Thursday, October 31, 2024

Is there room for Nunn in the IBHOF?

 

Michael Nunn. His name brings back memories of a tall, willowy left-hander, with a smile so bright that he was prematurely dubbed the next Sugar Ray. He certainly looked the part, and at times seemed to be auditioning for it.

 

“A lot of people think I’m just a Hollywood media creation,” Nunn said early in his career. “They figure a guy like me can’t be for real, that if you’re good-looking and well-spoken, you don’t belong in the boxing ring.”

 

As if to make the comparison complete, Nunn eventually linked up with Leonard’s old trainer, Angelo Dundee. Always the best cheerleader in the business, Dundee vowed that Nunn would be a superstar.

 

From the summer afternoon in 1988 when he overwhelmed Frank Tate for the IBF middleweight belt, the hype around Nunn was palpable. It was as if the media was impatient to fill the vacuum left by the absences of Leonard and Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Nunn began his career when boxing was hot, when the major television networks were still interested, and HBO was becoming a powerhouse. Fighters were getting endorsement deals just like baseball players. It was the boxer’s moment; young and upbeat, the photogenic Nunn was fast as lightning and unbelievably smooth for a southpaw. By 1989, it seemed that a new middleweight era was upon us, and Nunn would lead the pack. Big money was calling.

 

I was surprised to see Nunn’s name on the ballot for this year’s International Boxing Hall of Fame class. His name rarely comes up now, so thorough was his fall to earth during the second leg of his career. Though he fought for a long time, he is mostly recalled as just another product of that late-1980s era, one of several good boxers who rose to a certain level and then fizzled out. But to many observers, Nunn was a master in the making. He seemed more earthy than Leonard, more graceful than Hagler, and perfectly tailored to the networks’ idea of a champion. 

 

Viewed as an athlete, not an animal, Nunn’s appeal was partly because of what he wasn’t. The big boxing name in those days was Mike Tyson, but there was a sense that the TV market still hoped for a wholesome character who could be invited into America’s living room. Tyson was weird and not likely to last long with his unsavory habits and bad driving record. The unspoken mantra seemed to be, Let’s hope this Nunn kid can stay out of trouble and win a bunch of fights. For a while, he did exactly that. Tate, another bright young fighter, couldn’t last nine rounds in the Nunn whirlwind. Rugged Juan Roldan was stopped in eight. The stylish Sumbu Kalambay lasted 88 seconds. Nunn knocked him cold. That was when the media exploded, and the seas seemed to be parting for Nunn, for not even Tyson knocked opponents cold. A 12-round majority decision over Iran Barkley was anticlimactic, but Nunn was on a roll. He was slick; when he wanted to glide through a round, he was virtually untouchable. When he put his punches together, he was sharper than a rooftop sniper.  

 

Critics had their doubts, though. Nunn was too cautious, they’d say. A dispute with his management team made Nunn look like a cranky diva. Promoter Bob Arum severed ties with Nunn after the Barkley fight, even though one fight remained on their contract. “He’ll never be an attraction,” Arum said. But Nunn kept winning.

 

By 1991 he’d won 36 in a row and had signed a multi-fight contract with the Mirage Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. The venue hoped to become the game’s new mecca, and it seemed wise to book the game’s hot young star for a long-term engagement, the way they might with Cher or Bette Midler. Nunn was 27 and at the height of his powers. Then it ended. On May 10, 1991, in Davenport, Iowa, Nunn’s hometown of all places, he was KOd in 11 by James Toney. It was a newsreel knockout; the sort people watch with a sense of shock.

 

Yet this stunning episode was more than a defeat. It was a cautionary tale. Nunn became the symbol of fame’s fleeting nature. Toney’s punch landed, and Nunn’s heyday was over before his back hit the canvas. He never again seemed quite so quick or agile, as if the specialness had been knocked out of him.

