TALENT, TITLES AND TORMENT
The story of the once brilliant Michael Nunn, now 14 years into his prison sentence, as told by Ben Dirs
“I have been in prison going on 15 years but I never intended it to be my home, just a temporary address. I need to be home where the real love is and it will come to pass soon, God willing. And once freedom is given back to The Champ, I will do bigger and better things.”
Michael Nunn, prisoner #11772030, Oxford Federal Correctional Institution, Wisconsin, April 26 2017
IN the early hours of Sunday 26 March 1989, a janitor armed with a broom was returning order to the Las Vegas Hilton after an evening of boxing when he spotted what looked like a cheque among the losing betting slips and spent cigarettes. The janitor picked it up, put on his glasses and held his breath: “Pay to the order of Michael Nunn,” the cheque read, “the sum of $1,000,000.”
A few hours earlier, Michael Nunn had knocked out Italy’s Sumbu Kalambay in 88 seconds to retain his IBF middleweight crown and cement his status as one of the world’s best pound-for-pound boxers. Some thought nobody could touch him, and wouldn’t for some time. “A superstar was born here Saturday night,” wrote Steve Springer in the LA Times. “The possibilities are endless.”
Springer was wrong about the first bit but right about the second, although he wouldn’t have known why. In his next fight against a supposedly shop-worn Iran Barkley at a halffull events centre in Reno, Nunn was booed from the ring after scraping a tight decision. Promoter Bob Arum was so disgusted with Nunn’s performance that he released him from his contract one fight early.
Springer’s LA Times colleague, a certain Jerold Kress, wrote: “Michael Nunn isn’t ‘second to none’, he’s a bum who runs and doesn’t look cute doing it.” Kress’s opinion of Nunn, obnoxious as it was, was a common one.
For every sage observer who thought Nunn was the most gifted fighter for a generation – historian Bert Sugar called him “the most unrecognised superstar in the history of boxing” – there were many more who thought Nunn was a bore. Even by the standards of the sport, Nunn’s career, from start to finish, was maddeningly capricious.
Just shy of 15 years after misplacing that $1m cheque in Vegas, Nunn was sentenced to more than 24 years in prison for drug trafficking. So from his current home in Oxford, Wisconsin, his eighth prison since being locked up – and because a visit was out of the question – Nunn answered my questions via email, through his friend and legal adviser Eric Hunter, whom I should thank. On paper, Nunn sounds in good spirits. But he also describes his time inside as “a nightmare”, from which only his new-found Muslim faith has kept him safe. Hunter says Nunn suffered physical and verbal abuse at the hands of prison staff in Texas, and has filed a lawsuit, in which he alleges being denied medical treatment and basic commissaries. Hunter has also started a petition.
Shortly before this article went to print, Hunter informed me that Nunn’s mother had recently passed away. Michael, said Hunter, needed a boost. It is up to the reader to decide if 24 years for dealing drugs is a fair rap, when you can get a lesser sentence for taking another person’s life. But hopefully the knowledge that British boxing fans have at least been reminded of his former greatness and his current predicament will be of some comfort.
“Davenport was like any other city in the Midwest and across America. It was tough and there was trouble. And my mother didn’t raise no wimps...”
Nunn describes his upbringing as “fun”, his family as “strong and loving” and his mum, Madies, as “the boss”. But it was left to two wise men called Alvino Pena and Bob Surkein to rescue Nunn from a life completely wasted.
Surkein, a former president of the American Amateur Boxing Federation, first laid eyes on Nunn when he was 13, in Pena’s boxing club in Davenport, Iowa. “I saw the new Cassius Clay,” Surkein would say later, “the speed, the reflexes, the infectious grin.” Nunn, who never knew his dad, looked upon Surkein as a father figure. But Nunn didn’t always do what he was told.
Nunn got into all sorts of trouble as a kid but Surkein, a military man, instilled in his charge discipline and respect. Under the tutelage of Surkein and Pena, Nunn won three Golden Gloves titles between1982-84, ➤
a remarkable feat for a kid from Davenport, which was more famous for churning out John Deere tractors than boxing prospects. “When I am inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame,” says Nunn, “both Mr Pena and Mr Surkein will be mentioned.”
