Macho losing fight for his life
Kin eye pulling plug on brain-dead Camacho
It seems like boxer Hector Camacho has been fighting all his life — and not just in the ring.
He fought as a troubled teen in Spanish Harlem, getting into neighborhood scrapes that landed him in jail before he was 16.
He fought with fame and the crash that comes when the bright spotlight fades.
He fought with drugs and alcohol and all the demons of addiction.
And, now he’s fighting to survive — and he’s behind on every scorecard.
Doctors said the selfproclaimed Macho Man, who was actually tough enough to wear a loin cloth into the ring, was brain dead and clinging to life after a gunman shot him in the face Tuesday night as he sat in a parked car in Puerto Rico.
Camacho was rushed to a San Juan hospital where his chances of survival were described as slim.
Doctors said a bullet aimed at Camacho’s face was deflected by his jaw, and made its way to the top of his spinal cord. Even if he does survive, Camacho, who loved to dance in and out of the ring, could be paralyzed for the rest of his life.
That was the prognosis before Camacho suffered an overnight heart attack that left him with little cerebral activity.
“The situation with Macho is very delicate,” one of his doctors, Ernesto Torres, told reporters yesterday. “The prognosis is not good.”
Camacho was outside a liquor store in the passenger seat of a parked Ford Mustang with a friend when he was shot in the face.
The friend, identified as 49yearold Adrian Mojica Moreno, was killed. Police said two assailants fled in an SUV but no arrests have been made and no motive has been disclosed.
Detectives said Moreno, who owned the car, had nine bags of cocaine in his possession with an open 10th bag in the vehicle.
Camacho’s family, including his son, Hector Jr., a boxer, will decide whether to take him off life support.
Despite Camacho’s prognosis, his friend and lawyer, Steve Tannenbaum, held out hope that Camacho would answer the bell.
“This guy is a cat with nine lives,” Tannenbaum told reporters “He’s been through so much. If anybody can pull through, it will be him.”
For every brutal title bout — Camacho won super lightweight, lightweight and junior welterweight world titles during the 1980s and 1990s — there was a battle with the law.
He went to jail as a teenager for getting into street fights. After Camacho retired he was arrested for burglary in Mississippi. And earlier this year he was detained in Florida on childabuse charges.
Along the way, there have been clashes with managers, conflicts with promoters, quarrels with women and confrontations with police.
But none of his opponents — not Roberto Duran, not Sugar Ray Leonard, not Julio Cesar Chavez — was like the one he’s facing now.
Promoter Don King recalled Ca macho’s relentless lefthanded ring attack — and the wild outfits printed with the colors of the Puerto Rican flag.
“The Macho Man was a promoter’s dream,” King said. “He excited boxing fans around the world with his inimitable style.”
Camacho was born in the Puerto Rico town of Bayamon, the same town where he was shot.
As a boy, his family moved to Spanish Harlem, where he ignored his single mother’s 9 p.m. curfew, and excelled at strife, stealing and sneaking out.
“He was one of the tough little guys in the neighborhood,” his exwife, Amy, said of him once before their bitter divorce.
She grew up with him in the neighborhood, before gloves and a square ring changed his life.
“I never really liked him,” Amy once said. “I mean, he was wild. He was everything you wouldn’t want to bring home to mom.”
Even though Camacho lost his last bout more than two years ago — he retired with a career record of 7963 — the 50yearold fighter was thinking about stepping in the ring again.
For now, there is just the big fight, the biggest of his life.
BRUCE Silverglade’s cell phone rang early yesterday. It was Juan LaPorte calling from Puerto Rico with sad news about their friend Hector Camacho. The former world champion boxer was being kept alive on life support after being shot in the face Tuesday while sitting in a car outside a liquor store in Bayamon, Puerto Rico.
Camacho’s family traveled to Puerto Rico yesterday facing a decision no one wants to make. The prognosis for recovery was not good, prompting fears Macho Time was drawing to an end.
“In his prime he was an aggressive, tough, tough fighter,” said Silverglade, the owner of Gleason’s Gym where Camacho and LaPorte cut their teeth as boxers. “He had all the moxie and the guts in the world. He also had moxie outside of the ring as well.”
The boxing public knew him as Macho Man. Born in Bayamon, Camacho was raised on the streets of Spanish Harlem, using his fast hands, quick feet and flashy persona to become a boxing star. He was a threetime winner of the Golden Gloves and went on to capture world titles as a super featherweight, lightweight and junior welterweight. He also fought as a middleweight, ending his career in 2010 with a record of 7963.
He gained attention with a cocky, flamboyant personality that featured wardrobes as outrageous as his alter ego, the Macho Man. That’s the character boxing fans and the sporting public knew. It was in contrast to Hector, the private family man who could be quiet and shy.
“When you could see through all the bullcrap, he was a regular, quiet, nice guy,” said Tom Casino, a boxing photographer from Showtime. “When he was the Macho Man, he was the maniac. It wasn’t just shtick to him. He wanted to be the Macho Man.”
Trouble always seemed to follow the Macho Man, who lived life on the edge. He faced some of the toughest boxers of his era in the ring: Roberto Duran, Oscar De La Hoya, Sugar Ray Leonard, Felix Trinidad, Julio Cesar Chavez, Greg Haugen, Ray Mancini and Howard Davis, Jr. But his toughest struggles were with drugs and alcohol.
“He had his demons. It was no secret,” said Pat Burns, who trained Camacho for about 12 fights later in his career. “But he gave everything he had when he showed up at the gym. The guy had a heart of gold. He was extremely caring and attentive to his fans. If somebody wanted his autograph, he would stop and take the time. I saw him in a different light than most people saw him.”
Camacho launched his pro career at Madison Square Garden’s Felt Forum where, beginning in 1981, he fought his first 15 fights as a pro. His aggressiveness and talent made him a crowd favorite and his Macho Man persona was a promoter’s dream, though it masked inner insecurities.
“He just didn’t trust anybody,” Silverglade said. “He wouldn’t trust people and tried to negotiate contracts on his own. He made a lot of money, but he could have made more money with the proper people around him. He was his own man and he did what he wanted to do.”
Camacho’s friends and family are hoping for a holiday miracle, a gift of recovery that will give him another chance to just be Hector instead of a 50yearold Macho Man.
“Whenever I needed him to talk to kids in a school or go to a hospital, he always made himself available,” Silverglade said. “In the gym, he was always signing and laughing and being a real levelheaded guy. Unfortunately, outside the ring, there are other influences. But I’ll remember Hector as a real nice fellow.”