 

From then on, the stories were always about Nunn on the comeback trail, his mounting debts, his legal problems. He owed money to everybody, from Dundee to Don King. He filed for bankruptcy. He looked bad in fights, but always promised to look better next time. He finished his career as a bloated cruiserweight fighting no-names in second-rate casinos, bringing what was left of his talents to boxing outposts like Elizabeth, Indiana, and Minot, North Dakota.

 

The professional record of 58-4 with 38 knockouts is better than one would expect after seeing Nunn in those final years. By then, reports were surfacing of his domestic problems and his cocaine use. There were embarrassing brawls with Davenport cops. They’d maced him like an unruly drunk.

 

In January 2004, three years after his final ring appearance, he was sentenced to 24 years in prison for drug trafficking. Perhaps he wasn’t so clean-cut, after all. He was released early for good behavior in 2019. Since then, Nunn has quietly eased back into the margins of the boxing scene. Some teeth are missing from the old megawatt smile, and the old brashness is replaced by a friendly humility. He’ll tell you that 15 years in prison wasn’t so bad, that he’s thankful to God that he got through it. He’ll say it was just something that happened in his life. He’s become one of those battered old survivors, a cultish figure like certain jazz players or rock stars. I’m still here, he says with every tired smile. I’m still here.

 

In the late 1980s, the boxing world searched for a new Ray Leonard, which turned out to be Oscar De La Hoya. But Nunn almost fit the role for a while. He was a good young boxer who’d wanted to show the people what he could do. He had poise and speed and most of the ingredients for greatness. When his career turned a corner, he could still win fights, and so he did for many more years, no longer spectacular but reliable. He’d gone from racehorse to workhorse.

 

This year, forty years after his professional debut, Nunn is on the IBHOF ballot. He’ll probably get some votes for the same reason he was put on the ballot to begin with: people like happy endings. Some may feel he deserves to be remembered for more than a humbling knockout loss and a trip to prison. But it is difficult to say if Nunn belongs in the International Boxing Hall of Fame. He’s not an obvious choice. Yet when I think of him, I think of 1988. The world was hardly perfect in those days, but for a few fights at least, Michael Nunn seemed to be.

 

- Don Stradley

 

Thursday, June 13, 2024

BWAA 99th Annual Dinner June 6, 2024




This may look like a Jethro Tull reunion, but it is actually Bill Dettloff, Joe Santoliquito, Nigel Collins, and myself. It was great to see them all at the annual Boxing Writers dinner in NYC. These three fellows were all instrumental in my early days as a writer..
 


Nigel, Deb Harrison, myself, and Bill Dettloff




This year I received an award for Best News Story. Here I am with former BWAA president and one of my favorite people, Bernard Fernandez.







Sunday, May 19, 2024

Fury-Usyk: Undisputed For Now

Late in the ninth round, when the fight still seemed up for grabs, Oleksandr Usyk landed a left on Tyson Fury's jaw. The punch had a nasty effect, as if Usyk had hit him with a sweat-sock full of ball bearings. Fury has been hurt many times in his career, but this time it looked worse than usual.

As Usyk tried to follow up with more punches, the 6' 9" Brit reeled from one side of the ring to the other, rocketing off the ropes pinball style. After one particular shot, Fury stumbled along the ropes, holding his gloves out, but where he might've killed the round's few remaining seconds by clinching, his body and mind weren't in sync. His mind wanted to hold on; his body wanted to fall.  

Finally, Fury staggered into a corner. He was still on his feet, but referee Mark Nelson stepped in and started a count. The bell ended the formality and saved Fury. Boxing's clown prince seemed despondent, woozy, and suddenly wary of his smaller opponent

It appeared the fight was over there and then. Granted, Fury went on to fight rounds 10, 11, and 12,  but the sight of the Gypsy giant wavering around the ring would be the fight's takeaway image. The extra point Usyk earned for the knockdown turned out to be the deciding factor in his winning a razor close split decision.

