Luis Santana and the Cadillac

By kiki

In 1989 when my son Tony Baltazar was getting ready for his fight with Buddy McGirt, we set up a training camp at the La Mancha Athletic Club in Phoenix, Arizona. After one month of training at La Mancha, it was time to break camp and prepare for our flight to New York City. The fight was held in Swan Lake, upstate New York. 

The night before our departure to New York City, La Mancha owners Charlie, and Diane, threw a breaking-camp party for us at their home in Surprise, Az. Surprise, Az. is about 30 miles from Phoenix, I believe. There were about ten of us that drove in two cars to Surprise. The group included Jimmy Montoya, Jerry Cheatham, Grant "Elvis" Phillips, Luis Santana, Tony I, and others. Food and drinks were served by our host. Luis Santana, a non-drinker, was putting away the tequila that night, I believe his girlfriend had sent him a "dear Juan" letter, or she lost some weight. (Luis like his women extra heavy)

Tony and some of the guys left early in one of the cars; soon after, some of the other guys left in the second car; Jimmy, Jerry, Elvis, Luis, and I were left behind without a vehicle. Our host Charlie said not to worry; we could use one of his cars to get back to La Mancha when we were ready to leave. Around 2:00 AM, we thanked Charlie and Diane and told them that it was time for us to get back to La Mancha. Charlie walked us to the back of the house where three brand new cars were sitting, two Cadillacs and a Jaguar; take your pick, he told us; we picked one of the Caddies. Elvis got behind the wheel, with Jimmy riding shotgun; in the back were Jerry, Luis, and me, with Luis, Tony's hired sparring partner, sitting in the middle.

No sooner had we gotten on the road when we got lost, and we wound up on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Finally, the dirt road came to a dead-end in a dark desert that not even the rattlesnakes could see where they were going. As we stopped at the dead-end, Luis started to get sick; Jerry and I jumped out of the Caddie just as Luis barfed on the rear floor of the new Caddie. After making sure that Luis was done barfing, we somehow managed to get back on the right road; we drove back to La Mancha with our heads sticking out the windows. 

Sunrise found Elvis, Jerry, and Luis at a self-serve car wash trying to clean the Caddie. When Charlie was told what had happened, he said, "don't worry about it, I'll just get another car" I don't know if he bought another car.

Diane, Charlie, and their teenage daughter, Kelly, made the trip to New York with us. We were put up at a hotel on 8^th Ave just off 42 St. The morning after our arrival, we were having breakfast at the hotel's coffee shop when Diane told us about what Kelly had seen. Kelly had been looking out the window in the middle of the night when she saw what she took to be a prostitute talking to a "john" Kelly told Diane, "mom, look, the girl is talking to a "client."

After dropping Buddy McGirt in the second round, Tony lost a ten-round decision. 

Luis went on to win the WBC Light Middleweight title from Terry Norris on a DQ.

Elvis is now the Founder/CEO of Grant Inc, a boxing equipment manufacturer.

Breakfast with Connie

                                                                  By kiki

Connie invited me out for a late breakfast, told me to pick the place, so I took her to a local Mexican restaurant that we don't visit often. The place was packed so we had to sit in the patio. As we were having breakfast the mariachi’s strolled over and sang a couple of songs for us. I said to Connie “babe, having breakfast in a patio with mariachi’s is very romantic” she looked at me and did an eye-roll, her eyes went all the way to the back of her head!

Pops: A Reflection in Time

 
                                              Memories of Pops   

                                                                1913-2000
                                                  
By KiKi

November 12, 2013, is my father, Aurelio Baltazar, Centennial Birthday (1913-2013). I will go back and write some of the memories he left me.

My dad started his life journey in Mexico. Pops was born in the then small town of Penjamo, in the great state of Guanajuato, on November 12, 1913, to parents Francisco and Guadalupe Baltazar (née Melendez)

I don't know much about my grandparents, Mama Lupe and Papa Francisco, my dad's life in Mexico, or their journey to the United States when my dad was about a year old. What I have heard throughout the years, though, was that my grandparents were fleeing the Mexican Revolution. And that their first stop in this great country was in Chicago, where they spent about a year before moving north to Wisconsin, where; they spent 3 or 4 years before moving west. Legend has it that my grandma, Mama Lupe, couldn't take the cold mid-western winters and that she talked Papa Francisco into moving west, true? I don't know. Where was their first stop as they moved west? California? Was it at the Simons Brickyard? Again, I don't know. But at some point, they landed in the Brickyard where Pops grew up, went to school, and met my Mom, Eulalia Adame. After fighting off some of my Mom's other suitors, Pops married Mom in 1934.

