Sport: The Making of Rocky

Boxing’s biggest current attraction is a roughneck middleweight from Manhattan’s tough Mulberry Street. Rocco (“Rocky”) Graziano packed them in at Madison Square Garden last week for what fans thought would be his sixth straight knockout, a new Garden record. He fooled himself and the fans by winning on points from ex-Sailor Sonny Home.

As a boxer, Rocky Graziano is a joke, but he has the top two requisites to ring fame & fortune — a paralyzing punch, an iron jaw. His 155 lbs. ace mounted on a sturdy pair of legs that would never per form fancy ring steps. He mauls in on an opponent, wide-legged, carrying his left dangerously low; but he punches fast, savagely, substituting power and speed for a better boxer’s polished skill.

Now in the big time, Rocky tries to dress the part. His idea of what the well-dressed man should wear is a dirty polo shirt; he buys a new zoot suit every month, lets a pal break it in, seldom sees it again. His dislike of barbers keeps a mop of black hair flopping over his eyes.

Bells & Boos. One mighty haymaker was the making of Rocky. He pulled it out of center field last March, knocked his opponent groggy. The confidence gained from that wallop gave him the same killer instinct that made Stanley Ketchel famous. He promptly made bells ring in the noggins of the late Bummy Davis, fading Welterweight Champion Red Cochrane, drew $100,000 gates.

In Stillman’s dingy gym on 8th Avenue, before last week’s fight, the largest crowd since Primo Camera’s day paid 35¢ apiece to watch Rocky prep for his go against Horne. At the Garden, 18,907 paid $108,974 to watch Rocky throw everything in the book at Boxer Horne, almost get his knockout in round 7. At the finish, a few fans booed. Said Rocky: “I win, didn’t I?”