The other lasting memory of the fight would be Usyk's steady comportment all during the buildup and during the 12 rounds of competition. This was no small feat considering the hype that went into this event being for the "undisputed heavyweight championship," with both men having having legit claims to the title.

Though Fury had tried to ruffle Usyk with his usual bawdy behavior - Fury's father actually headbutted one of Usyk's camp members last week, while Fury started a shoving match at the weigh-in, and did his usual clowning throughout the fight - Usyk stuck to business in the quiet, professional manner that has been his trademark. 

Fury's career has been anything but quiet and professional. Even as he reaches his middle 30s and should acquire some kind of dignity or decorum, he's remained clownish. But even as his silliness remained, many were wondering how much he had left as a boxer. Did the 35-year-old  behemoth still have  the desire? Or had it all been siphoned off by too much stardom, too many reality shows, too much celebrity posturing?

We received an answer of sorts. He was in good  condition and he fought 12 stiff rounds. When he was hurt, he shook it off and came back. He has all the championship qualities that his detractors don't wish to acknowledge. All he lacks is the championship. 

It was the most anticipated heavyweight bout in some time, with the four organizational belts spread out between the two fighters, three of which were owned by Usyk, and one by Fury. The Brit  had previously owned a bunch more, but had retired briefly, which allowed Usyk to step in and grab some belts. With both men undefeated and the boxing audience clamoring for one undisputed titleholder in the heavyweight class, the fight had momentum. It was an easy sell.

There was even an effort among boxing writers to proclaim it an "important" fight,  that for the first time in a quarter century there would be a single man atop boxing's so-called "glamor division." Why this notion of an undisputed heavyweight champion gets people so giddy is hard to explain. The last one was  Lennox Lewis, a good but not very glamorous fighter who was not particularly popular. 

It's hard to say if the fight was important, though there was plenty of pomp and ceremony and it was entertaining enough. Moreover, it did seem to be a milestone of sorts in the boxing time frame, with a Brit versus a Ukrainian in the middle of Saudi Arabia. In another era, an important heavyweight fight would feature two Americans fighting in New York or Las Vegas. Those days are gone, though, along with Fury's undefeated record. 

The result might've been important for Usyk, but with the sanctioning bodies being the way they are, he won't be undisputed for long. The IBF, less than 24 hours after the bout, is already making noise about Usyk's next mandatory defense, saying he'll be stripped of that belt if he goes through with a contractually obligated rematch with Fury, which Fury has already penciled into his October calendar, no doubt in between singing gigs. There may not have been an undisputed heavyweight champion since 1999, but the boxing organizations haven't cared about such things in twice that time or longer. As for Fury, he's acting as if the rematch is a done deal. He doesn't think he lost last night, anyway.

“I was having fun in there," Fury said after the bout. "I was loving it. I thought it was great.”

He cited politics as the reason for the judges voting against him, but not boxing politics:

"I believe I won that fight, I believe he won some rounds but I won the majority of them...We both put on a good fight, best we could do. His country's at war, so people are siding with the country at war, but make no mistake, I won that fight and I'll be back. I've got a rematch clause."

Approximately a century before Riyadh, Saudi Arabia was a boxing capital, and long before there were such things as a WBC or WBO,  a retired heavyweight champion named James J. Corbett was discussing the sport with  a journalist. Even though he fought at a time before America had 50 states, he offered as poignant a fact as has ever been said about the boxing business, and what he said still stands today. He said, "Every fighter has a night where they are better than they  ever were,  and better than they will ever be  again."  It's a bittersweet idea to think our peak may be the first step in our downfall. But "Gentleman Jim" was probably right. The new champion might be wise to consider this theory.

Oleksandr Usyk is now undefeated in 22 professional fights. He also had 350 amateur bouts, and was an Olympic gold medalist in 2012.  Prior to beating Fury, he'd been the cruiserweight champion, and had scored  wins over Anthony Joshua and some other reputable heavyweights. At 37, he's older than Fury. It's no insult to say he's weather-beaten.

