JimStinson
11-24-2012, 09:45 AM
As I write this the former 4 time Boxing World Champion remains on life support after having been shot in the face a couple nights ago as he sat in his car. His longtime friend who was with him was killed.
With no brain activity the family has made the difficult decision to pull the plug to the machine that is keeping him alive and today unless there is a miracle Camacho will pass away.
He was one of those boxers you either loved or hated. After one of the most storied amateur careers ever. (He won three Golden Gloves) He turned pro and racked up an impressive if not legendary record on his way to winning four World Titles. Known for his defense, footwork and ability to avoid being hit and his flashy manner. He had his critics. In a sport known as "The sweet Science" where the goal is to hit and not get hit. Camacho was very , very good at it. He became one of the most dominant fighters of the 1980's.
In the 1980's and 90's I arranged and completed almost 200 private autograph signing sessions. With Hector Camacho being one of them.
It remains to this day one of the strangest private signings I've ever done.
After being introduced by a mutual friend and following a long series of phone conversations Hector invited me to his home which was then a mini mansion located in the middle of no where WAY out on an Indian reservation near the south Florida everglades. We agreed on a price I would pay him and he was to sign 500 items. I was in the middle of a three day baseball card show in Orlando and the plan was for me to arrive Sunday afternoon, after the show.
On Saturday I called to confirm having just spoken to him the week prior and he calmly told me he was leaving the country the following morning. With dozens of advance orders and over $1,000 already invested in advertising and the photos which he was to sign I closed my booth at the show and began the six hour drive south.
When I finally found the house which located on about an acre of land surrounded by a 12 foot security fence with an eight foot statue of what by my best guess was a naked Roman soilder painted in gold, outside the gate. I suspected I was in the right place. There was not another house in sight for miles.
I rang the bell and a voice came on the intercom. Who was I and why was I there the voice wanted to know , I explained that I had spoken to Hector earlier in the day and the gate slowly began to open. Inside the compound there were three or four very nice cars and about a half dozen guys milling around. As I exited my car and stood among them trying to explain what I was there for , Camacho emerged on the balcony clad only in a leopard skin loin cloth , Like the Tarzan of the Everglades. He said he would be right down and after what seemed like an hour he strode over to where we were all standing. One of the men had a large firearm tucked in the waistband of his pants and Camacho's first act was to grab the gun and aim it into the air and fire off a few VERY LOUD rounds. Met by uproarious laughter by everyone except me as he turned and asked innocently "What do you want?"
I explained what I was there for again and that we had just spoken that morning but he seemed oblivious to any of it. He invited me to an office set off from the garage we sat down and he asked me again to explain why I had all of those photos of him. I explained we had spoke already and discussed all of it in detail or else I wouldn't be there. He shook his head. "You want me to sign ALL those photos ?" he asked. he seemed to think I wanted him to do it for free and kept shaking his head. When finally I told him I was paying him (which we had already discussed a dozen times or more on the phone) He lit up. OK he said , No problem. He waved off the guys who had been standing around outside and we went upstairs to his living room. It was an odd sight , The furnishings of the house were colorful, garish and loud. About a dozen long haired small white dogs roamed from room to room. His mother greeted me politely by the entry way as we sat on the sofa he switched on the TV and he began to sign the photos in bursts , 10 here , 10 there and then become engrossed in the TV show. or playing with one of the dogs. His girlfriend or wife I'm not sure what came in the room and asked him what he was doing , he told her "I'm signing autographs", she looked at me and back at him "So Many ???" she said. He ignored her.
After about an hour he vanished to leave me seated alone in the living room surrounded by small white dogs, and the box of photos I had brought. He had signed maybe 50 photos. I waited , finally I got up to look for him walking carefully through the house, remembering the incident outside that had greeted me upon my arrival. I finally found him in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal , he looked up and smiled "Are you still here ?" he said "I thought you left" I reminded him of the task at hand he finished his cereal and we returned to the living room. I would like to say we talked about boxing and we did , but whatever it was I don;t remember because every time the subject came up he would stop signing , discuss it and then start changing channels on the TV, and then kick back oblivious to what it was that had brought me there in the first place. Finally a signing session that should have taken 3 hours was completed 7 hours later. He was ready to dissapear again into the maze of rooms when I asked him if he could have someone open the gate for me. He laughed. He yelled out the window to someone downstairs and the gate started to open. I turned around to thank him and he was already gone. I made my way downstairs past the dogs, through the now vacant yard and into my car , I drove past the Statue of the Roman soilder painted in gold and the gates began to close again. It wasn't until I was miles away that I realized I had forgotten to take a photo of him signing. In fact in all of the over 200 private signings I was to do his was to be one of only two in which I did not take a photo. The other being a signing in Tennessee State prison with Big John Tate in which in was prohibited to take photos.
It was I recalled such a chore to keep him focused on signing and in one place with a pen, that taking photos had completely slipped my mind.
It took a few years to sell all of the photos he had signed and a few years later I happened to run into him in Las Vegas. He didn't remember me but nodded his head politely as if he did. He was eyeing a pretty woman that worked in the gift shop. I smiled to myself when about an hour later I passed the gift shop and there was a "closed" sign hanging on the door.
