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Foreword
The heavyweight division in boxing in the 1970s was a special place, where giants roamed the landscape. They were not just big in stature, but big in talent and ferocity. Standing tall among these men was Ron Lyle. He would fight virtually every major heavyweight of that era and stamp his name on that time in boxing with some breathtaking performances. His quest to ascend to the top of that division is filled with rich stories of effort, triumph, and failures as well.
The story you are about to read is not all about those endeavors. The story of Ron Lyle, while ultimately and intrinsically bound with boxing, is about much more. Ron's story is one of struggle, tragedy, and redemption. The life lessons that Ron learned throughout his seventy years on earth are chronicled here—they are universal lessons that we can all relate to whether boxing fans or not.
His late-starting and somewhat truncated boxing career provides the tapestry on which much of this story is told. No sport is more of a metaphor for life's challenges than boxing. Ron's career demonstrates that. Ron's professional boxing journey may have been imperfect, but we don't expect perfection in life. There is no question, however, that Ron's achievements, while boxing in such an extraordinary era, give him a special place in boxing history.
You will read about those moments in the sun, some great victories, and a couple of near misses at glory that demonstrated Ron Lyle's character and ability perhaps even more than his successes. At advanced boxing ages of thirty-five and thirty-six, Ron gave two of his more memorable performances against Muhammad Ali and then George Foreman. I was not yet a national boxing announcer at that time. I was simply one of millions of fans who watched those two special matches. Like everyone, I came away impressed with Ron Lyle's grit, courage, and tenacity. Years later when I interviewed him at the International Boxing Hall of Fame, I was moved to tell him that his performance against George, even in losing, inspired me to never give up in any endeavor. It is perhaps the most important message that we can take away from Ron's story.
To gain redemption in life, as Ron did, you first have to visit a dark place, where your actions harm yourself and others. To escape that place takes the help of others as well as a strong personal epiphany that points you in the right direction. You will find out about all of that in the pages ahead. In my brief time with Ron, later in his life, I found him to be a bit of a philosopher. The lessons life had taught him would tumble out in conversation. His story is one worth revisiting, not just for the grandeur and the fame it offered, but also for those common truths.
Al Bernstein
Las Vegas
July 2018
Prologue
Cox-Lyle Youth Center, Denver, Colorado
The bell ends the first round, and José Roybal, a wiry sixteen-year-old, walks slowly to his corner. Ron Lyle reaches up through the ropes with a damp rag and nods at the boy to blow his nose. Then blow again. The bell sounds, and the sparring match resumes, both José and his opponent demonstrating the moves they have practiced for months under Lyle's watchful eye. At the end of three rounds, José holds his arms up in a sign of victory, and Lyle, seated against the wall, points to the folding chair beside his own. Breathing hard, José drops down next to his mentor, and Lyle lays his hands on the boy's shoulders. “You want to get better, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you need to keep working, José. I'll set you up with matches, but not if you don't work. Right?”
“Right.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't want to see me get hurt.”
“You got it.”
Ron touches his right fist to José's and waves him away, then turns to a volunteer assistant. “You gotta be alert to their needs. I know what they need because I was there once. I had the same needs.” He adds with a smile, “They don't know it yet, but what they need the most is self-discipline.”
Lyle typically wears a wool cap over his shaved head and dark glasses in public, but he effectively expresses his sentiments to the kids with big smiles and light touches. He lives his axiom that a trainer has to respond to his fighter's moods—detect any interference with their focus.
How do we reconcile this soft-spoken, gentle man with the “toughest heavyweight who never won the title”; the guy who served hard time for second-degree murder before he even started his amateur boxing career; the third-ranked fighter who had Muhammad Ali beat for ten rounds in their title fight; the guy who fought George Foreman in a legendary brawl with four knockdowns; the guy who was arrested for murder a second time?
