Hands Of Stone Reviewed By Richard Arlin Stull
Dos Palabras
Teachers of fiction often make the point that contradiction makes for colorful, rich characters. Christian Giudice’s biography of Panamanian boxing champion Roberto Duran in Hands of Stone certainly validates this claim in the realm of reality too. Duran won world titles in four different weight divisions and fought in five decades with a record of 104 wins in 120 fights and 69 knockouts. He is regarded by almost all boxing writers and insiders as one of boxing’s all-time great champions. But Duran is still best remembered for his “no mas” welterweight title rematch with Sugar Ray Leonard in the New Orleans Superdome in November, 1980, when he quit at the end of the eighth round. The boxing world has since tried to make sense of Duran’s smoldering macho persona, juxtaposed with the unthinkable act of quitting in the middle of a championship fight.
To Giudice’s credit, he doesn’t over-psychologize, and lets those closest to Duran and the fight itself do the explaining. In fact, Giudice lays out his motivation to write the book in a thoughtful introduction – the book evolved as a matter of his own personal pursuit to answer the question of how and why “no mas” happened. What follows is the biography of a man who is not so much complex as he is certainly contradictory.
Duran’s early days are fascinating. From relatives with colorful classical Greek family names like Socrates (an uncle who had uncommon punching power) and Alcibiades (Duran’s younger brother whose tragic death he claims his mother never got over), to stories about his early Dickensian street-mentor Chaflan, and the three different versions of his reputed knockout of a horse at the age of sixteen, Duran’s early days in the slums of Chorrillo in Panama City make for great reading. Indeed, Giudice’s biography is foremost a book for rabid fight fans who revel in boxing’s rich trove of gritty stories about survival in and out of the ring.
Giudice describes how enigmatic international businessman Carlos Eleta, from whose property Duran used to steal coconuts, saw Duran fight and became his financial backer. Duran ultimately ascended to the lightweight championship by defeating Scotsman Kenny Buchanan in 1972, despite a controversial foul by Duran. By the beginning of 1980, only Muhammad Ali and Sugar Ray Leonard had more boxing star-power in terms of persona and charisma – Duran’s snarling coal-eyed machismo was unparalleled. With a record of 72-1, he had mopped up the lightweight division and was a tremendous crowd pleaser, staging fierce and unprecedented training sessions with rope-skipping artistry and powerful hitting and had unsurpassed killer instinct in the ring.
Giudice then tells of Duran’s greatest triumph, a masterful fifteen round unanimous decision over former Olympic superstar and undefeated welterweight champion Sugar Ray Leonard in their bout in June, 1980, in Montreal. Following this are the details of the infamous “no mas” rematch with Leonard in November of the same year in the New Orleans Superdome, and, finally, his path to redemption in the latter half of his career where he fought brutal battles with some of boxing toughest warriors, including Wilfredo Benitez, Carlos Palomino, Marvin Hagler, Thomas Hearns, Pipino Cuevas and Iran Barkley.
“No mas?” Guidice lets boxing writers, other fighters, boxing trainers reactions to and/or explanations of Duran’s “no mas” debacle. The list includes, among others, boxing trainers Manny Steward, Angie Dundee, Ray Arcel and Freddie Brown; writers Budd Schulberg and Bert Sugar; boxers Jose Torres and Carlos Palomino and Sugar Ray himself and many others. Duran, while never hurt during the fight, was clearly being humiliated by Leonard, who had changed his “stand-and fight” tactics from the first fight, having admitted that Duran’s insults to him and his family got to him mentally. Duran’s drinking, eating and conqueror’s victory parties went on for weeks after the first fight and he had ballooned to at least forty pounds, maybe more, over the welterweight limit. Leonard, after serious soul-searching about losing the first fight, stayed focused and trained hard, believing, unlike almost everyone in his own training camp, that he could defeat Duran in a rematch. Duran, nowhere near the shape he was in for their Montreal brawl, had to lose twenty pounds in the last two weeks before the fight to meet weight. Unable to cut off the ring on the skillfully adept and supremely conditioned Leonard who would stick and move, Duran became more and more frustrated. Worse still, Leonard began to taunt Duran, stuck his head out, wound his right hand around like a pinwheel, and then snapped a jab in Duran’s face. An impulsive act of abject frustration and most likely self-acknowledgment that he couldn’t win and with the possibility of being knocked out by his hated rival, Duran said to referee Octavio Meyran in Spanish, “I’m not going to fight this clown anymore.” The ref, not comprehending that Duran was actually quitting, allowed the fight to continue. When the ref signaled the two fighters to continue after Duran had turned his back, Duran, according to the referee, then uttered “no mas.” Leonard, at first confused, then realizing Duran had quit, celebrated. When American broadcaster Howard Cosell, who was announcing the fight, heard only “no mas,” these two words were forever engraved into the lexicon of Duran’s legacy.