There's a sameness to Usyk's bouts. He's a steady operator. You'd never know if he lost a step because he is never especially exciting, just steady. That's part of what makes him a likeable champion. He's not magnetic, but he's dependable. 

There will be much written about Usyk being the first undisputed heavyweight champion of this ridiculous "four belt era," but the real achievement of the weekend is that he defeated Tyson Fury, a man who'd never lost a bout. For all of his buffoonery, Fury has been viewed as one of the legitimately great heavyweights of this century, a big man with charisma who can move around the ring. Despite wearing a fuzzy hat and quasi-military garb into the ring, Usyk will never star in a reality show, will never be known for his comic timing. Still, he has the sort of mental toughness that rattles a man like Fury, along with  sound fundamentals and nerves of steel.

Yet Usyk looked damaged after the bout, more busted up than the man he'd beaten, with some quickly applied patchwork over his right eye. He wept during his post-fight interview, talking about his late father, and the war between his country and Russia. It was stirring stuff. 

Yet we wonder if we've seen Usyk at his best, and if he'll ever be this good again. He needed to be extraordinary in Riyadh against Fury. The Brit was actually dominating in the first half of the fight, landing hard uppercuts on Usyk, hurting him, out-boxing him. There were rumors that Usyk had a broken jaw. If this was indeed  his greatest night, can he do it again?

It's not an easy thing, this slaying of giants. Some of them don't die right away. We'll find out if Usyk is indeed a giant killer, or if he was merely giving a peak performance on the night he defeated  boxing's best big man. 

- Don Stradley



 




 

 

 


Saturday, May 18, 2024

BERSERK: The shocking life and death of Edwin Valero

 

"THE STORY IS CHILLING AND AMAZING!

Don Stradley is a super writer...

Outstanding!"

—Steve Farhood, Showtime boxing analyst, and International Boxing Hall of Fame member

 "A GRITTY, ABSORBING ACCOUNT OF A BOXER WHO COULDN'T DEFEAT HIS INNER DEMONS." 

Kirkus Reviews


Did he kill his wife?

Did he kill himself?

Will we ever solve the mysteries of Edwin Valero?


"Stradley does well to separate fact from fiction and to dismiss conspiracy theories while recognizing the limits of what we can really know about Valero and his relationships. It is a short sharp captivating read and one any boxing fan will find interesting. The punchy style of the book neatly matches Valero’s own relentless fighting style."

All Sports Books Reviews

Available through Amazon, as well as Hamilcar Publications.

Saturday, May 4, 2024

FISTFUL OF MURDER - ANOTHER BOOK YOU NEED THIS SUMMER

 

 "COMPELLING"               "ABSORBING"

Thomas Hauser,The Sweet Science                       Jack Porter, The Sportsman

 

 The death of Alicia Muniz wasn’t a complete surprise to anyone who knew Carlos Monzon. The surprise was that no one else had died in his company.

He had a volcanic temper. He drank heavily and used cocaine. He drove recklessly, had a fascination with guns, and had been arrested many times for physical assaults. In February of 1988, with his personal life in shreds, Monzon had finally reached the nadir of an existence defined by hostility, with nothing to obstruct his most savage instincts.

 "Sports fans will be drawn to the work thanks to Stradley's considerable powers of description: he is probably one of the best fight writers operating today...A Fistful Of Murder manages to be several things at once: a character study of a brooding, malevolent archetype; a simple but absorbing boxing biography; and a pulpy story of a hideous crime..."--Ronnie McCluskey, The Fight City

Buy it on Amazon:  https://shorturl.at/acnN4


Monday, April 22, 2024

Boston Tabloid - The Book You Need This Summer

 "A RIVETING READ FROM COVER TO COVER"

Midwest Book Review

 

 

"an intriguing story of fatal obsession"

 Kirkus Reviews

                    



"Everything a top-notch true-crime book should be and more.”

