After-Hours Fun on Wall Street: Boxing

Every month, well-dressed men like John Oden leave their climate-controlled offices on Wall Street for a short limo ride to a lonely Brooklyn warehouse.

There’s nothing suspicious here--they’re just searching for new ways to beat someone at yet another game.

They climb winding concrete stairs and emerge into a cavernous room. Shouting voices blend with the sounds of fists striking bodies and punching bags, and the air is thick with sweat. They peel off silk ties, starched shirts and pressed pants, and change into nylon shirts and shorts. Assistants tape their hands, strap on 14-ounce or 16-ounce gloves the color of freshly spilled blood and attach their headgear.

Finally, they slip under a thick rope, and a bell announces it’s “White Collar Sparring Night.” These men and a growing number of women, some who compete for deals worth millions or billions in their day jobs, have found a new form of combat at historic Gleason’s Gym.

“Boxing is the ultimate sport: It’s one-on-one, a mano-a-mano face-off,” said Oden, a money manager for a billion-dollar firm who says he’s in his 50s. “When I am in the ring, I am not even remotely thinking of what went on in the office.”

Oden, a transplanted Texan with the twang to match, took up boxing eight years ago when jogging and tennis became boring and the 6-foot-4 executive noticed his stomach beginning to bulge. Almost instantly, he fell in love with the exhilaration of hitting--and the anxiety of being hit.

About a decade ago, a few places like Gleason’s began opening their doors to this new clientele of investment bankers, real estate developers, doctors, even a New York state judge.

Gleason’s opened in 1937 in the Bronx, then moved to midtown Manhattan before crossing the river to its present setting in a nondescript warehouse under the Brooklyn Bridge. Jake La Motta, Muhammad Ali, and Mike Tyson are just a few of the greats to break a sweat there.

About 850 fighters now work out at Gleason’s, and it still has its pros, like IBF welterweight champ Zab “Super” Judah. It’s also used by such retired fighters as Edwin Viruet, who twice took famed KO artist Roberto Duran the distance, and Nikos Michalis Spanakos, who boxed at the 1960 Olympics where he roomed with Ali, still using the name he was born with, Cassius Clay.

Owner Bruce Silverglade said the white-collar “professionals” are welcomed, even encouraged by the ring pros. In boxing, people say, fighters share a common trait: terror.

“They all go in there with fear,” Silverglade said. “There’s not a professional who won’t go in there without some level of fear.”

Prefight jitters aren’t like the butterflies of other sports. Oden recalled hyperventilating in his first fight. Some with years of experience admit still having anxious starts. In most cases, fear dissipates after the first blow. Not just a glancing shot, though; it needs a solid shot to the nose--the kind that leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

“It becomes fun once you get over that hump,” said Charlie Miller, an artist and writer. “I don’t like getting hit, but it teaches you things.”

On this night, there is all sorts of hitting between Oden and his opponent, Mark Settembre. Three weeks earlier at another gym, they were paired in Settembre’s first bout. Oden won, and the 48-year-old Settembre trained hard for the rematch because his neck was stiff for three days--and he wanted some payback.

Settembre, a real estate developer, listened attentively to Tom Patti, his friend and trainer. Like most of the white-collar fighters, Settembre works out several times a week, punching bags until his arms ache and his legs wobble.

Patti, who befriended Mike Tyson at a reform school years ago and has trained the fighter, told Settembre to duck Oden’s left jab and counter with a stiff left.

Repeatedly, and at times awkwardly, the two fighters came at each other with angry fists. When the bell rang after the third and final two-minute round, both fighters hugged and held up trophies. That’s right; at Gleason’s each fight results in two winners. The gym doesn’t have judges--the $20 entry fee essentially covers the cost of the gold-tinted keepsake.

Silverglade says he stopped declaring winners and losers because “there were zillionaires from Wall Street who would lose and go home and be really upset about it.”

It might seem strange that Settembre has a trainer, but given the bank accounts of many of these guys, it makes sense. So does the plan to take some of them to London in July to fight.

But not everyone who fights is loaded. Take Tony Pellegrino, a 58-year-old electrician who took up the sport “because boxing is in my blood.”

“My father was a contend-ah,” Pellegrino said, mimicking Marlon Brando in “On the Waterfront.” “He taught me when I was a little kid, but he never wanted me to fight.”

Pellegrino began boxing 15 years ago. He fights a dozen times a year, much to the chagrin of his wife, Carmel, who sits ringside with 30 or 40 other fans for every bout.

“When he first told me, I said, ‘No, you’re crazy, what are you thinking about?’ ” she said, grimacing when her husband took a punch to the gut. “But he was always a man who worked very hard. He never did anything for himself and he’s made a lot of friends doing this.”

Pellegrino could have sustained a severe injury from opponent Edwin Calderon, a financial analyst. Stronger, more dexterous and 24 years younger, Calderon started the fight with a flurry of punches but quickly slowed himself down and began pulling his punches.

Most fights are like that. While a few get out of hand, forcing a referee to step in before anyone gets mauled, most of the fighters know each other and have no great urge to inflict bodily harm. The gym creates a sense of community, and civility.

And it’s nothing like last year’s film “Fight Club,” which shocked many critics with its brutal images of lost young souls beating each other senseless with bare knuckles to remind themselves they are men.

“I just do it to get in shape,” said Calderon. “I don’t intend to hurt anybody.”

Of course, boxers can get hurt. Noses or jaws get broken despite the protective headgear. But the gear generally prevents the face from bruising, and dress shirts cover up body bruises.

A hefty bank roll goes a long way, too, in easing pain with massage and physical therapy.

Not all the fighters are male.

Jill Mendola, a Long Island nurse, has just made her debut against a man.

“I would have liked to have fought a girl,” she says, then adds: “I’m coming back for the next one, though. It’s great--it’s like a rush.”