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DOWN BUT NEVER OUT © Charles Redner, 2006-2008 |
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Prologue September 16, 1941 • Brooklyn It’s only the second day of school. Already, he starts with the fight’n. My son, Carmine Tilelli, just turned 11 two months ago … to the day. He gets into trouble some, but he’s basically a good boy. In school he gets into fights, but whose kid doesn’t? I ask you, third, fourth grade, they fight. It’s normal. But my boy, my Carmine, funny thing, he never gets a mark on him. So I wouldn’t know he fights but for the parents of these kids. They come to the house after dinner, stand in the door and tell me, “Your boy, he beat up my kid, look at ‘em.” And they’d shove their boy in front of me, usually a big one. He’d be beefy, maybe tall, or both – much bigger than my boy. The kid would stand there with his head down. I couldn’t really see anything. So I’d call Carmine to the door: “Carmine! Carmine, did you do this?” He’d answer, “Yes, Papa.” Then I’d say, “Carmine you have to stop fighting. Now apologize to Mister whatever his name was, and tell him you’ll never fight with his son again.” “Yes, Papa.” He’d promise never to hit the kid again. After they left, Carmine would tell me, “The big bully whuz hit’n on the cripple kid down the street, so I bopped him.” Like I said, my Carmine is really a good kid at heart. “Just one thump, Papa.” He demonstrated. He tightened his lips, made a fist, pulled his right back then shot his left arm straight in front. It’s not a slow, looping roundhouse, but a lighting-quick jab. Like a boxer. Street Fighter to Paratrooper to Married Pugilist A teenaged Carmine Tilelli was never far from a radio when his hero, Joe Louis, fought. Lewis was nearly every American’s hero after he knocked out Nazi Germany’s Max Schmeling in 1938. On the night of January 9, 1942, Carmine listened intently as the “Brown Bomber” KO’d Buddy Baer in the first round. Buddy, at 6-foot-6 the younger but taller brother of former heavyweight champ Max Baer, quipped a day after the fight, “The only way I could have beaten Louis that night was with a baseball bat.” Buddy Baer quit boxing for good after that fight and joined the Armed Services. Meanwhile, Carmine just loved to fight. “As a kid, I always pictured myself a world champion, maybe even the heavyweight champ like Louis,” he often remarked. Carmine’s father never did learn that a few years later, his wife Anita and sister unknowingly aided and abetted the 13-year-old, nicknamed Chubby, in his quest to locate more worthy opponents than the current crop of Brooklyn, P.S. 203 seventh-grade classmates. Every Sunday, ferryboats cruised up and down the East and Hudson rivers around Manhattan, but one of them boarded groups of underprivileged kids. While far from underprivileged, Chubby’s aunt managed to sneak him onboard, where he’d dash below deck, vault into a ring and fight the biggest, baddest competition available. The semi-organized, bare-knuckled bouts provided entertainment for the men huddled around the ring, who undoubtedly wagered on the fights. Those who put their money on Chubby Tilelli nearly always won. By 1946, Carmine, now 16, was already tired of getting his hands dirty pulling axles and changing spark plugs during high school automotive shop training. He quit school to join the Army. In order to enlist, Carmine needed legal-age ID. A friend knew someone, a cousin named Joseph Giardello, who would loan Carmine Orlando Tilelli legitimate papers. He borrowed the birth certificate, joined the 82nd Airborne Division, and bused off to Fort Bragg, N.C., where he morphed into Joey Giardello. Carmine Tilelli had planned to reclaim his legal name in two years when he mustered out of the service. As it turned out, the Joey Giardello ruse lasted 21 years. Immediately after enlisting, “Joey” reminded himself to call his parents and beg them to allow him to remain a proud Army paratrooper. His memory slipped for quite some time. It would be over a year before he called, as his father would relate, many years later. Since, by then, he was then almost old enough old enough to enlist for himself, his father let him stay but asked the company commander to change the records to reflect his real name Tilelli not Giardello. The amateur fighting career of Joey Giardello officially commenced in the Army, albeit reluctantly. After watching a buddy from his barrack’s absorb a pretty good beating