Friends like these
“Regard friendship as the greatest thing in the world; for there is nothing which so fits in with our nature, or is so exactly what we want in prosperity or adversity. But I must at the very beginning lay down this principle: Friendship can only exist between good men.” – Marcus Tullius Cicero, “Treatises on Friendship and Old Age”
There is a certain refreshing selfishness about prizefighting. Rare is the fighter who is admonished by the boxing community for pursuing his own best interests. The most we do is criticize a prizefighter for misapprehending those interests and allowing shortsighted greed to send him careering away from what’s memorable.
Because boxing has no league, there’s no chance for the disingenuous spectacle of a television spot in which a participant recounts his selfless donation of time to children or elderly folks (when he’s told he has to). The boxing ring abides no half truths, and as a rule you should believe all sacrifices in prizefighting end at the apron’s edge.
But there are exceptions. One happened a couple of Thursdays ago in Brooklyn. Friends gathered at New York’s St. Francis College to announce the creation of the Arthur Curry Scholarship Fund on what would have been Curry’s 50th birthday had he not perished from a staph infection on April 6. Curry was a long-time employee of HBO’s. The nature of his position, colleagues and friendships at the network provides a different perspective on our beloved sport.
Following his beginning in the mailroom – a corporation’s least auspicious starting line – Curry worked his way into a self-made position of liaison between his employer and its talent. That is, Curry represented HBO to the prizefighters that fought under its banner. Often his job was to join under the tent of his credibility those who practice the sincerest profession – prizefighting – with entertainers whose insincerity is high art, and managers and promoters whose insincerity is lowest art.
The role was essential because by the time a prizefighter gains esteem enough to fight on HBO, he’s distrustful – not always because he started that way. Most prizefighters come from backgrounds in which their would-be perpetrators don’t trifle with stylish presentations; those who would do them harm rush across the street and do so.
Not until a fighter has shown a superlative spark, then, does he get introduced to men who assure his best interests before they fleece him with punches he can’t see. The unscrupulous manager or promoter may be among the first men in a young prizefighter’s life who say they give a damn about him. That sort of hard-won trust gets violated, and the prizefighter finds it easiest to distrust everyone going forward.
Arthur Curry’s job was to speak to prizefighters in their language and establish enough trust between them and his employer that mutually beneficial shows could be put together. His role was not without self-interest. Curry was a company man, in the best sense of the term. He kept a closet’s worth of HBO apparel. He was immensely proud of his opportunity. He represented his network from a position of gratefulness impossible to fake.
Curry had seen enough fakes. Those who would remember him on his 50th birthday mentioned how deftly he detected a hustle. Curry’s youth had been a picture of urban inhumanity, a portrait of the cruelty perpetrated on young folks by areas overcrowded with poverty and immorality. So he saw instantly the sorts of hustles fighters might see and try to exploit, or fear.
What made Curry’s position unique, though, was that he offered prizefighters a good deal. Think of all the criticism HBO Sports has taken in the last decade, and ask yourself: Does any of it reduce to profiteering at fighters’ expenses? To its viewers’ occasional dismay, HBO has made a habit of overpaying for talent. Curry may have represented a large corporation that made money by broadcasting prizefights, but he sure didn’t represent any ruinously one-sided deals.
That’s part of the reason Roy Jones Jr. was the keynote speaker at Curry’s 50th birthday party. As distrustful a champion as we’ve seen in a generation, a man whose legacy was made on HBO, a man who was later fired by HBO, Jones spoke happily of his close association with a person introduced to him by HBO. That said a lot about Curry’s character. It also said a lot about the character of Roy Jones.
Today fundraising efforts for Chile officially commence. They enter a life-and-death struggle with efforts in behalf of Haiti. Both countries suffered earthquakes. Both countries are about to suffer man’s finite capacity for caring about others’ misfortunes. A last commentary on what made the St. Francis College event special: It happened almost 11 months after Curry’s passing.
In the days that immediately follow a friend’s death, we all make memorial plans. We often renege as time passes. No one blames us. Commemoration promises are part of grieving’s calendar and sometimes go better unobserved. But Roy Jones, HBO commentator Jim Lampley and writer Thomas Hauser, among others, deserve recognition for remembering and exemplifying Henry Ford’s definition of quality: “Doing it right when no one is looking.”
None of this says you need to cheer Jones in his next fight. You don’t need to agree with Lampley’s play-by-play. Go right ahead and rebut Hauser the next time he fires a broadside at HBO management. But also acknowledge the friendship they shared with Arthur Curry by nodding to Cicero and giving them the benefit of the doubt as good men.
Too, when you get a chance, google “Roy Jones, Jr. & Jim Lampley Celebrate Life of Arthur Curry” and watch their video. Boxing needs more men like Curry. You didn’t need me to tell you that.
But boxing also needs more of the men that make guys like Curry possible – the very purpose of the Arthur Curry Scholarship Fund.
Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter.com/bartbarry
