Prizefighting’s Loss Proves Cuba’s Gain

When Nelson Mandela, having gained his freedom from political imprisonment in South Africa, was able to indulge his long-held wish to visit Cuba shortly before the start of the Pan American Games, he told Fidel Castro that there was one man in particular he was eager to meet: Teofilo Stevenson.

Some time ago, the great Teofilo--pronounced tee-AH-fa-lo --was the three-time Olympic gold medalist who forswore the capital gains of a capitalist society. Today, he remains the everlasting heavyweight king of amateur boxing who insists: “I would not trade my individual calm for all the gold in the world.”

One wonders what kind of double-take Mandela must have done upon subsequently being introduced to Stevenson, someone whose visage, not unlike Mandela’s own, had infrequently been seen by the world at large for a number of years. Because the boxer’s age-creased, yet otherwise unmarked, face evokes memories not only of who and what he once was, but of who and what he might have been.

It happens to be Muhammad Ali’s face, one man having become a mirror image of the other. The sleepy lids. The lantern jaw. The impish smile that crinkles the corners of his mouth at the very moment when the seated Stevenson seems about to doze off into a nap. And then there is the speech that is subdued and ever-so-slightly slurred, but with a wit that remains mischievous and sharp.

“We did make a proposal to fight (Ali),” Stevenson tells an American who expresses sorrow that two such eminent heavyweights never squared off in the same ring. “Five fights of three rounds each. No, three fights of five rounds each. But we never receive a reply.

“Maybe you will have to ask him why.”

It is eerie to look him in the eye. He is still the same Teofilo who won more gold medals than any Olympic heavyweight had before or has since, inside the same 6-foot-3 frame in fighting trim, although Stevenson has been retired for several years. His hairline has not noticeably receded and the brow remains unfurrowed, as though belonging to a man with no worries.

And perhaps he is such a man, although acquittal on a driving-under-the-influence charge after a traffic accident a couple of years ago certainly helped his peace of mind. The untold millions of dollars, meanwhile, that today would be stuffing the four pockets of Stevenson’s coral-blue tropical shirt, well, these are riches he says he has gladly lived without.

“I don’t think in terms of millions,” Stevenson says. “I have what I need.”

He sounds, in fact, more than a little contemptuous of prizefighters and everything they are willing to sacrifice for their prizes, espousing a socialistic party line that sport is intended to benefit only health and never wealth, satisfied with the example he has set for the young Cubans he has counseled or influenced before this week’s Pan Am boxing competition.

Stevenson says: “I think it is a trade of health for money. I do not wish to hurt anybody’s feelings, but some of these people who fight to make millions do not have a completeness of their being. They compete not to assist their society, but only to make money, and in the end they lose both the money and the health. These are the comments I hear all around the world,and I say: ‘What an ass. He was not smart enough to prepare himself for life physically and mentally.”’

Professional boxing interests Stevenson only marginally, enough to make a complimentary reference to Ali, whom he continues to call Cassius Clay, as a “high-quality athlete (whom) I would have enjoyed fighting under amateur rules,” or to express the opinion that Mike Tyson, despite being very strong and earnestly trained, could not defeat champions of his era such as Larry Holmes or Joe Frazier, at least not in their primes, a young Tyson having already once pounded a far-too-old Holmes into submission.

“To me, Joe Louis was still the best of all,” Stevenson adds.

Where would this island idol rank among boxing’s all-time greats had he chosen--or been free--to take his cuts? That will never be known. But after George Foreman won the Olympic gold medal in 1968, the big one who got away from Las Tunas Oriente, Cuba, thoroughly dominated the super-heavyweight division of international amateur boxing.

A thick-necked U.S. sailor named Duane Bobick was fairly unimpressed with Stevenson before fighting him at Munich in 1972, even after seeing him put down a Polish boxer in one round, because the year before, Bobick had beaten Stevenson in the semifinals of the Pan American Games. After Bobick said, “I know he’s tall and strong, but the last time he had a good jab and no right hand,” the Cuban clubbed him with both hands until the bout was stopped in the third round.

A German, Peter Hussing, lasted even less time in Stevenson’s next Olympic match at Munich, saying that in 212 amateur fights he had never been hit so hard. Pro boxing promoters saw a potential gold mine here, but Stevenson wanted no part of it, declaring: “Professional boxing treats a boxer like a commodity, to be bought, sold and discarded when he is no longer of use. I wouldn’t exchange my piece of Cuba for all the money they could give me.”

Nineteen years later, he is saying the same thing. Between 1972 and ‘76, Stevenson lost twice, both times to Igor Vysotsky of the Soviet Union, but during the Montreal Olympics he disposed of his first three foes in 7 1/2 minutes, then chased one Mircea Simon all over the ring until the Romanian’s cornermen threw a towel the first time their man got tagged.

Nobody or nothing persuaded Stevenson to turn pro, not even after his gold medal at Moscow in 1980. He wears no jewelry or visible mark of wealth, wears no visible scars and expresses no regrets. His life is not a party; the Party is his life.

“I think you get what you get,” Stevenson says. “There are no privileges here. I have what any other person has. I enjoy what every other person enjoys. Because we are all equal here. We receive what we deserve. You see no great wealth, perhaps, but you also see no kids barefoot in the streets, see no child without education, without hospital. Our life is guaranteed.”

The face may be Ali’s. The voice, the words, are not.