Josh abruptly stopped punching the bag and, after first glancing at me, turned to Bill. “Uh yes,” he said hesitantly, “I, uh, would love to.” It was clear he was perplexed; Bill was the wrong side of seventy, and Josh knew that he couldn’t possibly be as fit as a young athlete like himself. It would be interesting to see how the kid solved this latest problem. He removed his punch-bag mitts and climbed into the now-vacated ring.
“OK Chuck, get him a head guard and some gloves.”
Bill didn’t think it necessary to wear a head-guard himself, so put on his gloves and joined Josh in the ring. “O.K.”, he said indicating for Josh to come to the centre. “Just come at me as if you really mean business. Don’t worry, I won’t hit you too hard,” he said crinkling his weather-beaten face into a smile. Josh moved forward in his well guarded crouch and started to circle around Bill. Dancing, bobbing and weaving, feinting with lefts and rights. Then, suddenly after quickly moving to his left he ducked, and let loose a right hook to the jaw, with all the power of a feather duster, and was away again, before Bill realised what had happened. The ability to be able to swing a punch with full power and, at the moment of contact, make it land so gently that a fly could survive the ordeal, takes exceptional skill, timing, and perfect judgement of distance.
Bill dropped his guard and, for the first time in my memory, instead of keeping his teeth clamped together, allowed his mouth to drop open in surprise. {A very dangerous pastime when engaged in this form of combat. A clip on the jaw at such a time could result in severe injury. The notorious East End of London gangsters, the Kray twins, made a habit of offering a cigarette to anyone with whom they had a grudge, and when it was loosely held between the victims lips waiting for a light, a left or right hook would cause the jaw to snap like a carrot}.
Josh moved in again and pummelled Bill with rights and lefts to the head and body, the blows initially taking on the appearance of full power, only to dissipate when a hairs breath from the target, to nothing more powerful than a puff of wind. No matter how hard he tried, Bill could not land a single blow on the kid. Josh was in his element. He moved around the ring like a ring-wise veteran, and every time Bill threw a punch, which he was doing now with increased regularity, he missed by the thickness of a piece of paper as the kid either parried the blow, moved slightly out of range, or moved his head to let it slip by. As people started to take interest in the proceedings, the speed bags slowed down and stopped and the sound of rope being jumped, the grunting and groaning, and huffing and puffing, became less and less noticeable.
I’ve seen Bill in the ring training some of the greatest fighters in the world over a period of many years, but I have never witnessed anything quite like this. The old guy, having spent a life-time in boxing, was still quicker than your average thirty year old, but the kid was making him look like he was related to a turtle. Bill stopped and put his hands down, “What’s the big idea, lettin’ me off so light? D’you think I can’t take a punch?” he said with menace, glaring at Josh, who didn’t know what to make of him. The old guy looked thoughtful for a moment and, without changing his expression said, “You’re somethin’ else kid, where d’you learn all that stuff anyway?” and without waiting for an answer continued. “Perhaps we ought’a call it a day and take you home for some food before Martha starts hittin’ me a darn sight harder than you have. We can come back tomorrow, and I can arrange for you to have a proper work-out with someone nearer your own age.”
“Anything you say, Bill.” Josh said, after removing his gloves, head-guard and gum shield.
“Now go and get a shower”, interrupted Martha, “and we can go home and you can try out some of Susie’s cooking,” and turning to me said. “That boy’s sure got chutzpah.”
Bill and Martha’s apartment was huge by anyone’s standard. “Enough bedrooms to accommodate all my staff at one time, if necessary,” Bill would tell anyone who would listen. I don’t ever remember them not having company. Sugar Ray Leonard, Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier, Jake LaMotta, Roy Jones and a bizarre collection of down and outs and reformed convicts and drug addicts, they had all been the guests of Martha and Bill. Today there was just Susie, an African-American of ample proportions who hailed from South of the Mississippi and, apart from bossing everyone around, took care of the cooking and some of the other jobs that needed to be done around the place.
“Jack Richards,” she said, giving me a hug on our arrival. “When are you goin’ to bring your momma and poppa round to see us? It must be over a year since they was here.”
There were now flecks of grey in her tightly tied-back hair.
“Susie,” I said, “I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t seen them myself in that time, but as soon as I can arrange it I’ll bring them round. As you know they live the other side of town and both are frail so don’t get out much.”
“Even more reason why you should bring them round to see us. And who’s this young man?” she said, changing the subject and looking at Josh enquiringly.
“This young man,” announced Bill, “is Josh, and he’s just bin givin’ me a boxing lesson.”
“D’you mean you been to that gym before lettin’ this boy rest after such a long journey. Shame on all of you. Now come on inside and let me get some food inside him before he wastes away.” The kid smiled, Bill shook his head and Maryanne threw her arms around Susie and kissed her.
“What would we all do if we didn’t have you to browbeat us and keep us in order? Drift into crime no doubt,” said Maryanne answering her own question.
It had been arranged that we would all stay that night with Bill and Martha and the next day, after we’d rested, Josh and I would go across town to see my folks.
Early the following day, on our journey through the city, I was able to show Josh many of the sights of New York, which was a sheer joy to me, having someone beside me making intelligent observations, and demanding nothing in return. He appreciated everything I did for him, which wasn’t a lot, and seemed anxious to make our time together a pleasant one. I feared that I was taking on a paternal roll and beginning to worry more than I should about his welfare.
On arrival at my folk’s apartment block I was shocked when I saw them. In the short time that I’d been away, their arthritis had taken a firm hold. Both had deteriorated to the extent that they couldn’t leave their apartment anymore, and needed their groceries delivered. They also had difficulty in moving around without the aid of sticks. I felt guilty being their only son and working so far away. I decided that I would quit my job as soon as I got back to London. It shouldn’t be too difficult getting a similar one in New York, and I could then spend more time with them and help repay some of the sacrifices they made for me. Most kids are lousy to their parents, and it’s not until they grow up, and become parents themselves, that some realise when Shakespeare said, ‘How sharper than a Serpents tooth having an ungrateful child’ could apply to them.