—Linda Rosencrance, 

author of Murder at Morses Pond

 

Don Stradley's Boston Tabloid: The Killing of Robin Benedict, is a tantalizing look back at a 1983 murder case that rocked the city of Boston. Did a well-respected MIT scientist really murder a young woman? And was she really a sex worker from the city's infamous Combat Zone district? 

"takes true crime to the next level"

—M. William Phelps, former host of ID's DARK MINDS, New York Times bestselling author, and host of iHeartMedia's podcasts Crossing the Line with M. William Phelps and Paper Ghosts

 

Buy it from Amazon - rb.gy/awrami

 




Wednesday, April 10, 2024

Nate Siegel: Marked for Death

 He survived World War One, but was no match for Boston’s Underworld…

 by Don Stradley

 

 

Nate Siegel in his prime, circa 1920

 

On August 13, 1934, at approximately 2:00 AM, Nate Siegel was in the living room of his home on 64 Endicott Ave in Revere. His wife and two children were sleeping, but he was up late, tending to business. He was looking at receipts from the Clover Leaf Cafe, a tavern on North Shore Road of which he was part owner. 

 

He’d been a professional boxer a decade earlier and was a hero in his neighborhood; being a tavern owner was a natural progression for the former welterweight champ of New England. In the stillness of the early morning hours, he ruffled through the day’s receipts. At one point he drew the curtain of the front window; as he did so an assassin with a shotgun fired at him through the glass. 

 

The horrible blast woke his wife, Clara. She rushed out to find her husband on the floor, his face, neck and shoulders torn apart, his café receipts scattered around him. Siegel had died instantly. Police would find the abandoned getaway car a half-mile away in East Boston’s Orient Heights neighborhood. They described it as a “cheap sedan” fitted with orange Maine number plates. Wrapped in brown paper and jammed under the rear seat was a .12-gauge automatic shotgun. The killer, though, had vanished like one of those shadowy gunmen in an old-time radio serial.

 

Conflicting stories emerged. His wife said Siegel had no enemies. Yet his friends and the café staff said he’d had run-ins with people all the time. Some members of his inner circle claimed Siegel had talked about being marked for death. He’d spoken about a gangland plot to “get” him, yet he’d given no specific reasons and made no effort to conceal his movements or get out of Revere.

 

The café had been in the news a few times that year. One night a young man had tried committing suicide in the men’s room.  On another occasion, a night watchman foiled a burglary attempt. Later, burglars successfully broke in and robbed a peanut vending machine. Revere was going through a rash of burglaries at the time. Desperate young men at the height of the Great Depression were resorting to petty crimes. Yet despite police questioning everyone connected with the place, the Clover Leaf Café couldn’t be connected to Siegel’s murder.

 

Police speculated that Siegel had come between rival gangs of liquor distributors. There was talk of an impending gang war, and local authorities made a lot of noise about breaking up Revere’s “racket conditions.” Even the Federal Government took an interest.  The case was feared to have broader ramifications than just the death of a tavern owner, and city authorities felt the local police were ill equipped to handle the investigation. A city councilman declared, “The police here are so used to gang conditions and practices that they have become inoculated to them.”  He believed outside aid was needed, “in cleaning up the city.”

 

 

Police examine the supposed getaway car.

 

  

The automobile with the shotgun in it had been reported stolen many months earlier. The trail reached all the way to Providence, RI, though both the car and the weapon were registered to fictitious Maine persons. Both the car and the gun were clean of fingerprints, suggesting to police that the job was done by professionals, not punks.