                             Mom and Pops on their wedding day...1934 
                                                    
I don't know much about Pop's days as a youth in Simons as he didn't talk much about his time growing up in the Brickyard. I would have loved to have sat down with him growing up and had him tell me stories of his youth and teen years. Was he as mischievous as me? Did he and his buddies do the things my buddies and I did? Did they ever steal a rooster and burn people's fences? I would've loved to have heard tales of his days before he and Mom married. But unfortunately, my formative years; were his heaviest drinking years. Hence, we didn't talk much; I saw him only a few minutes daily and rarely on weekends. There were no holidays shared together, no father-son ball games. He was always too busy working two jobs, and he was busy drinking when not working. Although, looking back now, I believe he deeply loved his family. Still, with his personal demons hacking on him, he had a tough time showing it. Later, after he had been on the AA sober wagon, he told me that he had played baseball with the Simons Brick Company Baseball Team; baseball was his favorite sport. Also that he did some amateur boxing. But either way, drinking or sober, Pops did little talking, especially about himself. He was a very humble and unpretentious man.

I write my heartfelt memories with much love, respect, and admiration. They are memories of a man who was just an ordinary man in many people's eyes, but in my eyes, and I am sure in my sibling's eyes, he was a great man. So, Pops, you're my hero!!
                                              
                                      Memories of Pops

My first memories of Pops date back to the start of WWII. I remember Pops as a hefty drinker when he was a very hard-working young man. I remember Pops working very hard during WWII, holding two eight-hour jobs. In between his two jobs, Pops would hit the bottle. Every time Pops was drinking heavily, he would take off; my Mom would ask him where he was going, and Pops would answer, "to join the army" he, of course, was turned down every time. I remember, too, during the war, that my Pops had a Japanese friend who had a farm on Greenwood Blvd., just north of Telegraph Road in South Montebello. Was it within the Montebello City limits? Soon after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, my dad's friend was roundup with his wife and young family and sent to a "War Relocation" camp. Somehow Pops moved us out of Simons and into that farm. That only lasted about six months, and then we moved back to the Brickyard.

Much to Mom's dismay, Pops frequently frequent the local cantinas in his drinking heydays. So Mom would send me out to look for him and bring him home, which I did more than once. We must have been quite a sight: a young boy leading his father by the hand. Pops, who was always four sheets to the wind as I led him home, never gave me any trouble as we made our way down the dusty dirt streets of the Brickyard.

Pops worked at the Simons Brickyard during the war during the day, and then he worked at the American Foundry at night. The Simons Brickyard workers would start early at 4:00 and work without breakfast. During the summers, around 7 in the morning, I would go around the barrio, pull a homemade wagon, and pick up breakfasts that I would then deliver to some of the workers at the Brickyard. My Mom would pack breakfast for both my dad and me.

One fond memory I have of Pops was when during the summer months, I used to help him load up a mule-drawn cart with bricks to be taken to the kilns for burning. After unloading the bricks, I would run the Mule back to the rakas to reload the cart; Pops would always scold me for running the Mule instead of walking her. So after that, I would just walk her, that is, until the following day.

While living in Simons, Pops used to grow his own vegetables. Pops also had chickens, rabbits, and a goat, fed to eat them when we were short of store-bought food. Unfortunately, our rabbits were stolen for a wedding dinner party, and another time our goat was stolen and was cooked into birria by Pop's drinking buddies. But since he was invited to eat birria, he didn't mind that it was his goat that he and his buddies were eating.

One funny memory of Pops was when one summer day at the Simons Brickyard in the late 1940s, my Pops and our next-door neighbor Joe Leyva, who was known far and wide as Stakas, were sitting on a dirt hill about 50 yards or less from our house drinking wine and probably some beer too. After drinking most of the afternoon, they got into an argument. Mom heard them arguing. She told me, "go and see what your dad and Stakas are arguing about" I ran towards the little hill, and I could hear Stakas yelling at Pops, "no, Connie does." Pops yelled back at him, "No, Eulalia does" I told Pops that Mom needed him at home, and he reluctantly agreed to go home. Walking away, turned around and yelled at Stakas, "Eulalia's legs are more beautiful than Connie's" They were arguing about whose wife had better-looking legs. The two drinking buddies almost fought over a pair of legs...I admit my Mom had gorgeous legs, but I don't want to argue about it!
 