at the hands of a better boxer, Joey asked his company commander if he could fight the winner. Joey knocked the man out in the first round. A full-bird colonel and longtime fight fan watched the bout in awe, his jaw dropping faster than Joey’s opponent. Afterward, he approached Giardello and invited the trooper to join the regimental boxing team. Joey respectfully declined. Joey only wanted to avenge his friend’s beating. However, his reluctance at climbing into the ring for structured rounds didn’t prevent him from demonstrating his fighting prowess around the barracks, even though rules only allowed for open handed slap-boxing. “I was a pretty rough kid in the Army for a sixteen, seventeen year-old. I didn’t take no baloney from nobody,” Giardello recalled. A few North Carolina bar owners in the towns surrounding Fort Bragg discovered how best to put Joey’s toughness to use: they hired him for bouncer duty. “Rough and tumble, everything I did.” On October 26, 1947, sixty members of the “Devils in Baggy Pants,” dressed in Class-A uniforms, steel helmets, high-top boots, formal white gloves and traveled to New York City. They’d received the intimidating nickname from the Germans following their fierce fighting in the battle for the Italian port city of Anzio. In New York City, Joey Giardello proudly marched rifle high with fixed bayonet, a member of a 6,000-man honor guard representing all service branches for the returning European theatre’s World War II Unknown Soldier. It was fitting that the 82nd Airborne be represented; it became known as “America’s Guard of Honor” after General George Patton declared the unit, “Undoubtedly the best honor guard that I’ve ever seen.” Doug Walker, an Army bunk buddy of Joey’s described the somber event:
We formed ranks at the New York docks in front of the flag-draped casket and caisson of the Unknown Soldier and proceeded on a very long and very solemn slow march up 5th Avenue and then onto Central Park. Once in Central Park, we led the Unknown Soldier into a large meadow where thousands of people were waiting, and there was a thunderous 21- gun salute. As we approached the narrow pathway, up toward the stands, as the cannon fire ended I thought I hear thousands of people laughing, but I soon realized it was thousands of special invited guests who lost loved ones during World War II and they were not laughing. They were understandingly, shamelessly crying as I’m sure all of them thought that the returning Unknown Soldier could be their loved one who was lost during the war. Truly a sound I will never forget. (1)
After the ceremony, the troops were dismissed in Central Park, awarded a three-day pass, and proceeded to invade the bars of New York. Joey readily showed Doug Walker his town; the two proceeded to experience the time of their young lives. They were stopped momentarily by a steep cover charge at the Century Room of the Hotel Commodore until a waiter directed them to join a table which included Bert Parks, star of “Stop the Music” and future longtime host of the Miss America Pageant; Claudia Morgan, who played Nora on “The Thin Man” radio show; and Don Wilson, best known as the announcer-foil on the “Jack Benny Show.” Baritone Vaughn Monroe finished a rendition of his theme song, “Racing with the Moon,” and joined the table. Joey and Doug jumped at the chance to dance with Parks’ lovely wife, Annette. Money presented no problem after joining the table of celebrities, as the whole group taxied over to the Stork Club, honored to treat two members of the 82nd Airborne Division. The 82nd was one of the most decorated units to fight in WWII even though neither Joey nor Doug had joined in time to participate in the war. After three days, the twosome managed to report back to the base on time, but, as Doug described, they didn’t look anywhere near as ‘spit and polished’ as when they had left. Fortunately for them, General Patton wasn’t around to see their returned condition as he had regrettably died two years earlier, the result of an automobile accident in Germany. Stationed at Fort Bragg for his entire tour of duty, Joey parachuted twenty-nine times before he mysteriously left military life in early 1948 and migrated northward to south Philadelphia, where he moved in with friends. Once again he disappeared from his family in Brooklyn. Jobless and broke, he sold blood in order to eat. Then he heard about a guy who arranged fights. Joey found the man, Jimmy Santore and asked if he could