 

The weapon, an automatic shotgun, lent further credence to Siegel’s murder being a gangland crime. It was the same type of weapon used in a pair of recent gang murders in Boston, as well as a botched attack on a store on Boston’s Washington Street. Police believed a killer, or killers, were being hired by mobsters for what they called “spot jobs.” The guns were expensive new models, but the police surmised that if a hit man was being paid a good amount to kill someone, there was no loss in buying a new gun for the job and discarding it. Like the piece used to kill Siegel, an abandoned shotgun found after the failed store shooting was registered to a fictional Mainer.

 

As more information was gathered, the police only grew frustrated. None of the pieces fit together. In time, investigators couldn’t settle on whether the murder was gang related, or merely a personal incident that had escalated into violence. Siegel was, his friends said, a bold man who didn’t back down from anyone.

 


He’d grown up in Boston’s West End, where he was said to have had “a good many scraps.” Siegel began his professional boxing career in 1916, winning several bouts in Boston before joining the war effort in 1917. After serving 13 months overseas in the 82nd Division (and suffering shrapnel wounds in the right arm) he resumed fighting in the ring. By this time his family had settled into Revere’s Beachmont neighborhood, and Siegel often stayed at their home on the corner of Shirley Avenue and Nahant Street. It made him a favorite among the locals. Boxing was soaring in popularity, and Revere had its very own fighter to admire.

 

A 21 bout undefeated streak was highlighted by a points win over a shopworn Ted “Kid” Lewis of Britain, and a decision over Tommy Corcoran (aka “Young Kloby”) in front of 15,000 at Braves Field. The Globe declared the Siegel-Corcoran bout was, “one of the best battles ever held in Boston.” It also earned Siegel the welterweight championship of New England, a minor title that no doubt filled its winner and his loved ones with pride.

 

Siegel, circa 1921

 

Siegel was a celebrity, known for speeding around Boston and Revere in his Cadillac. He was colorful, a capable trash talker. He could also tell entertaining stories about the war. His popularity was at its peak in 1922 when his bout with Dave Shade at the Boston Arena was filmed, making it the first Boston bout captured on celluloid.

 

He was especially proud of his Jewish heritage, always sticking it to promoters who had once tried to saddle him with an Irish gimmick. “Why should I change my name and put on green tights?” Siegel said. “Can’t the Irish do their own fighting?” The irony was that his tavern had an Irish motif – the cloverleaf – and most of the clientele was Irish.

 

If Siegel wasn’t willing to become Irish, he was more than happy to compete against the area’s many Irish brawlers, particularly Patrick J. “Paddy” Flynn of Everett. The Siegel - Flynn series had everything – not only was it a Jewish fighter versus an Irishman (one of boxing’s hot ethnic rivalries of the period), but their respective hometowns, Revere and Everett, had always been competitive in amateur tournaments. Moreover, the camps of Siegel and Flynn had a rather loud rivalry in the press, hurling insults back and forth. Promoters had a small goldmine in Siegel and Flynn. They fought twice at the Boston Armory in 1920, and once at the Boston Arena in 1921.

 

Siegel won the first two bouts on points, but they were close enough that another meeting was called for. The third bout, which headlined the first boxing show at the Arena after it had been damaged by a fire in 1918, turned out to be a dud. Both fighters showed up overweight, and Flynn was so listless that the referee stopped the fight in the eighth and gave it to the Revere man.

 

Siegel’s time at the top was fleeting. He lost a pair of bouts to future Hall of Famer Mickey Walker, the second of which saw Siegel knocked cold for several minutes. On May 27, 1924, immediately after a loss to Rocky Smith at Boston’s Grand Opera House, Siegel retired from fighting. He left the boxing business with a record of 39-16-14 with 17 wins by KO and two no-decisions.

 

Siegel settled down with Clara, became a father, and occasionally offered his services as a boxing trainer. He was a well-liked man in the Beachmont neighborhood. His café was popular. Life was nice.