After the war, he worked at a pipeline company, Pacific Pipeline. He worked at Pacific Pipeline for several years. We were still living in the Brickyard while he worked at the pipeline, and because he was working outside the Brickyard, our rent went from four dollars a month to seventeen dollars a month.

                                                            Pops

                                        Portrait by Martin Arriola

 In 1950 a second son was born to Mom and Pops, my one and only brother, Mando; Pops was so happy because he only had one boy out of five kids at the time, so glad that he got stinking drunk, which was nothing new, but when he sobered up; I remember him telling Mom that he had had his last drink. He was true to his word. He was sobered for the next 50 years. How he conquered his personal demons is beyond me. I married and moved out soon after Pops sobered up, so I didn't get to spend much time with him in his sober years. I now regret that I could have made more time to laugh with him during happy times and weep with him during sad times.

In 1952, the Brickyard was closed, and we moved to Pico, now Pico Rivera. Around that time, he got a job with a landscaping company. He also found his niche in finding that job, as he loved gardening. He loved working outdoors. He worked landscaping the new freeways around Southern California.

He worked at the landscaping company until his retirement in 1969 at the age of 56 years. After his retirement, he worked as a landscaper/gardener until his late seventies.

A beautiful memory of Pops that I hold dear is when he would tell us we were going to the piscas (fruit picking). He would tell us it was a vacation and that we would love it. Those "vacations" that we went on close to sixty years ago in Paicines, California, were the most memorable times of my youth. Those "vacations" also help instill work ethics in us siblings.
 
I remember how Pops thought the world as he knew it had ended one day because Mom had stopped making homemade tortillas. Mom had made tortillas for Pops and us kids for many years, then one day, she went to the local market and saw some machine-made tortillas. When Pops sat down for dinner that night, there was a basket with warm tortillas on the table; Pops was surprised they were not Mom's tortillas "hey, what is this? These are not your homemade tortillas," Pops told Mom. "I bought these tortillas at the market, and from now on, if you want tortillas, this what you're getting," Mom told Pops. Pops kept getting the store-bought tortillas for the rest of his life; he was not a happy camper, to say the least! Soon after Mom stopped making him tortillas, he asked Connie, "Connie, do you still make tortillas for kiki every day?" Connie told him she made tortillas every day after getting home from work. "Connie, you don't need to do that anymore; just buy him tortillas from the store" "good idea," said Connie. So now I am lucky to get homemade tortillas once every six months.
One day I told Pops, "pops, you ruined a good thing for me when you told Connie to buy the tortillas instead of making them" he put his arm around my shoulders, and with a mischievous look in his eyes, he told me, "well Mijo, if I can't have homemade tortillas, neither can you"!Aye, Pops, how I loved that man!! 

                 Mom and Pops with Mando doing the piscas in 1952

I remember Pops as being a closet softy; for example: in 1954, when he announced that we were going to Paicines to do the piscas thing, I told him that I wasn't going unless I could take my car; he told me, "no, you're not taking your car, we are driving my car" I was 17 at the time, and I thought I could go or not go, so I told him "okay, then I am not going" Pops trying his best to be assertive than told me, in a slightly raised voice, that I was not taking my car, but that I was going whether I wanted to or not. I did go, but I drove my car to Paicines. Pops was that kind of a man, always saying no to anything we kids wanted to do, but in the end, if our intentions were noble, he would always relent. 

When one of my sisters wanted a new dress or pair of shoes, the first thing out of his mouth was, "no!" he would then tell whatever sister it was that was doing the asking, "you have a closet full of dresses and shoes." A few days later, my sister would be wearing a new ensemble. 

I can remember only one time when I asked for something, and Pop didn't cave in; I was 15 and wanted him to buy me a car for my 16^th birthday, but he said, "no way!" I kept asking but to no avail! So I bought my own car!! But was he a closet softy? Of course, he was!!