get him a fight. The promoter asked how many fights he’d had. When Joey answered “None,” the guy suggested that he could schedule some amateur bouts for him. Joey countered, “I don’t want to get hit for nothing. I want to get paid.” On October 2, 1948, after a couple of days in a nearby gym, the 5-foot-10, 147- pound Giardello was driven over the Ben Franklin Bridge to New Jersey’s state capital, Trenton. There, with little formal training, the 18-year-old climbed into a ring and did what General George Washington did to the Hessians and British on Christmas Day, 1776—he battered Johnny Noel quickly and decisively, winning his first bout. Giardello earned $35 for the fight. “It was the easiest money I ever made.” Thus began the professional boxing career of Joey Giardello who explained years later, “I used Giardello in case I got knocked out. I didn’t want to ruin the Tilelli family name.” Rosalie Ropes A Ruffian Seventeen year-old, pretty, perky and petite birthday girl, Rosalie Monzo just turned off the radio as Joe Grady, co-host of the popular “Grady and Hurst 950 Club” introduced Vaughn Monroe’s latest number one single, “Ghost Riders in the Sky.” She loved the recording but had to hurry out. Rosalie grabbed her coat and dashed to her Aunt Mamie’s, who had promised to take her to the Earl Theatre to hear Frank Sinatra sing with the Tommy Dorsey Band. On the way to Mamie’s, Rosalie met Joey Giardello for the first time when he walked down Shunk Street with none other than her current boyfriend. They stopped to talk. She paid little attention to the muscular, curly-haired Giardello after they were introduced, but she must have caught Joey’s eye, because the next time they met, he asked for her phone number. Imagine the nerve of Joey Giardello, a friend of her boyfriend, asking for her number. She gave it to him. He called. For their first date, they attended a movie, The Younger Brothers. She disliked cowboy movies but felt tingly when Joey slipped his arm across her shoulder near the end of the rather short film. Rosalie even began to wish that the show would have lasted longer. On the way home Joey tells her that he has no family. He’s all alone in the world. That attracts nurturing Rosalie even more. Joey, somewhat a local celebrity because he boxed instead of working in a factory, at the shipyard, or any one of the many unglamorous jobs obtainable for most high school educated south Philadelphians, hung out with a bunch of guys at 13th & Shunk Streets, just a few blocks from Rosalie’s home. Even her father Paul knew him. So it wasn’t a big surprise when a week after the movie date, Joey invited Rosalie and her dad to his next fight. The match, held at Toppi’s just twelve blocks away from Rosalie’s home, lasted only two rounds. Joey knocked out Henry Vonsavage for the win. Her dad was excited and told her that it was Joey’s 14th fight and he’d never lost; better yet, it was his ninth KO. Dad was impressed. Rosalie was not. Her father left the arena right after the fight, but she waited for Joey to change; they walked home together. She tried to impress him with her new-found knowledge about his fight record. It must not have worked, because it took him almost a year, until April 15, 1950, to ask for her hand. Rosalie answered in the affirmative and quickly planned a modest engagement party at her home. Rosalie thought her father seemed as happy as she. Paul Monzo loved Joey; as far as her mother, Jean, was concerned, Joey could do no wrong. By the time of his engagement to Rosalie, Joey had fought 25 times and had suffered only one loss—unless you count the loss to the U.S. Army. After a bout in Washington D.C. on July 13, 1949, it was discovered that Joey Giardello had short changed the 82nd Airborne Division by a few months on his two year obligation. He was sent back to Fort Bragg. Rosalie’s father thought little of the event, but she began to wonder about this guy whose name wasn’t really Joey Giardello, who misrepresent his age to get into the Army, and then split prematurely from his military obligation. She also learned that he lied to her about not having family. His mother, father and four brothers were alive and well in Brooklyn. Was this a portent of things to come? Once released from the Army with an honorable discharge, Joey sprang back into the ring after the four-month layoff and won a six-rounder in Philadelphia. Joey and Rosalie were married just three weeks after the damn Yankees finished off her ‘Fighting Phillies.’ The Whiz Kids dropped four straight in the World Series. It didn’t bother Joey much because he remained a loyal Brooklyn Dodger’s fan. “Pee Wee Reese was my pal. He came over the house, gave me lots of balls and bats. I have the last glove ‘Campy’ (Roy Campanella, all-star, hall of fame catcher) used. Baseball was my game.” Joey remained a Dodger fan until the team moved to Los Angeles in 1957. He then began rooting for the hometown Philadelphia Phillies, although he retained lifelong friendships with former Dodger players Carl Furillo, who lived in nearby Reading, Pennsylvania, Duke Snider, plus future coach and manager, Tommy Lasorda. By the beginning of the new decade, things were definitely looking bright for the rising, young ring star. Joey traveled up to Brooklyn just three days before his October 29, 1950 wedding, only to lose his fight with Harold Green. Rosalie and Joey slipped away before the Church wedding, marrying in front of a justice of the peace on October 17, making sure that she wouldn’t officially be marring a guy who could be sporting a black eye to match his black tie. Rosalie proved happy beyond her imagination but she couldn’t help wondered how life with a story-telling, raunchy, professional boxer would eventually turn out. As was the custom for many young Italian couples in the early 1950s, Carmine and Rosalie Tilelli began their married life under the roof of her parents’ south Philadelphia home until they saved enough money for a down payment on their own place. Ominous Clouds Converge On February 11, 1952, Rosalie gave birth to the couple’s first son, Joseph, named not for the father’s boxing alias but to honor the boy’s paternal grandfather. By now, Giardello, only 22-years-old raised his arm over forty-three opponents, to go along with two draws, and five losses. Already, he’d reached the half century mark in professional bouts. Though not yet considered a top contender for the middleweight crown, Joey’s profile had shot well above the horizon with a win over a highly-ranked Ernie Durando the previous April in Scranton, Pennsylvania. A month shy of two years after Joseph’s birth, a second son, Carman, joined the family on January 30, 1954. He carried Joey’s legal first name, Carmine, but the couple decided to spell it differently. By now, the Tilelli/Giardello family resided in their own south Philadelphia row home a few blocks from Rosalie’s mom and dad. As Giardello’s reputation heightened, he became a regular attraction at Madison Square Garden, New York, the undisputed mecca for boxing matches. Three quick KO’s at the Garden over Garth Panther in January, Walter Cartier in February and Willie Troy in March set rumors rumbling among the fight game’s insiders that a title shot wasn’t far away. The euphoria that Joey felt after his seventh-round knockout of Willie Troy soured the very next day, as soon as he walked in the door after his long drive home from New York City. Rosalie had become deeply concerned about Carman. The doctor had come by the day before and instructed her to practice feeding Carman with an eye dropper because he couldn’t suck on a bottle like their first son or any normal baby. Joey thought it strange but let it slide. However, if Rosalie had a worry, Joey owned it, too. Things started to snowball. At training camp, Joey violated the “no baseball” rule and tore up a knee sliding into second base. Then a more urgent issue concerning Joey’s boxing career surfaced. Rumors routinely fly wild around boxers’ training camps, but Joey heard one that started with his name and ended with the current champion of his middleweight division: “Giardello’s not getting the match with Bobo Olson.” At the weigh-in for his May 21st bout with Pierre Langlois, Joey heard the confirmation of the rumor: Rocky Castellani will be next to challenge Olson for his title. By mid-week before the Langlois fight, Joey was completely unsettled about recent events. He went out drinking with his buddies. One friend cautioned him: “Joey, you’re fighting in a couple of days; take it easy on the sauce.” Joey retorted, “No title shot, bad leg, something’s wrong with Carman – I need a drink.” That Friday night, he lost the Langlois fight and fell deeper into self-pity and self-loathing. Days later, Joey lamented, “Langlois, I beat him two years ago. I shouldn’t have lost that fight. He couldn’t break an egg with two fists, but he knocked me down and won the fight.” At home, Rosalie tussled with another