of a successful nightclub comedy act. "I saw her show a hundred times," Willie O'Neill says, "and I giggled every time."

K.O. Becky, now 53, is the only woman manager with a world champion. She overcame such minor obstacles as the sign outside Juniper Gym that reads: MEMBERS ONLY—NO WOMEN ALLOWED, and, with her husband's advice, made it a policy to match Chandler against fighters his own weight. Chandler responded with 11 knockouts in his next 16 fights, culminating in his 14th-round KO over Solis in Miami to win the title.

Before Saturday's rematch, Chandler was miffed because he felt Solis wasn't reciprocating the respect he had shown Solis when Solis was champ. Indeed, at a press conference early in the week, Solis pushed Chandler disdainfully, inciting Joltin' Jeff to try to strangle him. When the two were separated, Solis walked away muttering, "He crazy, he crazy"—the first English words Chandler had ever heard Solis utter.

In the early rounds of their fight, the left jab Chandler had promised to stick in the challenger's face was ineffective, as time after time Solis ducked underneath and moved inside, delivering shots to the body. Then he would hold on. In the fourth round, Solis' best, he stung Chandler with three right hands to the left ear. But Chandler was showing no signs of tiring, and slowly the fight began to turn his way. In the fifth and sixth, having abandoned the jab, he started connecting with right hand leads and left hooks. Solis stopped coming in as aggressively. Then, in the closing seconds of the seventh round, Chandler showed the left one more time to set up that final thundering right.

"He tried to rough me up and stay close to me," Chandler said afterward. "Our strategy was to push him off, but he was a little too quick at first. When he started to tire, it worked just like Willie said it would."

Just about everything worked for the Chandler camp this weekend in Atlantic City. Joltin' Jeff bolted from the blackjack tables with $700 of Resorts International's money, in addition to the $80,000 he earned from the fight, and Willie's pockets bulged obscenely with 240 quarters he won when he hit the jackpot on a slot machine. As for K.O. Becky, she was sky-high with happiness, but her feet never left the ground.

Jonnyherb · Posted: October 19 2008, 16:32 PM Post subject:

Touching Gloves
With..."Joltin"
Jeff Chandler

by Dan Hanley

Back in the early '80s, when national TV was feeding our addiction to the leather-slinging sort, there appeared on the scene what amounted to a Saturday-afternoon staple. The event became predictable enjoyment. The appearance of an almost introvert trainer, followed by a pixie of a manager whose pigtails flailed over and hither as she cheered the entrance of her charge, a 5-foot-7 bantamweight who bore a lean frame and a disdainful scowl. And again, predictably, what followed was pure fireworks.

HANLEY: Jeff, first of all let me congratulate you on your recent induction into the World Boxing Hall of Fame.
CHANDLER: Thank you, Dan. It makes it feel like all the hard work was worthwhile.

You were born and bred in Philly, were you not?
Yes I was. Lived here my whole life.

It's well known that you didn't have much of an amateur career. What was it, two fights?
That's right. In fact, I had my first fight on a Monday, winning on a second-round KO, then wrapped up my amateur career that Friday, losing a three-round decision to Johnny "Dancing Machine" Carter.

Your amateur career lasted a week?
Well, I figured Carter had been fighting for years and I came so close to beating him in my second fight that I didn't see the point in hanging on. So I turned pro at 18.

Did you hook up with the O'Neills immediately?
No, but they were always at the fights, and I got to know them when they'd come over and talk to me. My manager at the time was Arnold Giovenetti. And around '77 Arnold had an "accident"...and died. I heard Arnold may have been into a few things. But Willie and Becky O'Neill would always be there to watch me fight -- and I was usually the walkout bout -- so when they would always hang around to the end, I knew they were sincere. And you know, I couldn't ask for better people to look out for me.

At this stage you were primarily fighting in the Blue Horizon or the Spectrum. What was the difference between the two?
The Blue was like a neighborhood arena. Small, very blue-collar, tremendous audience, and the way it was designed, you could almost touch the fighter. The Spectrum, on the other hand, was grand. You dressed up for a fight at the Spectrum.

Your 16th fight was your first step up in class, when you fought Davey Vasquez, who had been in with several world champs. Tell me about this fight.
When you've made it to the Davey Vasquez level, you're looking to get whupped if you're not prepared. And I appreciated the opportunity and won a 10-round decision.

