In Memoriam: Ken Norton

It seems odd now, but the 1976 Oscar-winner for best picture was written by and starred Sylvester Stallone of all people.

Despite the volumes of shlock the Italian Stallion wallowed in during the decades that followed, Rocky still stands as an iconic movie.  Framed by the fanfares of Bill Conti and bolstered by the brilliantly ragged performances of Burgess Meredith and Bert Young, the film epitomized the grinding struggle and qualified victories of a simple underdog who, despite himself, made the most of one golden opportunity that he’d long since given up on and probably didn’t even deserve in the first place.

From the opening scroll to the final bell, the dog eared dreams and the tempered Happily Ever After of a South Philly club fighter made Rocky an exceptionally human fairy tale.

But whom did Stallone actually base his title character on?

Some think it was Rocky Marciano; that maybe title character’s name is not a coincidence.  Marciano was after all a fellow paisan.  He was also the last white heavyweight champion who could serve as a model for Stallone’s Great White Hope.

Others think it was Smokin’ Joe Frazier.  A former champion who was still a force in the heavyweight division when the movie came out, Frazier fought out of Philadelphia, just like the eponymous Rocky.

And although Stallone denies it, I’m in the camp that believes his muse was a broken nobody-briefly-somebody named Chuck Wepner.

A former U.S. Marine known as “The Bayonne Bleeder,” Wepner was a decidedly mediocre  heavyweight who got plucked from obscurity in 1975 when Muhammad Ali offered him the opportunity of a lifetime: to fight for the heavyweight championship of the world.

Much like the movie’s villain-champion Apollo Creed, Ali was angling for an easy payday and saw the promotional value in giving some unknown pug a chance.  Ali raked in a cool million and a half for the fight.  Wepner got only a hundred-grand, but it was by far his biggest payday.  Heck, it was the first time Wepner had had the opportunity to quit his day job and actually train full time for a fight.  And it helped.  He almost made it through all 15 rounds.  And he even scored a knockdown of Ali in the 9th, although that was helped immensely by his stepping on Ali’s foot.

As the referee started the ten-count, Wepner supposedly went to his corner and told his trainer, “Start the car.  We’re going to the bank.  We’re millionaires.”  To which his trainer responded: “You’d better turnaround.  He got back up and he looks pissed.”

Ali then took total control of the fight, breaking Wepner’s nose, bloodying both of his eyes, and knocking him out in the final round.

Whether it was Wepner, Frazier, Marciano, some composite thereof, or even a fantasy version of Stallone himself who served as the model for Rocky, there can be no doubt whatsoever that Ali was the model for Apollo Creed.  The brash, flashy, fast-talking, quick-stepping, black heavyweight champion was so clearly modeled on “The Greatest” that Stallone didn’t even bother to deny it.

But if Ali was the real Apollo Creed, then for me in some ways the real Rocky was Ken Norton.

Another former Marine, Norton first took up boxing in the Corps, slugging his way to three All-Marine heavyweight titles during the mid-1960s.  In 1967 he turned pro.

Norton was 29-1, but still largely unknown, when he got his Cinderella crack at Ali in 1973.  Not World Champion at the time, Ali might’ve been looking past the former Jar Head, eyeing a title shot with George Foreman.  But Norton didn’t blink.  He broke Ali’s jaw and won a split decision.  It was only the second loss of Ali’s illustrious career.

Over the course of that and two subsequent fights, Norton would prove himself to be Ali’s most consistently difficult opponent.  His cross-armed “crab” stance and his awkward, crouching style, in which he practically dragged his right foot behind him, befuddled Ali.  All three fights would go the distance.  And although Ali won the last two, the consensus among experts and fans alike is that Norton was robbed in the third contest at Yankee Stadium in 1976.

The following year, Norton became the only man to be awarded the heavyweight championship instead of winning it in the ring when Leon Spinks forfeited the title for refusing to fight him.  Spinks had only just reached the mountaintop himself, pulling a surprise upset of Ali.  But he was willing to trade the belt for the bigger payday and hopefully easier fight that came from granting a quick rematch to the fading icon.

Norton’s first defense of his controversial new crown came against Larry Holmes on September 6, 1978.

I still remember watching that fight as a ten year old boy glued to the 19” Zenith color TV in my grandparents’ living room.  It was an absolutely brutal affair, the two men pounding on each other for a full 15 rounds.  To this day, many consider the 15th to be one of the best final rounds of any championship fight ever.

Holmes won a split decision, besting Norton by one point on two of the judges’ cards and losing by a point on the third.

The fight was so devastating that they practically had to raise the new champs’ arms up over his head for him when the announcement was made, and later carried him out of the ring while a dejected Norton stood there, stung by yet another razor tight decision.

From that moment on, it was sealed: Ken Norton was my favorite fighter.

But little my support could do.  The end was near.  Now thirty-five years old and showing signs of wear and tear, Norton fought only five more times, including brutal first round knockouts by Ernie Shavers and Gerry Cooney, and a narrow split decision over Randall “Tex” Cobb, who was a better actor than fighter, later playing the fearsome bounty hunter Leonard Smalls in Raising Arizona.

Ken Norton died yesterday at the age of 70.  A serious car accident in 1986 had permanently hobbled him, and during the last few years he suffered the debilitating effects of strokes.

Sylvester Stallone, for whatever that’s worth, is still with us.  But my real Rocky, the man who came out of nowhere, who made the most of his chances, and who grasped the victories that fate and crooked judges would allow him, is gone.