weighty matter: after almost five months, Carman still couldn’t sit up. She knew something wasn’t right. The doctors told her that she shouldn’t expect Carman to be as fast at doing things as her first son. Rosalie’s obstetrician had told her pediatrician not to inform her that anything was wrong with Carman because he feared that his diagnosis might be devastating for the pugilist. The obstetrician had good intentions—he didn’t want to alarm Joey because he had heard that Joey was about to get a title bout. Rosalie didn’t know what the problem was, but she knew that Carman was not right and she worried. Joey stored that worry far behind his own, even losing his heralded fighting career-centered focus. Distressed about Rosalie’s concerns over Carman, his leg and the apparent lost title shot, Joey sought relief. He went AWOL again, this time from his Summit, New Jersey training camp. A friend, Bobby Patrone, drove him a hundred miles to Atlantic City for a night on the town. During their return drive early the next morning, Patrone drove into the median and rolled the car over three times. Asleep in the back seat, Joey was not badly hurt. He was dragged out of the car by Patrone. A third man, Vincent DiFillipps, was also asleep in the back. His injuries were more serious. As they sat in the median beside the upside down car, Bobby Patrone told Joey that he didn’t have a license, so Joey replied, “Tell the Troopers that I was driving.” That magnanimous offer would come back to kick Joey in the rear before year’s end. Newspapers across the country carried the wire-service story that Joey was driving, but he denied being behind the wheel. While Joey wasn’t seriously hurt, word leaked out that he was near death. Both his wife and father heard a faulty news report before he was able to contact them. Joey’s father nearly suffered a heart attack. On September 24th, Joey fought Ralph “Tiger” Jones on one leg and somehow won a 10-round decision. He realized that he couldn’t continue fighting without surgery. He cancelled an upcoming scheduled bout and proceeded to St. Agnes Hospital in Philadelphia on October 5th. Surgery, lost income, and Carman’s circumstances further lowered the top- ranked contender’s already depleted morale. Five days after successful surgery, while still in the hospital, Joey’s spirit got a big lift when middleweight champion Bobo Olson’s camp announced a December 15th title fight with Giardello in San Francisco. Only a day later his spirit crashed again when he read in the paper that New York boxing commissioner and chairman of the International Boxing Commission’s championship committee, Bob Christenberry, challenged the bout. He stated, “How silly can they get? They announce a title match for a contender who is in a hospital. The sports pages are filled with pictures of Giardello in a wheelchair.” The commissioner also claimed that Pierre Langlois should get the fight over Giardello and that he’d have more to say about the match at the London meeting. “We may refuse to recognize it as a title fight. We may refuse to recognize Giardello as the top challenger.” In Philadelphia, Giardello’s co-managers, Anthony Ferrante and Carman Graziano, (no relation to Giardello’s good friend and former boxer, Rocky Graziano, who’s legal name was Thomas Rocco Barbella) both claimed that Giardello would be in perfect shape for the proposed nationally televised 15-round event. Joey reminded his managers that it was commissioner Christenberry who changed a judge’s card after the infamous 1952 Graham/Giardello split-decision fight; that change gave the win to Graham. Giardello sued and the New York Supreme Court overturned the ruling in favor of Giardello. (2) After a few weeks at home, Joey convinced that he could rehab in time went off to training camp. It didn’t take long at camp though before he realized that he just wouldn’t be able to get into shape and train properly by mid-December to fight the champion. He withdrew from the fight. Despite her husband’s mounting legal and physical problems, Rosalie began her quest for answers to Carman’s condition. 1 Biography of a Bowhunter by Doug Walker, 2008 2 Giardello/Graham bout Madison Square Garden, NY, NY, December 15, 1952, Source: AP wire service story February 17, 1953, Justice Bernard Botein decision
"Cliff Place, Mesa Verde" 18" x 24" oil on canvas
Note: All art in this website by
my wife Judith Redner,
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Charles J. Redner |