It wasn't long before you fought for your first title, the vacant USBA bantamweight title against Baby Kid Chocolate. How did this unfold?
This fight was inevitable. We were both from Philly, both making a name for ourselves at 118, we were both watching each other's progress, and we'd both pass along something to the media but not to each other. So it grew into a grudge match. By the time the fight was signed, we wanted each other bad.

Was it much of a fight?
I thought he was going to jump on me early and try to take me out of my game, but he was relaxed, took it easy and...really helped me out. I stopped him in nine.

You also picked up the NABF title against Javier Flores and beat former title challenger Andres Hernandez. But still, was it a bit of a surprise when you got the call for the shot at the title against Julian Solis?
Hell, yes! We had been trying to land a title shot, first against Carlos Zarate, then Jorge Lujan, but they weren't listening. So when we got the call for Solis, it was a surprise. See, I was not one of the top-rated guys, I was like number eight or nine in the rankings, so I don't think Solis' people were doing their homework, because they couldn't have chosen a more hungry opponent.

Who was promoting you at this time?
My promoter was J. Russell Peltz. It was Peltz who would use me when no one else would. I'll tell you a story. Frank Gelb's promotional team wouldn't touch me, but when he got Tyrone Everett his title shot against Alfredo Escalera, they made me Everett's chief sparring partner -- yet told me to go to California if I wanted to fight.

That would have been in '76. They threw a four-round bantamweight in with a world-class junior-lightweight? They threw you in hard, didn't they?
Everett beat on me good in preparation for that fight. [Laughs] After the fight I yelled at him, "Why didn't you jump on Escalera the way you jumped on me?"

Getting back to the Solis fight: How did it unfold?
Solis was very fluid, had a good defense, and made me work overtime throughout that fight. He was so hard to hit. But when I nailed him in the 14th, it was like I suddenly couldn't miss.

What did it feel like getting that belt around your waist?
Oh, man! That was the best feeling I ever had.

Your first title defense was against a man whom would not defend against you. Tell me about your fight with Jorge Lujan.
Jorge Lujan was in line and was the mandatory challenger. He took a great punch and had been doing this for quite a while. He made me work hard, especially down the final stretch.

You were a 15-round fighter. What do you think of reducing championship fights to 12 rounds?
I don't like it! There's a whole lot of regular guys that can go 12-rounds. Championship fighters go 15 rounds.

Your next title fight was against Eijiro Murata over in Japan, which was a draw. I have to tell you, I was surprised. He seemed to be all arms, with big slapping punches. Was he that difficult?

He was so awkward and fought so dirty. He showed me low blows and head butts all night. I had to grow up real quick in this fight. He showed me a whole new game, which is why I fought and knocked him out twice more. Because he made himself an enemy that night.

You were doing everything right as the champ, including giving the former titleholder a rematch. Your second fight with Solis appeared so much easier the second time around.
I was really maturing as a fighter and, to tell the truth, Solis brought nothing new to the table. Same plan as before. I had a much easier time, and this was with a bad back going into the fight. I mean, it was so bad that Willie had to tie my shoes for me that night.

In early '82 you took on the man who gave you your amateur loss. Tell me about your title defense against Johnny "Dancing Machine" Carter.
Ooh, I was licking my lips for this one.

I take it we're talking bad blood?
Very bad blood. The city was divided over this one. We had gone to the same school, knew the same people. I had friends rooting for him with money in their hands betting on him. They felt very strongly about this fight and so did I.

My God, this was a neighborhood war.
Yes it was, and I wanted my win back. The plan was to lay back and make Johnny fight. The first two rounds, Johnny's catching me with good punches while I was waiting for some instruction from my corner, but Willie's not talking to me. The 10-second buzzer goes off for the third round, I stand up and finally, Willie slaps me on the ass and says, "Go get 'em, champ!"
That's when you turned it on?
Now I'm making Johnny fight, and he ain't the "Dancing Machine" anymore. I took him out in six.

What was with the WBA in your next fight, forcing you to defend against Panama's Miguel Iriarte?
Dan, I could smell a bad opponent. My trainer looked at me and said, "Who's he?" I mean, what was he rated, number 35? They pawned him off on us as a mandatory. I hated this. I wanted good opponents, not dog meat.

Well, with no politics involved, you got yourself a good opponent in your next fight against Gaby Canizales out of Laredo. I've got to tell you, Jeff, to this day I have no idea how your ribs held up under those body shots.
Oh, man! Canizales! I gotta admit, I was hurting in that one. He went somewhere no one else went. Y'know, I'll be 50 on my next birthday, but he's one guy I'd come out of retirement for.