One vivid memory of Pops is cooking tripas on his Webber Grill for the family at Legg Lake on Easter Sundays. How he loved his tripas!

Another great memory of Pops I hold dear is when Mando and I convinced him to go on one of our fishing trips to the Eastern Sierras. We could never get him to go with us. His excuse was always, "Who's going to take care of the animals? Who is going to feed them?" This time, he agreed to go with us. He rode with others in the back of the camper; soon, they had a poker game, and some guys were drinking beer while Pops drank coffee. 

We were going to the town of Bishop, a long six-hour drive, so we consumed lots of beer and coffee on our way there. It was 1:00 in the AM when we got to Bishop. So we made a quick stop in town and stocked up with more beer before driving a few miles north of town to Pleasant Valley Reservoir Campgrounds; we found the campgrounds full, so I went about one hundred yards off of the campgrounds and ended up in a cow pasture. Parked there and bought the beer cooler. We were drinking, telling jokes, laughing, and just plain carrying on when the back door of the camper swung open, and Pop yelled: "cabrones, get the hell away from here and be quiet; I want to get some sleep!" So we picked up the cooler, moved away from the camper, and kept drinking. After that, Pops never again went camping with us.

Pops and Mom had seven children: Rachel, me, Cecilia, Mary Ellen, Enedina, Armando, and Marina. Rachel and Mary Ellen are now in heaven having tripas with Pops and Mom.

Pop was a humble and gentle man who loved his family. Unfortunately, he passed away in May of 2000.

Happy one hundred, Pops….Love you…

Veterans Day

By kiki

Today, Veterans Day, we salute all the men and women who have serviced, especially those who paid the ultimate price to protect our right to live in a free country.

I would like to honor the service of some uncles of mine, and others, who served in the great war, WWII, the Korean War, the Vietnam war, and some who are still serving today. Unfortunately, most, if not all of the WWII vets are now gone - Some uncles were by marriage.

                              The Departed Who Served in WWII

Ray "Rata" Gonzalez From Pico, Ca: (uncle by marriage) Rata, who served in the Philippines, was one of my uncles; who when I was a young teenager would take me to the fights.

Ralph Adame from Pico Ca: Ralph was my mom's brother. Ralph served in the European Theater. While serving in Italy, he married a young girl, Tina. A son, Tony, was born in Italy to Ralph and Tina.

Pete Soto from Rivera, Ca: (uncle by marriage) Pete saw action in the European Theater. He fought in Germany and at the Battle of the Bulge. Thanks to my cousin Becky Ybarra (Pete's daughter) for the info.

Florentino "Melon" Baltazar from Simons, Ca: was my dad's brother, Melon, as he was called, served in the European Theater. Melon was awarded the Purple Heart while serving in Europe.

Moses "Toddy" Juárez from Pico, Ca: (uncle by marriage) I don't know anything about Toddy's service to our country. I was the ring bearer on Toddy's marriage to my aunt Lupe.

                                                    

                                         Magdaleno Baltazar
                                                Simons, Ca. 

 Mag was my dad's brother. Mag, a WWII vet, is going through some hard times (health-wise) lately but is still with us at age 93. Mag was awarded the Purple Heart while serving in North Africa. Mag, I believe is the Baltazar's last living link to WWII
(Mag, since this was written, has passed away)

                                                       Post-WWII

 Jesus Melendez from Simons, Ca: Jesus was my dad's first cousin. Jesus served in the Korean War in the early 1950s. Jesus, who was a few years older than me, was my hero growing in Simons. I loved to hear him sing. 

My Tio Tony Adame, my mom's brother, from Pico, Ca., served in the Air Force during the Korean war. Uncle Tony and his wife Carmen live in Las Vegas.

My cousin Phillip Baltazar from la Puente, Ca. son of my Tio Magdaleno Baltazar served in the Navy during the Vietnam war. Phillip now lives in the South Bay.

 Big thanks to my sister-in-law Pat Baltazar's children, Eddie, Amanda, and Andy, who are presently serving, or who have served.

                                              Last, But Not Least

 Big thanks to my one only brother, Mando Baltazar. Mando served in Vietnam. Mando, who served two tours in 'Nam on his return home, joined the Los Angeles County Sheriff Department. Mando retired in 2006 after serving over 30 years in the department. Mando and his wife Pat are living comfortably in the mountains of Wrightwood.

