Boxing’s Heavyweights of the 1970s: Larry Holmes

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Larry Holmes was a late bloomer by today’s Sweet Science standards, as he did not set foot inside a boxing gym until he was 19 years old. He enjoyed a fairly successful amateur career, losing only to top-rated fighters, but after just 22 bouts -- Holmes went 19-3 -- he turned professional.

Without a long and thorough amateur background, Holmes cut his teeth as a young fighter in the gym, serving as a sparring partner for many of the men he would later beat to become famous. It started when his first trainer, Ernie Butler, learned that Muhammad Ali was training not too far from Easton, Pa., where Holmes was based. Butler took his protégé to hopefully spar with Ali, and Holmes was indeed selected. He did not do poorly as a relatively green fighter. Holmes maintains that he learned quite a bit about how to handle himself inside the ring during this period of time in his career.

Early on, the press dubbed Holmes a “yellow” fighter because of the manner in which he had lost as an amateur. He had been stopped by southpaw Nick Weels, who defeated him twice, and was later disqualified at the Olympic Trials after being floored by Duane Bobick; Holmes took to holding in an attempt to survive. It took him quite a while to shake the label, likely the result of the generally resentful disposition for which people remember him.

Related » Boxing’s Heavyweights of the 1970s: Ken Norton

I regard Holmes as one of the forerunners for what became principles of modern boxing, which is ironic considering there was some technical degradation involved, but hear me out on this. He had an incredible awareness in the ring, a willingness to go to war and engage, one of the most effective jabs in boxing history and tremendous punching power. Those are some serious building blocks, but when you compare them to the skill level and education of other fighters at the time, they do not scream dominance. Yet Holmes managed to be dominant. He gained notoriety by winning a lopsided decision against Ernie Shavers, who had been hailed by many as perhaps the hardest-hitting heavyweight to ever grace the sport. That set up Holmes to face Ken Norton on Sept. 6, 1978. In a sizzling fight, he barely scraped by in a decision, one which many disputed. All three judges had the fight dead-even going into the 15th round, where a rally gave Holmes the nod on two scorecards. Norton was slightly past his prime at the time, and the trouble Holmes encountered against him set the stage for issues he would later experience against healthy, well-educated fighters who were not past their primes. His ego, which was his greatest asset at times and his worst attribute at others, could have been to blame.

When the word “ego” is uttered, many people automatically view it as a negative, but ego is very important for a fighter. It can keep a man going when everything else screams for him to capitulate. Still, a fighter must be able to harness his ego. It was a belief Holmes held, even all the way back to his early days of sparring against fighters like Ali.

“I was young and I didn’t know much,” Holmes said, “but I was holding my own sparring those guys. I thought, ‘Hey, these guys are the best, the champs. If I can hold my own now, what about later?’”

This is not to say Holmes was not gracious or humble, as he possessed the ability to display both qualities. However, at the end of the day, he always seemed to draw everything back to his own ability. Holmes may also be largely responsible for a certain amount of the general disregard boxing trainers receive. It is well-known that he saw good relationships go sour with both Butler and his second trainer, the famous Richie Giachetti. Butler never really forgave Holmes for allowing promoter Don King to muscle him out of their deal and not make good on promised payments. This was likely attributable to the fact that Giachetti had talked King into managing Holmes, who at the time was “just” a sparring partner and an unknown pro. King probably trusted Giachetti with the training and never intended to keep Butler on board.

According to Holmes, Giachetti was an unstable man who excelled at motivating fighters. Still, Holmes has verbally downplayed the impact of trainers, suggesting they never admit fault. When fighters lose, he felt, trainers always claimed it was because they did not do as they were told; and when fighters win, trainers always say it was because they did what they were told. Holmes made mention that he had won fights and performed well in sparring by sometimes doing the opposite of what a trainer advised, only to have the trainer take credit for his success. It seemed honest and open communication was important to Holmes, and that was something he probably did not find until he met Eddie Futch.

Futch had spoken highly of the heavyweight’s ability long before they linked arms, and Holmes respected the trainer’s knowledge and character. Yet Futch was transparent regarding incidents in which he would have to talk Holmes out of bad ideas. The trainer would sit down the fighter and attempt to reason with him: “OK, this is how you feel. I see that. Now explain to me, make me understand, why it needs to be this way.” Futch said if Holmes could not answer the challenge, to his credit, he would drop the issue and never revisit it. Futch also claimed Holmes had an entourage of yes men -- something modern fighters also do in an effort to enhance their self-image. They surround themselves with individuals whose primary function involves making them feel good about positions and actions they take. Futch listed Holmes’ best attributes as his big heart and durability. However, the fact of the matter is Holmes’ career was not built on rounding off or fixing his worst qualities but fully exploiting his best traits.

Holmes remains unapologetic regarding his faults and statements he made that were deemed offensive. Being offensive defined him as a fighter. If he took the lead in a bout, he would likely knock you out. If you languished and allowed him to punch, he would measure you with that long left and then pummel you with looping rights. Holmes expertly played cat-and-mouse games with his left hand. Sometimes, he would touch you with it gently, and sometimes, he would pop a stiff fist into your face hard enough to have you staring at the lights. It hurt; and just when you were growing accustomed to the left hand coming at you, Holmes would time an equally potent right hook.

It seems like a fairly basic formula, one without many trick moves or a whole lot of eye-catching defense. When he was in trouble, Holmes was known to cover up and fire back. Sometimes, he would forego covering up. More often than not, his sense of distance and timing came through for him, as evidenced by a 69-6 career record and multiple world championships.

Luis Monda is currently a full-time boxing trainer at Johnny Tocco's in Las Vegas, which is the oldest gym in Sin City. Luis has a deep knowledge of combat sports history, and has spent significant time researching lineages in boxing, specifically. He has been involved in the local-fight scene for nearly a decade: first as a potential competitor, then as the manager of Tocco's, and now as an instructor to boxers, kickboxers, and mixed martial arts fighters.