You briefly moved up to super-bantamweight for a couple of fights. Were you eyeing up a go at Wilfredo Gomez?
Yeah. In fact, I wanted him ever since the second Solis fight. I'll tell you a story. I was on the scales in Atlantic City weighing in for the Solis rematch, when Wilfredo Gomez, who was a good friend of Solis', sticks his head in reading my weight like he was the commissioner or something. I looked at him and said, "I don't know what you're looking at, but when I'm done with him, I'm coming after you!" Now I don't know if he understood what I said, but I'll tell you, he went pale when I said it.

Tell me about your fights with Oscar Muniz.
The first fight was non-title. I believe someone on the original card dropped out because, on two days' notice, they offered me the fight. Normally I wouldn't accept, because I hadn't been in the gym, but they put $100,000 on the table, and I couldn't turn it down. I'll give him credit, he was ready for the fight and fought like it, beating me over 10. So, I did what was right and defended my title against him, because he deserved it. Again, he was ready for it, but this time so was I. It was a good fight, but I stopped him in seven.

Your final fight was against Richie Sandoval. Tell me how you wrapped up your career.
Y'know, I have a copy of that fight and have seen it only once. I just can't watch it. It looks like I'm sleepwalking in the fight. My shoulder was loaded with a painkiller before the fight and...I wasn't there. I don't even remember the second half of the fight, but I do know Sandoval wanted it bad.

I've heard several different myths as to your sudden retirement. In your own words...?
I had a detached retina repaired after the Sandoval fight. Also, a few months before the fight, I was diagnosed with the onset of cataracts, which I had taken care of in November of '84. I wanted to come back, but I had my mom crying on one arm, KO Becky and Willie crying on the other arm, because they were all worried about my sight. So, I packed it in.

How's your sight today?
Perfect in both eyes, as long as I'm wearing my glasses.

Looking back at your career, a few questions come to mind. Your counterpart at the time was also an outstanding champion. Why did a unification match between you and WBC champ Lupe Pintor never materialize?
I really don't know. Maybe with Don King promoting Pintor he may have wanted options on me. I had real good people looking out for me, who would not give in to these kind of demands. But if it had been up to me, I would have made concessions for that fight.

Were there any other fights out there you would have liked that never materialized?
I would have loved to have fought the Z-Boys. Alfonso Zamora and Carlos Zarate. They were the headliners when I was coming up, but it just didn't happen.

What are you doing these days?
I've been working in the Philadelphia school system for the past six years. I love being around the kids and giving a little something back.

Last question. The Philadelphia gym wars: fact or fiction?
All true. Bennie Briscoe, Tyrone Everett, Matthew Saad Muhammad -- they all went through it. These sparring partners in the gyms weren't looking to box, they were all in attack mode. I'll tell you what my typical day was: I'd get up in the morning and put in my roadwork before going to my construction job, which I held even while I was champ. After a day on the construction site, I would head off to the gym, and there'd be about four or five of my sparring partners waiting outside, watching me dragging myself up the street to the gym. And their lips were smacking so loud it sounded like slurping. These guys were looking to take my head off for $5 a round. After a typical rough session, I would thank them for helping me get in shape and they would look at one another as if to say, "What kind of a guy would thank you for that kind of a whuppin'?" But if you wanted to be champ, you had to be a different kind of animal. And after my workout, I went home to bed, because I knew tomorrow was going to be another tough day.

Jeff Chandler is old-school. One of the few fighters in recent memory who not only put in the time to attain his goal, but reveled in its painful process. A stark reminder to contemporary participants of this sport is the fact that Chandler was not bestowed his laurels, he earned them and looked forward to his next heated session. After all, in boxing, tomorrow is going to be another tough day.

Jonnyherb · Posted: October 19 2008, 16:33 PM Post subject:

Chandler relives the past

June 12, 2001 – Larry Tornambe talks to Hall of Famer and former WBA bantamweight champion Jeff Chandler, one of the greatest 118-pounders ever to grace the sport.

“I blew my stack when they told me I was going to be inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame,” said Jeff Chandler, when he got the news in 2000. “I was exuberant.”

“There is no better thing for a retired fighter than to be recognized as one the best of all-time,” he added.

Chandler was worried that his eight year career was too short to receive the accolade his talents merited. He returned to the Hall of Fame this year and spoke with SecondsOut about his experiences and career.

Joltin’ Jeff had only two amateur bouts before he decided to punch for pay in 1976. After a four-round draw, he reeled off 25 straight wins before another contest ended even.