Having been shunted from lightmiddleweight to middleweight to make way for Frank Tate, the eventual champion, Nunn was beaten by Virgil Hill in the Olympic trials. On which bum note, Nunn intended to hang up his gloves and get a proper job, until Surkein pointed out that there were no jobs in Davenport. “You have two options,” said Surkein, “stay around here and take a chance on going to the penitentiary or pursue a boxing career.” “It was upsetting not
being able to box at the 1984 Olympics. I was young and just wanted to fight. But not doing so motivated me to do great things as a professional and win the world middleweight championship…”
Surkein knew of a start-up boxing outfit in North Hollywood called Ten Goose, comprised of Al Goossen, his wife and 10 kids, including manager and promoter Dan and head trainer Joe. The Goossens, who only two years earlier had built their first ring with plywood, carpet and garden hose for ropes, were on the look-out for a star to build their stable around, and Nunn fitted the bill.
“Virgil Hill got the silver medal at the Olympics but I got the golden nugget,” said Dan Goossen. But there were early signs of bigger troubles to come. Nunn
admitted he barely trained for his ninth paid fight against Charles Campbell, which he still won by a wide decision. The manager of his next opponent, Jorge Amparo, accused Nunn of “running like a chicken”. After he finished Charles Carter early in his 13th fight, the press screamed “mismatch”. After he outpointed Carl Jones in his 14th fight, the crowd booed him out of the ring.
Journalists and fans alike didn’t know what to make of Nunn. As far as many of them were concerned, he was over-protected or was too good for his own good. Either way, they wanted blood and thunder, not ballet with gloves on.
Before Nunn challenged Tate for the IBF middleweight title in 1988, the champion presented him with a pair of running shoes at a press conference.
The joke was on Tate, who was incapacitated by a sickening kidney punch at the end of the eighth before being finished off in the ninth. Finally, some of the press men began to warm to him. “He was a smart old pitcher,” wrote the LA Times’ Jim Murray, “who kept the hitters swinging where the ball wasn’t.”
“Me against Sugar Ray Leonard would have been a fight for the ages. It’s a shame HARD TO BEAT: Nunn paws at the rough and it never happened. When I see him, I’ll ask tough Juan Roldan in a 1988 him why. Maybe Tommy Hearns can give me defence of his IBF some answers. Who knows, maybe it can still middleweight title happen…”
Following knockout victories over Juan Domingo Roldan and Kalambay, who had never even tasted the canvas in 50 previous fights, writers suddenly started talking about Nunn as if he was Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Duran rolled into one. Hollywood stars such as Gene Hackman, James Caan and Michael J Fox started hanging around Nunn’s gym. Then came the Barkley fight, and all those endless possibilities began to pop like bubbles, one by one.
Despite endless paper talk about Nunn fighting Leonard, Duran or Tommy Hearns, those three were too busy making tons of money fighting each other to even consider fighting a young, 6ft 2in southpaw with blinding hand speed, lightning reflexes and some of the best defensive licks since Willie Pep.
“When I knocked out Kalambay, I thought I’d get a crack at Sugar Ray Leonard and Tommy Hearns,” says Nunn. “So before the Barkley fight, a lot of things were going on behind the scenes with Mr Arum and Dan and Joe. Dan, Joe and I really wanted to have a crack at Leonard, who was top of the food chain. So there were a lot of mixed-up emotions and uneasy feelings.”
Two weeks before his fight against former welterweight world champion Marlon Starling, Nunn walked out of training camp. Surkein told the press that Nunn was unhappy with the money the Goossens were making and wanted friends and family from Davenport to have more say in his career. “There are two words they should remove from the dictionary,” said Surkein. “Loyal and grateful.” Added Dan Goossen: “He used us and took our heart and soul with him.” After a low-key victory over Starling, Nunn was booed again. The New York Times went with: “Another Nunn-
I REALLY WANTED TO HAVE A CRACK AT LEONARD, WHO WAS AT THE TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN”
on-the-run performance.”