 

His murder at age 38 left the police baffled. State Detective John F. Stokes wondered aloud for the Globe at Siegel’s carelessness on the night of his death. If, as his associates claimed, Siegel knew gangsters were after him, why was he so cavalier about standing in front of his window? Did he think his pursuers had been called off? Or was Siegel merely acting in what his friends described as his “courageous and defiant manner?”

 

Chances are, this fighting man who had been in the ring as well as the front lines of World War One felt there was nothing to fear. 

 

"My grandparents thought that they knew who was behind Nate's murder," said Peter Siegel of his great uncle in 2024. "Family lore varied a little with each person. My aunt said that Nate owned a speakeasy, by 1934 I expect it reverted to a tavern. She said that Nate had refused to buy his liquor from a certain gangster."


According to family folklore, Siegel's death had been ordered by a Jewish gangster named Louie Fox. A Revere character known for his gangland activities which were only whispered about, Fox kept Revere on the slightly disreputable side.  Fox's supporters claimed he was merely a real estate speculator and a philanthropist - the city named a building after him in 1988 - yet Mafia turncoat Vinnie Teresa dubbed Fox the "financial wizard for the Massachusetts mob," and described him as owning Revere, "lock, stock and barrel." Bookies, loan sharks, and racketeers all bowed to Lou Fox.


It was general knowledge that Fox "ran" Revere Beach, a stretch of bars, hotels and carnival rides that was sometimes called "The Coney Island of Boston."  Fox owned most of it, and even built the famous Wonderland dog track. Fox had enough clout that he leased an  office at Boston's City Hall.

 

What brought Fox into Siegel's circle was when his sister Vera married Siegel's brother, Eddie. Having a reputed racketeer n the fold was not a cause for concern, for even some members of the Siegel family had indulged in some bootlegging during the prohibition years. At the time, the Siegels may have looked at Fox as many in Revere did, as a businessman who did what he had to do. Fox eventually had his brother-in-law, Eddie Siegel, overseeing the day to day operations at Revere Beach.


When Nate Siegel opened his speakeasy, Fox allegedly approached him. "I'll allow you to sell liquor," Fox said, "but you can sell my liquor, or you don't sell liquor at all." No one could run a racket in Revere without Fox's permission, not even a distant family member.


"Nate probably told him off," said Peter Siegel. 

 

Allegedly, the first run-in with Fox happened during the prohibition years. It is believed that Fox gave Siegel many opportunities, and was always rebuffed. There was even talk at the time of the murder that Siegel "got physical" with someone at the tavern who had insisted he sell a certain kind of ale.

 

Fox's name was never officially linked to the murder, though according to Peter Siegel, he was considered the architect of the killing, "pretty much across the family."   


Siegel’s funeral was a major event. More than 7,000 mourners gathered along the streets of Revere as a cortege of 165 cars proceeded to a nearby synagogue.

 

The Siegel case remained unsolved. There were attempts to link it to other unsolved Revere killings in the next few years, particularly for shooting victims involved in the city’s underground gambling racket. Strangely, a few other Boston area boxers had been murdered in those years, including East Boston featherweight George Brogna (aka "Johnny DeLano"), whose bullet-riddled body was found in Revere. Each had links to bootlegging.

 

Siegel’s old rival Paddy Flynn also came to a grisly end. Four years after Siegel’s death, an unknown assailant murdered Flynn at a Malden gaming house. Flynn died as doctors tried to remove a .22 slug from his brain.

 

What are the chances that Siegel and Flynn, who had battled each other three times, would both be shot and killed, and both of their murders would go unsolved? Those who saw them fight at the old Boston Armory thought it was just another local rivalry. They couldn’t have known they were watching two doomed men.  

 

***

My book, Slaughter in the Streets,  explores a period of time where many Boston area boxers were killed in what appeared to be mob-related ambushes. Most went unsolved. For reasons of length, the section on Nate Siegel was cut. I've always wanted to share it.  


If you'd like to read the book, look for it on Amazon.  https://rb.gy/2qfxin