Chandler fought many of the best bantamweights in the world on his way to winning the WBA title with a 14th round knockout of Julian Solis in November 1980.

His reach advantage, good defense, nearly perfect uppercut and superior discipline allowed him to successfully defend his title 10 times. Unsuccessful challengers included former WBC king Jorge Lujan, Eljiro Murata, Julian Solis, Johnny Carter, Gaby Canizales and Oscar Muniz.

Chandler reigned as WBA bantamweight champion from 1980 to 1984, but half of that time Jeff had a dangerous secret. Nobody outside of his most intimate circle knew that the champ was diagnosed with cataracts in 1982. But Jeff was neither ready or sure about corrective surgery and wanted the doctors to investigate other methods to cure him.

Meanwhile, Chandler battled the cataracts and Richie Sandoval in Atlantic City on April 7, 1984. The combatants gave a hearty performance, but Sandoval jumped through Chandler’s defense and scored a crushing 15th round knockout. Now it was time to turn his attention toward his eyes.

Chandler’s mother and his manager, KO Becky O’Neill, joined with Philadelphia’s famed Wills Eye Institute to finally have the cataracts removed and, in October 1984, the fighter had the necessary surgery.

But Chandler said his eyes were never the same. In the heat or sunlight, they would swell and they were on his mind as he considered taking a return bout with Sandoval.

“Defending all of my body in the ring was second nature and now I would have to concentrate more on covering my eyes,” said Chandler, who wasn’t comfortable with the spectre of further injury.

He watched Sugar Ray Leonard return to boxing after eye surgery and learned the lesson. “I just didn’t see myself at peace with that scenario,” he said and wisely called it quits.

“I thought about coming back,” added Chandler, who was satisfied that he fought the best challengers and didn’t duck anyone. He is very proud of remaining undefeated for seven-and-a-half years and happy with the hard-earned money he was able to save.

Chandler wants to be remembered for being the best because he fought the best. His final record stands at 33 victories, 18 knockouts, 2 losses and 2 draws.

After his retirement, the former champion worked a couple of construction jobs and trained boxers at the Lonnie Young Gym in his hometown of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Since last year’s induction, he landed a ‘non-teaching assistant’ job with the Roosevelt Middle School, close to his home. “I work directly with the kids,” he said as his face lit up with pride.

Chandler has three sons, Tarik, 21, Jeffery Jr, 16, and Julius, 13, who all live with him though the former fighters is now separated from his wife. Joltin’ Jeff still has his faculties, appears in good health and has now returned to training kids at the Waterview Gym in Philadelphia.

Jonnyherb · Posted: October 19 2008, 16:35 PM Post subject:

CHANDLER TOPS CARTER IN BATTLE OF BANTAMS

Joltin' Jeff Retains Crown With TKO in 6th Round

MARCH 27, 1982

On this day in 1982, Jeff Chandler retained his WBA Bantamweight Title with a 6th round TKO of Johnny Carter at Pennsylvania Hall in Philadelphia. With the win, Jeff Chandler put to rest a long-standing rivalry with Carter. Up to that point, "Dancing Machine" Carter was the only man to ever beat Chandler in the ring. That win came by way of a decision in the amateur ranks. So disgusted by the loss was Chandler that he immediately turned pro.

By the time Carter joined the professional ranks, murmurs of Chandler's championship pedigree had already begun. Irritated by what seemed to be a "this town is only big enough for one bantamweight" attitude, Carter's manager Bob Botto whisked him off to the bantam-rich West Coast for development.

By the time Carter was ready for a title try, Chandler was the king of the division, and was the favorite going in. The question that remained however, was "Does Carter have Chandler's number?" Fans poured into PA Hall and tuned in to the national television broadcast to find out. The fight had the makings of an excellent battle between two local stand-outs.

The fight itself was electric, but not because it was war waged between two evenly matched combatants. What made the fight so compelling was just how masterful Jeff Chandler truly was. In Carter, Chandler faced an excellent opponent with a real challenger's credentials. But Joltin' Jeff was not to be denied. On that afternoon, he proved himself to be the best bantam in the world. The fight started carefully, but before long, Chandler was in complete control. Round after round he out worked and simply over-powered his old nemesis. Finally in round 6, the fight was over.

It was Chandler's 5th successful defense. He went on to make four more defenses before losing his crown to Richie Sandoval in 1984. But it was against Johnny Carter, on March 27, 1982, that Chandler reached his absolute peak. His final record was 33-2-2 with 18 KOs, and he was one of Philly's all-time best.