I guess when you are young and handsome and rich and the champion of the world , well you can make things like that happen. Luck just seems to follow you where ever you go. Until a couple evenings ago. RIP
_____________________________
stinsonsports.com
With no brain activity the family has made the difficult decision to pull the plug to the machine that is keeping him alive and today unless there is a miracle Camacho will pass away.
He was one of those boxers you either loved or hated. After one of the most storied amateur careers ever. (He won three Golden Gloves) He turned pro and racked up an impressive if not legendary record on his way to winning four World Titles. Known for his defense, footwork and ability to avoid being hit and his flashy manner. He had his critics. In a sport known as "The sweet Science" where the goal is to hit and not get hit. Camacho was very , very good at it. He became one of the most dominant fighters of the 1980's.
In the 1980's and 90's I arranged and completed almost 200 private autograph signing sessions. With Hector Camacho being one of them.
It remains to this day one of the strangest private signings I've ever done.
After being introduced by a mutual friend and following a long series of phone conversations Hector invited me to his home which was then a mini mansion located in the middle of no where WAY out on an Indian reservation near the south Florida everglades. We agreed on a price I would pay him and he was to sign 500 items. I was in the middle of a three day baseball card show in Orlando and the plan was for me to arrive Sunday afternoon, after the show.
On Saturday I called to confirm having just spoken to him the week prior and he calmly told me he was leaving the country the following morning. With dozens of advance orders and over $1,000 already invested in advertising and the photos which he was to sign I closed my booth at the show and began the six hour drive south.
When I finally found the house which located on about an acre of land surrounded by a 12 foot security fence with an eight foot statue of what by my best guess was a naked Roman soilder painted in gold, outside the gate. I suspected I was in the right place. There was not another house in sight for miles.
I rang the bell and a voice came on the intercom. Who was I and why was I there the voice wanted to know , I explained that I had spoken to Hector earlier in the day and the gate slowly began to open. Inside the compound there were three or four very nice cars and about a half dozen guys milling around. As I exited my car and stood among them trying to explain what I was there for , Camacho emerged on the balcony clad only in a leopard skin loin cloth , Like the Tarzan of the Everglades. He said he would be right down and after what seemed like an hour he strode over to where we were all standing. One of the men had a large firearm tucked in the waistband of his pants and Camacho's first act was to grab the gun and aim it into the air and fire off a few VERY LOUD rounds. Met by uproarious laughter by everyone except me as he turned and asked innocently "What do you want?"
I explained what I was there for again and that we had just spoken that morning but he seemed oblivious to any of it. He invited me to an office set off from the garage we sat down and he asked me again to explain why I had all of those photos of him. I explained we had spoke already and discussed all of it in detail or else I wouldn't be there. He shook his head. "You want me to sign ALL those photos ?" he asked. he seemed to think I wanted him to do it for free and kept shaking his head. When finally I told him I was paying him (which we had already discussed a dozen times or more on the phone) He lit up. OK he said , No problem. He waved off the guys who had been standing around outside and we went upstairs to his living room. It was an odd sight , The furnishings of the house were colorful, garish and loud. About a dozen long haired small white dogs roamed from room to room. His mother greeted me politely by the entry way as we sat on the sofa he switched on the TV and he began to sign the photos in bursts , 10 here , 10 there and then become engrossed in the TV show. or playing with one of the dogs. His girlfriend or wife I'm not sure what came in the room and asked him what he was doing , he told her "I'm signing autographs", she looked at me and back at him "So Many ???" she said. He ignored her.
After about an hour he vanished to leave me seated alone in the living room surrounded by small white dogs, and the box of photos I had brought. He had signed maybe 50 photos. I waited , finally I got up to look for him walking carefully through the house, remembering the incident outside that had greeted me upon my arrival. I finally found him in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal , he looked up and smiled "Are you still here ?" he said "I thought you left" I reminded him of the task at hand he finished his cereal and we returned to the living room. I would like to say we talked about boxing and we did , but whatever it was I don;t remember because every time the subject came up he would stop signing , discuss it and then start changing channels on the TV, and then kick back oblivious to what it was that had brought me there in the first place. Finally a signing session that should have taken 3 hours was completed 7 hours later. He was ready to dissapear again into the maze of rooms when I asked him if he could have someone open the gate for me. He laughed. He yelled out the window to someone downstairs and the gate started to open. I turned around to thank him and he was already gone. I made my way downstairs past the dogs, through the now vacant yard and into my car , I drove past the Statue of the Roman soilder painted in gold and the gates began to close again. It wasn't until I was miles away that I realized I had forgotten to take a photo of him signing. In fact in all of the over 200 private signings I was to do his was to be one of only two in which I did not take a photo. The other being a signing in Tennessee State prison with Big John Tate in which in was prohibited to take photos.
It was I recalled such a chore to keep him focused on signing and in one place with a pen, that taking photos had completely slipped my mind.
It took a few years to sell all of the photos he had signed and a few years later I happened to run into him in Las Vegas. He didn't remember me but nodded his head politely as if he did. He was eyeing a pretty woman that worked in the gift shop. I smiled to myself when about an hour later I passed the gift shop and there was a "closed" sign hanging on the door.
I guess when you are young and handsome and rich and the champion of the world , well you can make things like that happen. Luck just seems to follow you where ever you go. Until a couple evenings ago. RIP
_____________________________
stinsonsports.com