                                               Mando Baltazar
                                                     Pico, Ca.

 Due to the age difference, Mando and I never got to do things that most brothers do together, like stealing hubcaps. But we made up for it in later years. Mando was born in 1950, the year I turned 14 years old, and while Mando was being born, I was being subdued by an older girl. Ah! For the good times!!! Love you, bro!!!

Big thanks to all the Veterano's who have served and to those who are serving as we speak. 

"Today, we are in gratitude to all of them for their unselfish gallantry. It is their courage that makes America what it is "- Maria Chacon

Frankie Baltazar vs Herman Montes

By kiki

In the mid-'70, the International Press Club in Pico-Rivera promoted amateur boxing cards with Tony Mora doing the matchmaking. If memory serves, the fights were on Tuesday nights. 

Every Tuesday night, coaches would take their fighters to the IPC, hoping to get a fight. The promoters had what some would call house fighters; one was local boy Herman Montes. Herman had racked up some good wins over some decent opposition. The '70s was a time in Southern California when the amateur ranks were loaded with outstanding talent, especially in the lighter-weight divisions. Herman had fought and beaten his share of those talented fighters. So circa 1975, I took Frankie and Tony to the Press Club, hoping to get them some action. As soon as we walked in, Tony Mora hurried to me and told me the Montes wanted Frankie for Herman; I agreed on the spot. I had studied Herman, and I knew that his Sunday punch was his right hand: he could knock off a brick wall with that right of his, but at that time, his left was not as strong, so I told Frankie, being that he was a southpaw, to move to his right, to take a half-step and to jab, and to fire a combo after the jab every time he took a half-step, and that would keep him away from Herman's right. I figured he could do that for three rounds to win the fight. 

Frankie boxed beautifully for the first two rounds to win the rounds. He kept Herman turning to his left, looking to land his potent right hand, but by the time Herman set himself to throw his right, Frankie had already taken another half-step to his right, thereby throwing Herman off his stride. In between the second and third rounds, I told Frankie to keep boxing the way he had boxed the first two rounds, and he would win the fight. Bell rang for the third and final round. Frankie was boxing beautifully, then about mid-round, he stopped right in front of Herman, and "POW" Herman landed a big right hand; Frankie froze, and for a second, he looked like he was out on his feet; he probably was. But then he shook his head and went right back to out-boxing Herman for a clear unanimous decision victory.

The Sad Tale's of Two Dannys

By kiki

The Sad Tales of Two Danny's  

In the late 1960s and into the early '70's I trained two amateur fighters named Danny. Out of respect for their families, I will omit their last names. One Danny was called "Black Danny" by his friends because he was very dark-skinned, the other Danny was called "Big Danny" because he was a big guy, a heavyweight.

The two Dannys, who came from a gang-infested, drug-littered and dangerous area in the San Gabriel Valley, ran together with the same friends but were very different guys; Black Danny was a shy and easy-going guy. In contrast, Big Danny was loud and a bully.

                                                           

                                                 Black Danny

I started training Black Danny in early 1968 and fought him at amateur shows around the Southland. Danny was a hard worker in the gym, and it paid off for him when he won the 1969 novice, Los Angeles, Golden Gloves title at 139 pounds. After winning the Golden Gloves, he told me that he would take about six months off boxing. He said that after he came back, he would like to turn pro. 

I ran into Danny around town a few times; he always looked in great shape, like he was ready to fight. I would always tell him not to wait too long to get back to the gym "you don't want to lose too must of that fighting edge," I would tell him.

One night, I got a phone call from Danny's dad. "Danny is dead," he told me. He said, in between sobs, that since Danny had stopped boxing, he had gotten heavy into gang life. He had tried to stop him, but how do you stop a seventeen-year-old from doing what he wants to do? He asked. I knew the man to be a good father; I also knew it was not his fault. I told him so, but in losing a son, I don't know that that meant much…I waited till, after the services, to ask about the details as to how Danny died; his dad told me that Danny was sitting in a car on Whittier Blvd in East Los Angeles when a guy approached the car and through the window shot Danny in the chest…Danny was a great kid that I believe was a victim of circumstances, in that he lived among the gangs… Danny's boxing record was 18-1…. R.I.P.

