Cocteau convinced Brown he needed to regain his championship and that he, for no money, would become his manager – his protector. With the financial backing of Cocteau’s close friend, Coco Chanel, Brown underwent detox and regained his title. Rumors once again surfaced, this time linking Brown with Cocteau. It was no secret that they shared an apartment and Brown was quoted as saying that what he liked most about Cocteau was the way the poet would slide into the bathtub after Brown was done and use the same bathwater the champ had used. They wore one another’s shoes and shirts and though they didn’t publicly confirm the rumors, they never denied them, not even when right-wing and fascist writers such as Robert Brasillach labeled Cocteau a ‘Jewified lover of Negroids.’ Instead, Cocteau wrote a series of affectionate poems and articles about Brown, mostly for the journal Ce Soir. He wrote that ‘Al Brown’s methods astonished by their indifference to the rules.’ Cocteau wrote of his own imprudence when, ‘adopting young souls who replace the true sons fate owed me but has not permitted me to have.’ One of those souls, he wrote, ‘is so alien to the world of letters that he is almost more of a lyrical creation; I speak of former champion Al Brown.’ There were enough writings to fill a book, which is precisely what Spanish artist Eduardo Arroyo did, publishing Cocteau-Panama Al Brown Historia de Una Amistad (A Story of Friendship).
Under the guidance of Cocteau, Brown redeemed himself. He retired as champion and life was good until the beginnings of World War II. With the threat of German occupation looming over France, Brown left behind property, savings, Cocteau, and many friends. He returned to Harlem, and despite beginning to show signs of brain damage – headaches, a wobbly gait, slurred speech – he started boxing again. He sparred younger fighters, most of the time just covering up and letting them hit him. He stumbled out of the ring afterwards and, with an unsteady hand, collected his wage of one dollar per round.
He was arrested for possession. Standing before federal judge William Bondy, he said his name was ‘Alfredo’. Someone in the courtroom whispered into Bondy’s ear. Looking down from the bench, he asked, ‘Are you Al Brown the former boxing champion?’
Brown lowered his head, and, in a soft voice, admitted he was. The room was silent while he told his story. He had left behind $280,000 in property in France with no way of reclaiming it, he told the court. Someone had recommended heroin, he said, so that the ring beatings wouldn’t hurt as much.
The last few years of his life were spent in hospitals and on the streets. One cold night in 1951, a cop poked his club at an unresponsive man curled up on a mattress of litter on Broadway. It was Brown. They tossed him in a jail cell. When he didn’t wake up, they rushed him to a hospital. He had tuberculosis. When Cocteau found out Brown was on his deathbed, he recorded his memories of their time spent together and sent the tape to him via a reporter from L’équipe. It arrived just in time.
On April 11, 1951, the booing ended, the insults went away, and the slurs stopped. A modest ceremony attended by few was followed by a burial witnessed only by the guy holding the shovel. His death, like that night in 1928 when he first became champion, went largely unreported. At least this time, the writers could be excused since Brown died alone in an empty room. With the tape player to his ear, according to Cocteau. Narratively online article 15th June 2017 Jose Corpas, ‘The Secret Story of the Groundbreaking Boxing Champ Who Lost His Title – Because He Was Gay’
[8.7] CARLOS ZARATE SERNA 70-66(63)-4 [Super-Featherweight & Featherweight & Super-Bantamweight & Bantamweight]: Vice online -
On the 23rd of April, 1977, two young Mexican world champions stepped into the ring with a combined 75-0. Spotless records aren’t unusual in boxing, this is a sport which spends years feeding its best prospects soup cans until they have the kind of numbers on their records that fans will care about. What was astounding was that of those 75 wins, 74 came by way of knockout.
There is little doubt that Carlos Zarate Serna versus Alfonso Zamora was one of the greatest match ups of finishers in the history of boxing. Zarate, the WBC bantamweight champion had let just one of his forty-nine opponents reach the final bell. Zamora, the WBA bantamweight champion, had allowed that dignity to none of his twenty-nine victims.
The stats are astounding – and that sole decision allowed Zarate to become the only boxer in professional history to accumulate two streaks of twenty knockouts. A record which would take some bizarre fortune to beat.
Both of the young men were Mexican, born and raised, and I am sure that I don’t need to remind readers of the Mexican passion for the sweet science. Though the bout was held in Inglewood, California (which seemed like a missed opportunity for a huge event in Mexico), the fan turnout was incredible.
But before the bout was even signed there were rumblings and drama. The WBA and WBC both wanted their champions to pay for the privilege of defending their belt against the other governing body’s champion. An agreement was never reached so the two most important bantamweights champions around agreed to meet in a non-title affair over ten rounds, rather than fifteen.
Furthermore, the bad blood between Zamora and Zarate’s managers took up most of the headlines, rather than any ill feeling between the fighters. Zarate’s manager had been Zamora’s manager as well until he recently sold Zamora’s contract back to Zamora’s father. The two had been butting heads ever since.
I called the two men some of the greatest ‘finishers’ in boxing history – rather than knockout punchers, because Zarate got his work done with well placed blows and often through attrition. Zamora, meanwhile, was deserving of the title of a truly prolific puncher.
Short and squat, even for a bantamweight, Zamora would swing hooks with such force that his elbow would follow through, past his centerline and, if he missed, he could turn himself almost around so that he couldn’t see the opponent. When he whiffed his shots he looked clumsy, but when he connected the results spoke for themselves.
Here is the ease with which he put away Eusebio Pedroza, one of the dirtiest fighters of all time, and a future featherweight world champion. This was just two rounds into a fight which was scheduled for fifteen.
Zarate was pretty bizarre as fighters go. He was tall for a bantamweight, and even tall when he fought at a higher weight, but he loved to fight on the inside. Reminiscent of the great Alexis Arguello, the gangly Zarate’s punches looked slow and didn’t involve the full body torque of Zamora’s, yet when he found his mark Zarate could send fighters to the mat just as easily.
Zarate’s favorite punch was the left hook/uppercut to the body which he threw inside of his opponent’s right elbow. This was not only Zarate’s money punch, but he used it so frequently that it almost replaced his jab. Leading with left hooks to the body is not a normal strategy, especially if you’re taller than your opponent and have to reach down further to do it, but that was what Zarate did almost every time he stepped in, and his results are tough to argue with.
Zarate’s other best punch was his right uppercut which he chained with this left hook to the body beautifully. Because of its awkward feel, with both hands dropping in succession, the left hook to the body and right uppercut are not used in combination nearly enough. Lead with the left hook and you have a good chance of landing the uppercut on a hunched opponent, lead with the uppercut and you stand them up straight, exposing the midsection.