Photo courtesy Richard G. Carter
Tommie Johnson and Richard Carter clipping
Tommie Johnson and Richard Carter
For this native Milwaukeean, March 15 takes me back to 1980, and one of the worse tragedies in the annals of American sports. And I’ll never forget it.
On that date, in Poland, 22 members of a touring United States amateur boxing team were among 87 people killed in a plane crash. Among them was my close Army pal, Master Sgt. Tommie (Sarge) Johnson, the celebrated Olympic boxing coach, who loved Milwaukee. High-profile crash victims included highly regarded boxers Lemuel Steeples and Andre McCoy. Luckily, Marvis Frazier—son of heavyweight champ Smokin’ Joe Frazier—had opted out of the trip at the last moment.
But I was most devasted hearing of the death of Sarge Johnson—a big, genial guy who’d lovingly opened my eyes to the ins-and-outs of pro boxing in 1959, at Fort Belvoir, Virginia. For me, it was a time to remember.
Although I was a youthful 2nd lieutenant—recently commissioned from the ROTC at Marquette University—and Tommie was a top sergeant, we got along famously. He loved hearing about my Milwaukee background with which he was familiar. And local boxers such as legendary “Baby” Joe Gans, Orville Pitts and my boyhood pal, Leroy Allen.
Tommie knew all about Baby Joe’s Milwaukee Urban League gym at North Ninth and West Brown, across the street from Lapham Park Social Center. And he predicted big things for Pitts who, following his career in the ring, became a local judge.
As we sat side-by-side, waiting—and I told him how much I liked boxing—I asked Tommie who he felt was the best heavyweight in the world, if not Patterson. “Sonny Liston,” he said without hesitation.” If he ever gets a chance, he’ll win by a knockout. I don’t care who he fights.”
Thunder-Lightning Right Hand
That first meeting boiled down to me finally hearing about the big-time fight game. And he happily obliged—with little surprise at Ingo’s sensational KO of Patterson—scoring seven knockdowns with his fabled “thunder and lightning” right hand.
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“When a fighter is cooking,” he told me, when he’s got that rhythm going, it’s a thing of beauty. Besides, Floyd can’t take a punch. So don’t be surprised if Johansson knocks out Floyd.” And that night, the big Swede had it vs. much smaller Patterson.
Tommie said he’d trained a number of promising fighters when they were in the service. Foremost, he said, was Zora Folley, the Army’s Far East heavyweight champ. Folley later became a leading title contender before finally getting his shot—when past his peak—in a loss to Muhammad Ali.
That evening was the first of many times Tommie and I talked boxing at Fort Belvoir. He’d gleefully rattle off names of fighters he’d trained—such as Sugar Ray Leonard and Michael Spinks—both who became members of his 1976 Olympic team.
On June 20, 1960, Floyd regained his crown by knocking out Ingo. But Patterson made the mistake of his life by defending against the fearsome Liston in 1962, who KO’d him in the first round in successive fights in September 1962 and July 1963. As usual, Tommie had been right.
My old pal Tommie (Sarge) Johnson is long gone, but I still miss him. And in 1980, the year he died, the U.S. Amateur Athletic Union received a commemorative plaque from Pittsburgh’s Westinghouse Electric Corp. (for which I worked in New York) in the name of the late, great Tommie (Sarge) Johnson. And I was no end pleased.
Finally, one of my personal sports treasures is a photo of a smiling Tommie in 1959, during our Army service together. And even to this day—especially every March 15—when I watch a truly big fight on TV, I can’t help thinking of the big, tough, good-natured master sergeant Johnson. He was a gentle man in a most ungentle business.