“I take full responsibility for whatever I may have done decades ago. I have never made excuses for the past. Being a champ is a major problem, you get too much attention and it causes drama. But we go through life to grow…”
It was around this time that Nunn’s various brushes with the law started appearing in print. There were brawls in restaurants, road rage incidents and accusations that he assaulted his girlfriend. Meanwhile, Leonard retired for good, taking with him the possibility of a multi-million-dollar purse for Nunn, although he did get Leonard’s old trainer, the venerable Angelo Dundee.
In 1991, Nunn signed to fight a 22-year-old from Michigan called James Toney, back home in Davenport. The challenger was as wide as 20-1 to win it and for the first 10 rounds it looked like the bookmakers had it bang on.
Before the start of the 11th round, the commentator noted: “They’re not going to call Michael Nunn boring any more after this.” Nunn was skating the fight, only for Toney to almost take his head off with a left hook. Nunn never recovered. With one punch, Toney had taken the title and reduced Nunn’s pay cheques by 90%. Nunn describes Toney as “a dear friend”. Strange sport. Before Nunn’s next fight, against a Randall Yonker, three reporters turned up to the press conference. Nevertheless, Nunn was soon a world champion again, squeaking past Victor Cordoba to claim the WBA supermiddleweight title. But there was also more trouble, including an arrest on alcohol and weapons charges. Before his fight against the unheralded Steve Little at London’s Earls Court in 1994, which might have led to a showdown with Nigel Benn, it was rumoured that Nunn had ballooned to 200lb. Whether he had or not, he was wretched against Little, losing his title on a split decision.
“I made millions of dollars and did whatever I wanted to do with it. My attitude towards money is that it comes and goes. I took care of myself and my family and friends well…”
And so all those super-fights than once seemed inevitable never happened. No Leonard, no Hearns and no Roy Jones. Having tried and failed to win his old supermiddleweight belt back from Frankie Liles, Nunn found himself back at the Reseda Country Club in 1997, where he had learned his trade as a novice. In his corner was Joe Goossen, who had returned as if nothing had happened.
Nunn had one last world title shot but came up short against Germany’s Graciano Rocchigiani in 1998, after which his career petered out, as even the mightiest careers tend to do. His last bout was against journeyman Vinson Durham at an Indiana casino on 23 January 2002. Nunn won every round.
Seven months later, Nunn was arrested in the corridor of a Davenport hotel, with 1kg of cocaine stuffed down his shorts. Nunn paid the undercover cop $200 for drugs with a street value of $24,000. The janitor at the Las Vegas Hilton gave him his money back and didn’t ask for a dime (“I offered,” says Nunn, “but he thought it was cool enough he found the champ’s cheque”). The cop at the Davenport hotel snapped some cuffs on him and had him banged up.
In court, prosecutors alleged that Nunn had been part of a nine-year drug-trafficking conspiracy, hence the hefty sentence. Nunn alleged that witnesses who testified against him, several of whom were already behind bars, were angling for leniency. Whatever the truth, Nunn isn’t due to be released until December 2019 – nine years early, but many years too late to see his grandchildren grow up and his beloved mother – “the boss” – pass away.
If Nunn gets out when they say he will, he will be 56. Hopefully he will have plenty of quality time back in Davenport to make amends, having spent 15 years wondering how, of all the endless possibilities, he chose the one he did. Michael Nunn was a kid who had a choice between going to the penitentiary or pursuing a boxing career, but chose both; he was a man some thought had the talent to be the greatest middleweight of all time, but somehow managed to bore. He will be remembered as one of boxing’s biggest mysteries.
“My hopes for the future are to be good to my family – a loving husband, father, grandfather, uncle and friend. The support of the people who know the real Champ has been priceless. Give my greetings to all the fans in the UK – I am grateful for their support and understanding in all matters…”