The Rocky Road to Stardom Passes Through East L.A.

A holy portrait loomed above the doorway, sanctifying, in some odd, soul-preserving way, the brutal hand-to-hand combat that occurred within the confines of the old Resurrection Gym, as well as standing guard over the brave souls who entered through that door. From the instant he saw this sacred image of Jesus, Sylvester Stallone understood the leading role it had to play.

As a result, his original script for a little love story about a big lummox he dubbed Rocky Balboa was tailored to make sure that the film’s first shot would be of that religious artifact above the door, the one blessing each of the wannabe, shouldn’t-be prizefighters who ventured into this East L.A. sweatbox to train.

“A place for God’s losing minions” is what Stallone calls it, mindful that God might well watch out for such people most and perhaps even love them best.

Fobbed off as Philadelphia in the movie, the gymnasium in reality was one where a hungry kid from a Los Angeles neighborhood could change his life’s course, given a proper combination of hard work and good breaks. It is where the youthful champion Oscar De La Hoya trained as a rough-cut kid eager to make something of his life.

In a room where if the walls could talk they would mumble, Resurrection Gym has been converted into a youth center, a provider of activities and scholarships that now bears De La Hoya’s name.

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Nearly a quarter-century has gone by since Sylvester Stallone came up with the Oscar-winning concept of “Rocky,” inspired by a hopelessly untalented brute named Chuck Wepner who was able to go round after round with the greatest fighter in the world, Muhammad Ali, armed with no more than a thick skull and an unwillingness to fall.

Looking back on it, Stallone, who will be honored with a “Champion of Children” award at the Oscar De La Hoya Foundation’s charity benefit Thursday night at the Beverly Hilton, believes the emergence of Rocky Balboa as a positive influence, rather than a negative one, came from yet another mix of work and luck.

Take the casting.

The role of Apollo Creed, the charismatic Ali alter ego in this allegory, was to have been played by Ken Norton, a real-life heavyweight who did what little he could as an actor in wretched films such as “Mandingo” after having fought Ali valiantly in his prime.

One day, though, Stallone remembers that Norton withdrew from this low- budget “Rocky” project because ABC-TV was dangling a $25,000 prize in front of pro athletes for a “Superstars” competition, a kind of televised company picnic for jocks. Carl Weathers walked on to take the part, and practically walked off with the film.

Then came the love interest.

An almost pathologically shy “Adrian” was to be played at one point, Stallone recalls, by Carrie Snodgress, though later Talia Shire got the part. “My original idea, though, was that Adrian was a nice Jewish girl. And there was a Jewish mother character, and one day Adrian and her brother bring home this beefy, punch-drunk, black-gloved Italian leg-breaker who works for a gangster and boxes on the side,” Stallone says.

“I was thinking Bette Midler and Harvey Keitel to be Adrian and Paulie. Now, that might have been fun.”

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Learning to drive a Grand Prix race car now for a film called “Formula One,” Stallone is taking up another dangerous sport. His five-film boxing saga lured him into that sordid world, where he became involved with the careers of the gifted but self-destructive Aaron Pryor and heavyweight Tommy Morrison--both of whom, like too many boxers, made a mess of their personal lives.

De La Hoya says he personally chose Stallone for his foundation’s award for “creating positive characters on the screen” and for being an inspiration to him off it.

The fictional Rocky Balboa began life badly and made something better of it. No one, least of all Stallone, wants to see the opposite happen to De La Hoya, whose record and reputation have been unblemished, at least until he was accused of sexual assault by a teenager who waited 2 1/2 years to file charges.

Stallone says he once saw Ali after a fight--a victory--seated alone in a washroom stall, too exhausted even to undress. Asked if he was all right, Ali looked at Stallone and said, “Rock, I’ve just been sitting here talking with the angels.”

It’s what a boxer has to do from time to time--make sure that somebody up there’s looking out for him.

Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to him at Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles 90053, or e-mail mike.downey@latimes.com