New Boxers

All images made at the Chicago Boxing Club.

Fighting For The Dead

The first portrait I made while working on The Lament Of Orpheus was the painting of Frank Shea Jr. which hangs on the wall right as you walk into the gym. I made this portrait as a way of paying my respects to the gym and honoring the lives of those who have been touched by the sport of boxing. Frank was killed in a construction accident and was one of South Boston's best boxing prospects. Frank's twin brother Derek, behind fence, continues to box and plays an active roll in the gym mentoring kids. Here is their story:




In South Boston, they were known as the "three brothers," a father and twin sons so close they led nearly identical lives: all three laborers, all three workers on the Big Dig, all three natural athletes and loyal to their neighborhood. But that bond forged over the years between Frank Shea Sr. and his sons, Derek and Frank Jr., was shattered in just moments. On Tuesday afternoon, 26-year-old Frank Jr., known as "young Frank" to family and friends, was killed near a South Boston construction site when a tractor-trailer pinned him against a Jersey barrier as he walked back to work. "He just had so much going for him," said his father, who was still stunned by the accident. "He was such an outgoing, loving kid. It hasn't really hit yet."

According to an official report, witnesses said Frank Shea Jr. was walking north on Dorchester Avenue after a lunch break when the truck, pulling out of a parking lot, turned too sharply, trapping Shea against the concrete barrier. Police said the driver, who was not identified, told investigators he was driving at about 5 miles an hour, and did not see Shea near the wheels of the trailer as he turned. Shea was rushed to New England Medical Center, but he died shortly before 2 p.m. He is the third worker to die on the job in the eight-year history of the Big Dig, though officials said the accident technically did not occur on a construction site.

Shea worked for CRC Concrete, a Big Dig subcontractor working on the Interstate 90 Fort Point Channel Crossing, which links the Turnpike Extension to the Ted Williams Tunnel. Yesterday, family members and friends continued to mourn the loss of a young man they described as a skilled athlete who had just begun to make his way in life. "Frank was just a shining example for a lot of the young people in South Boston," said state Senator Stephen Lynch, who is a friend of Frank Sr. "For a man his age, he accomplished a lot and was on a successful path."

Both Frank Jr. and his twin brother were accomplished boxers, boys who escaped trouble on the streets by working out in the neighborhood's athletic clubs. Boxing brought Frank much recognition: three national titles in the Junior Olympics and five New England Golden Gloves Championships. As friends and neighbors telephoned and paid condolence visits to the grieving family, the Sheas said they have lingering questions about Frank Jr.'s death. A spokesman for the federal Occupational Safety and Health Administration said it is investigating the accident. "Something had to go wrong - I work by that site every day," Derek said.

By Tara Yaekel, The Boston Globe, original story ran June 8, 2000.

The Lament Of Orpheus

My new series of photographs The Lament Of Orpheus is now online. This series was made in a South Boston boxing gym owned and operated by former Golden Gloves champ Peter Welch who went on to have an undefeated professional career. After retiring from the sport Peter dabbled in Hollywood (he had a small role in The Departed among others) and made a name for himself and his beliefs training some of the big name Ultimate Fighting guys. Peter grew up in the Old Colony projects in South Boston and has now returned to the same neighborhood he grew up in and devotes his life giving back to the sport that saved him and gave him a chance in life. Peter is a community leader, he is committed to making a change in the kids lives who walk through those sacred gyms doors, by educating kids about proper nutrition to dealing with peer pressure and making decisions that will keep them off the streets and out of jail, boxing is a way of life. When I first met with Peter I was blown away by his story and the mission of his gym. This is what boxing is all about for me. In this series I honor the inner journey of the boxer, the fight and struggle within, the nucleus for change.

When The Devil Wakes You Up In The Middle Of The Night With The Face Of The Man You Murdered

In the build up to the 1962 Welterweight championship bout between Benny "Kid" Paret and Emile Griffith, Paret repeatedly called Griffith a maricón. What was once one of the bigger secrets in the boxing world, was now in the headlines. Griffith of course denied being gay. How could you not? In the boxing world, and still to this day, no one is allowed to be gay, it is career suicide. The torture and pain that Griffith endured as a gay black man in the 60's must have been unrelenting.

In the 6th round of the first televised live championship boxing match Peret knocked down Griffith. At the end of the round Griffith returned to his corner and reminded himself of what this fight meant to him, the word that Paret used to insult him repeating over and over in his mind. When that bell rang Griffith stood up a new man. In the 12th round Griffith let loose. He hit Paret with a sharp right hook and backed him into the corner, unleashing a barrage of uppercuts and right hooks in one of the most painful and slow knockouts I have ever seen. Paret slid off the ropes and on to the mat in a coma. He died 10 days later.


The rage and anger behind those punches is not uncommon to the sport of boxing. Nonetheless, I wonder what it must have felt like for Griffith to be able to put a face and body behind a life of struggle, to punch back at all the racism and homophobia that he endured over the years. The hate that eats away at your soul. To let it all out. To be free, to be himself for those 20 something right hooks in a time when he has spent a life in the closet. The pain of being human.


Griffith was never the same after that fight. He continued to have a successful boxing career but like so many boxers before and many more after him, he was exploited by his managers and left at the end of his career fighting just to pay the bills. Griffith has repeated nightmares from that night as his conscious eats away at him. In 1992 Griffith was the victim of a hate crime and nearly lost his own life when he was severely beaten up after walking out of a gay bar. Today Griffith suffers from Dementia pugilistica, aka punch drunk syndrome.