                                                    

                                                   Big Danny

Big Danny was the complete opposite of Black Danny. Big Danny was a big guy who didn't hesitate to push his weight around with the smaller guys. I started training Big Danny in 1969. I would take him to the local gyms to get some sparring, but not many wanted to spar with him because if they kicked his ass in the ring, he wanted to continue the sparring in the parking lot. 

One Friday afternoon around 1970, I drove Big Danny and other boys to the Chino Boxing gym in Chino, Calif. The boys all got sparring, and they did really well; Danny held his own with his sparring partner, and he was a happy guy; I was pleased too that there was no need to go into the parking lot. The next day as I was reading the newspaper, I saw a mug shot of a guy that looked like Big Danny. I read the story, and sure enough, it was Big Danny's mug shot. The article said that Big Danny had been at a seedy hotel in downtown Los Angeles where a guy had gotten shot by the cops, but it was at the same time we were in Chino the previous day. So the cops were looking for Danny, but, for what? I never got an answer to that.

While looking for Danny, the cops broke in the door of a second-story room at the hotel; the room was full of illegal immigrants who jumped out the windows, thinking it was La Migra (immigration). So besides one guy that got shot by a trigger-happy cop, some others suffered broken bones. 

Somehow the F.B.I. got involved, they came to my house and interviewed me, asked me if I was sure Danny was with me on that day, and on that time of day, I told them that, yes, Danny was with me that particular time of day, they seem satisfied, and I never heard from them again. I found out later that the F.B.I. had started investigating the LAPD for violating the illegal's civil rights. 

Big Danny never went back to the gym, and I lost touch with him. He never again fought in the ring. It was too bad about his life choices because he had boxing talent…Then, about a year or two later, I heard that he had been shot and killed by somebody that got tired of being pushed around by him... R.I.P.

East Los Angeles amateur fighter, Rudy S.

By kiki
                                                            

In the mid-'60's, I was training an amateur middleweight fighter out of East Los Angeles named Rudy S (respecting Rudy's privacy, I will not divulge his last name or what part of ELA he was from.) 

Rudy, about 18 years old, had two of the most enormous hands I have ever seen, and he could punch like a mule. 

Training at the Teamsters Gym, we had difficulty keeping sparring partners in the ring with him. So finally, after about a year of training, I took him to the Chino State Prison for their monthly fight cards, where he scored two quick first-round K.O.s. After that, I thought I had a diamond in the rough; work on the rough edges, and I have a champ.

After a couple of more wins via the K.O. route, I thought he was ready for the 1966 Los Angeles Golden Gloves; which was set for early March; I told him that I was going to enter him in the novice class, I said to him that he was too inexperienced to be boxing in the open class. He said he understood but preferred to fight in the open class and go to the nationals. He told me that he had never been out of Southern California and rarely out of East L.A. and that now was his chance to see how other folks lived. I told him he would have to wait until the following year; he agreed to fight in the novice class. 

That year, the Golden Gloves tournament was held at the now-defunct Valley Garden Arena in the San Fernando Valley. Again, Rudy got off to a great start, scoring two wins, the first by K.O. and the second by decision. He was now in the semi-finals. In the semi-finals, he fought a guy whose name I need help remembering out of the Jake Horn/Red Shannon stable. Bell rang, and Rudy immediately went out and nailed his opponent with a beautiful right hand; down went his opponent! Another quick K.O., I thought. Rudy's opponent made it to his feet before the referee could count to ten; with Rudy's opponent leaning on the ropes and seemingly out on his feet, referee Lou Bernal called the fighters back into action. Rudy rushed out of the neutral corner and ran into a big right hand thrown by his opponent. Rudy went down like he had been shot and was out for about 5 minutes. Rudy's opponent back in the dressing room didn't remember knocking Rudy out; he thought he had gotten knockout. After the fights, I protested, tongue in cheek, to Lou Bernal and told him that he should have stopped the fight when Rudy's opponent went down and that the guy was out on his feet; his reply was, "out on his feet? Hell, he K.O.'d your guy" I told him I knew that, but had he stopped the fight when Rudy's opponent went down, I would still have an undefeated fighter "buy me a beer," he said to me as we walked towards the beer bar, I did…As for my diamond in the rough, Rudy never fought again; in fact, I never saw Rudy again...I really thought I had a champ!!