There were claims by Duran and others of stomach cramps as the reason for Duran’s quitting. Panamanian journalist Juan Carlos Tapia commented: “He was simply not prepared for the fight. Leonard was beating him bad and Duran said that nobody will knock me out.” According to Giudice, Duran seemed in denial of the gravity of his quitting, celebrating with friends and Panamanian military groupies that night. He didn’t return to Panama for several weeks but on returning, he found his national hero’s status suddenly turned to national scorn with his fans throwing rocks at his home and defacing his mural on Avenida Balboa in Panama City. Duran, who thrived on his connection to the people of Panama, went into a huge depression before he soldiered on for twenty more years in the fight game, not retiring until 2002.
Giudice describes Duran outside the ring as a man who genuinely loved his family and friends, salsa music, Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, and a good time, just as he loved a good fight. A man of great courage and self-discipline, he could also let himself go to excess eating, drinking, partying with friends and women late into the night. His wife, Felicidad, and his soulful identification with the people of Panama were the constants in his life. Though he made and lost millions, Duran, according to Giudice, never forgot his roots in the slums of Chorrillo. And, in a strange twist of irony, the U.S. military was responsible for destroying his old neighborhood as result of a fire caused in the 1989 military operation to depose Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega.
Giudice’s writing reveals his own affection for the people of Panama, the tough characters in the boxing world and Duran himself. I was frustrated for lack of an index, and imagine other readers would be too, particularly since this biography will appeal foremost to ardent boxing fans who love insider’s trivia. For those aficionados, however, Giudice has presented the first comprehensive biography in English of one of boxing’s and the sports world’s most dynamic figures as well as pulled together the most comprehensive commentaries by authorities regarding Duran’s “no mas” fight. There are other great tidbits including Panama’s colorful boxing history, intrigue surrounding Carlos Eleta’s role in the United States, Panamanian politics surrounding the 1989 invasion, and much more. For all of Giudice’s exhaustive research, interviews, anecdotes and information, I found his first chapter and the latter part of the last chapter the most compelling. Like many who are enamored of and write about the world of boxing, the collision of realism with the Cervanteseque romantic in the author is ever present throughout the biography. He writes in the latter part of the last chapter about Roberto Duran today:
Roberto Duran’s hands are soft, fleshy maps of a life of fighting in streets and rings. His knuckles are ghastly bumps, narratives of the men who confronted him. The man- father fiend and son – has lived in extremes. He has stood with presidents dined with world figures, danced with goddesses, defeated poverty, partied with celebrities, sipped the worlds best champagne, driven expensive cars. Draped himself in rare jewelry, and brawled and bested the world’s toughest men. He thrived among crowds. When his people turned away, he turned inward; when the world called out, he soaked in its luxuries, still hear its additive call. All fighters do. As his skills reflexes and skills slowly left him he tilted at ghosts that no longer existed.
We impose narrative on events to make sense, often elevating single moments as “defining,” as the words “no mas” have become indelibly identified with Duran. Giudice’s biography challenges the reader to say “no mas” to “no mas” and “mas” to allowing icons to become once again the contradictory flesh-and-blood human beings we all are.