You Heard It Here First

Here's how I see it, Hatton with a split decision victory. Mayweather will dominate the early rounds with a barrage of lightning fast blistering jabs with the occasional combination if Hatton opens himself up, which he tends to do when he winds up for those famous bodyshots. Hatton has to be careful here and could get himself hurt because Mayweather is very precise and crafty with those brittle hands of his and made De La Hoya look like a child. Once things settle down, Hatton will go to work. Based on what I've seen from his training on HBO's 24/7, Hatton seems like he's in great shape and really wants this, in which case for him to pull this whole thing off, he has to capitalize on his strength (power punch body shots) and Mayweather's weakness (fighting off the ropes). Hatton will win the middle and late rounds by getting Mayweather against the ropes and unleashing an assault of power shots to the body. It will be a good one my friends. And I promise a re-match.

The Times Square Gym

One of my favorite books of all time is John Goodman's The Times Square Gym. There are not that many boxing photographs out there that do it for me, but, baby, these sing to me!






Pete Hamill wrote a wonderful introduction for the book in which he discusses one of my heros, Sugar Ray Robinson:

"Robinson had one other quality that the fans of the era had come to cherish and which remains essential to any good prizefighter. He had what the fighters call 'heart.' By 'heart,' they don't mean simple courage. They know that it requires a certain amount of courage simply to climb into a ring in front of strangers. The mysterious quality called 'heart' is about the willingness to endure punishment in order to inflict it. When a fighter is young, carried forward in the first great rush of his talent, knocking out everyone who faces him, his reputation still remains suspect. We won't know about him, the old timers say, until someone knocks him on his ass. And so 'heart' is about getting up. It's about seeing the cut above your brow, as Robinson did in his second fight with Randy Turpin, and calling on some secret reservoir of the self to dominate and win. The war veterans saw in Robinson the spirit of the warrior; anyone can be a hero when the other side is running away. But Robinson was never better than he was when fighting a tough opponent, never more dangerous than when he had been hurt. And when he did lose, beaten by the crazy energy of Turpin in their first fight, decisioned in a fight by Jake LaMotta, he handled defeat with grace."

Heaven & Hell

The boxing gym is one of the most spiritual places I have ever been. Heaven and Hell converge. The gym is the savior, it is the place you pay for your sins, you let your demons out on that bag, you sweat out the pain, you bleed, you cleanse yourself. The gym keeps you honest. You walk out of that gym a different man than when you walked in. Boxing can save you. If you give yourself to the sport, it will set you free. Boxing isn't a rich kid sport. The grittiness and blue collar heart are some of the defining elements of boxing. Countless boxers share a similar story: if it wasn't for boxing they would be dead or in jail. While their friends were out getting in trouble they were in the gym or out in the streets doing their roadwork. There is a constant tension, a duality that exists at all levels in boxing. Here, purity and the richness of spirit and heart go hand and hand with scandal, crime and exploitation.

The Countdown To Fight Night Begins

This Saturday in Las Vegas Ricky Hatton (43-0, 31 KOs) will move up to the 147 pound weight division to fight Floyd Mayweather Jr. (38-0, 24 KOs). There aren't many fights these days worth getting excited about but this undefeated match up could potentially be the fight of the year. I find myself diving head first into my obsession with boxing all over again. I am currently working on a long term project on boxing and I will share a sneak preview from the series each day this week as part of the boxing week countdown.

Fisticuffs Bluff

I didnt always like boxing. When I was little I used to watch TV on Saturday afternoons and filpping through the channels I usually found two men punching each other on some sports show. I didnt like to watch it. It was scary. But as I got older I changed. Something in me grew to love and respect the art of pugilism. I watched Tuesday Night Fights at 9 every week on the USA Network and read all I could in the boxing magazines. One day a family friend brought over a heavy bag and a speed bag saying his kids were too old and they don't use the stuff anymore. The next day I went out and got boxing gloves. After that I hit that punching bag everyday for almost 2 years. I set up a corner in the basemet where I would train. Everyday after school I would come home and change into my sweats and go down to the dark and smelly basement. I started jumping rope to get me loose and to break a sweat. But also to get me focused. I would think about someone who pissed me off that day or said they were gonna kick my ass. Fuck them I thought. I will hurt them so bad. It will feel so good to see the fright and terror in their eyes as I made them bloody. I would usually start working on my jabs, timing my punches and getting my footwork down. As I got into a nice rhythm and I was moving well I would practice my combinations, throwing hard left hooks and uppercuts. My left hook was dangerous. It felt so good to be covered in sweat and completely exhausted. Sometimes I could barely stand. But that was only the begining. Now it was time for the knock out. Now it was time for the pain. I was ready to make it hurt. After throwing jabs and a fury of combinations I moved to my assault. I would hit the bag so hard. I focused every muscle I had and every bit of anger and pain I felt and put it behind each punch. Sometimes I hit the heavy bag so hard that it would fly up and come off the chains. I miss those lonely afternoons in my dark and cold basement. I was completely focused on my training and for a while wanted to go amateur. My mom wouldnt let me. She was afraid I was gonna get hurt. She knew nothing. When I was at the height of my training me and my best friend at the time decided to have a slap boxing fight during recess. The first move I made I weaved in and threw a hard left hook slapping the side of his face with my palm. I knocked him out. He collapsed to the ground instantly. For the rest of the day he walked around with a red outline of my hand on his face. All day I looked at the red imprint on his face and felt pride.