RIP SWEET PEA
Pernell Whitaker, a boxer’s boxer, struck and killed by auto at 55
Lou Duva walked into the press room at Caesars Tahoe, looked around and commented, “This seems like old times.”
It was April of 2001, and I was public relations director for Duva Boxing, which was formed after the 2000 split with Main Events. The fledgling company was trying to
make a name for itself when it announced that Pernell Whitaker, the 1984 Olympic boxing gold medalist and pro champion from 135 to 155 pounds, was coming out of a two-year retirement to face one Carlos Bojorquez in a junior middleweight contest.
“I gonna help the company by coming back,” he stated.
A press room table was filled with many stories that sports writers had done on “Sweet Pea” or “Pete” as he was called.
“These are all current stories?” asked Duva. I nodded and he went off to read them.
Those stories were real. What’s hard to believe today is that Pernell Whitaker is dead after getting hit by a car on Sunday night in Virginia Beach. He was 55 and died at the scene.
When Whitaker arrived to the press room, I lined up a bunch of phone interviews with the press. After about five lengthy interviews, Whitaker asked me, “Is this phone ever going to run out of battery power?”
He smiled and went on to the next interview.
Sadly, Bojorquez broke Pete’s clavicle in the fourth, giving Whitaker the only loss by KO of his career. He retired after the fight with a career record was 40-4-1; 1 NC with 17 knockouts.
Whitaker, a pound-forpound maestro, fought in a stacked era for his divisions. Future Hall of Famers James “Buddy” McGirt, Felix Trinidad, Azumah Nelson and the “Golden Boy” Oscar De La Hoya — Sweet Pea fought them all, and usually came out on top.
At a New York press conference for his April 1997 fight against De Hoya in Vegas, when asked what he thought of the “Golden Boy,” he simply said, “Man, Oscar couldn’t carry my gym bag.”
The southpaw Whitaker lost a controversial decision to De la Hoya.
I worked on one of his title defenses in Atlantic City in January 1997 for HBO International TV versus talented Cuban Diosbelys Hurtado when Whitaker was still fighting under the Main Events banner.
Less than 10 seconds into the bout, Whitaker was dropped by Hurtado. I remember it clearly — plus the guys in the truck never let me forget it — because a split second after the knockdown, I uttered the perfect Homer Simpson, “D’Oh!” when Whitaker went down. Down he went again in round six and Whitaker was losing the 12-rounder entering the 11th round when he hurt Hurtado and turned into an offensive whirling dervish in knocking out his game challenger to retain his welterweight title.
Whitaker was along the greatest defensive fighters ever, right up there with Willie Pep and Wilfred Benitez. He made fighters swing at air. One second he was there, the next … gone.
Never was that more evident with he fought the great Julio Cesar Chavez in San Antonio on September 10, 1993. It was no contest as the ultra-slick Whitaker beat Chavez to the punch and Chavez couldn’t hit what he couldn’t find.
When it was over, I decided to leave ringside because it was a long walk to the Alamodome press room and I wanted to get a good seat. I scored the fight 117-112 for Whitaker. As I made my way to the press room, I saw Whitaker’s good friend Bruce Smith standing by some bleacher seats. Yes, that Bruce Smith, future Hall of Famer of the Buffalo Bills. We had met the night before.
As I got closer to Smith, the fight was announced as a majority draw. I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at Smith and we said nothing, but
shook our heads in unison.
When Chavez’s promoter, Don King, came into the press room and started barking about a rematch, Duva bellowed, “There ain’t gonna be no rematch! My guy won fair and square!”
Even the Mexican press was embarrassed by the decision for their guy. Sports Illustrated
had it correctly when their cover simply stated: ROBBED! Whitaker was not without warts. He had issues with drugs. He famously checked into a jail to serve time and when he emptied his pockets, he forgot he had cocaine in his possession.
A master tactician without a heavy punch, Whitaker outthought his opponents with moves and feints and exaggerated slips that saw him twist and turn and crouch down into a catcher’s position, watching punches sail over his head.
He was part of that 1984 US Olympic team of gold medal winners along with Mark Breland, Meldrick Taylor, Tyrell Biggs, Paul Gonzalez, Steve McCrory, Jerry Page, Frank Tate and Henry Tillman. Someone named Evander Holyfield captured a bronze medal.
He was inducted in the International Hall of Fame in 2006, his first year of eligibility. Whitaker’s peers recognized his ability, even if the public didn’t always.
The last time I saw Whitaker was in 2011 when he was training Zab Judah for a bout for the vacant IBF welterweight championship versus Kaizer Mabuza at the Prudential Center in Newark. Judah scored a seventh-round stoppage to win the belt. Even Mike Tyson showed for the bout. Judah, a onetime heir to Whitaker’s pound-for-pound legacy, never could step all the way into his shoes.
Whitaker was a supremely confident fighter, with every reason to be. He possessed unparalleled skill and craft, a boxer’s boxer who left a mark in the ring that many admire but none can duplicate.