Date: Autumn 1980.

Time: Late morning.

Place: Sistersville High School’s Basketball Court.

Significance: My first opportunity to box in public.

One day during my freshman year in high school our gym class had scheduled a “mini-Olympics” in honor of the recently completed 1980 summer games in Moscow. It was postponed because it rained that day, so our gym teacher was at a loss as to how to pass the hour. At that point one of my classmates produced two pairs of boxing gloves and suggested we hold a series of matches on the court – something that would never happen in today’s litigious society.

The teacher asked for volunteers to take on the glove-bearer and one of the school bullies stepped to the plate. The bully was a fellow freshman who was 5-3 and had a raging case of “Little Man’s Disease.” He and I had some run-ins from time to time but I knew better than to engage in a street fight with him. Most of the time, I just steered clear of him whenever possible.

After three relatively tame rounds the bully was declared the winner. Since there was more time left in the class the teacher asked for another volunteer. My next door neighbor, knowing my intense interest in things pugilism and my taking part in occasional back-yard matches, immediately volunteered me.

I was thrilled for the chance to box, but aghast that it had to be against this guy. At 5-9 and 126 pounds, I was a geeky teen-age version of Danny “Little Red” Lopez but I had neither his skill level nor his punch. Soft-boiled eggs could confidently stand in my presence.

The several dozen classmates sitting in the bleachers settled in to witness a slaughter, especially since I couldn’t see beyond two feet in front of me without my thick glasses. But once the fight began everyone got the shock of their lives – including me.

While the bully knew how to fight, he didn’t know how to box. And, thank God, I did. My rail-thin body and gentle demeanor perfectly cloaked my boxing ability. My straight, hard jabs repeatedly snapped his head and once my classmates got over their surprise they started cheering for me. By round’s end the bully’s face was so beet red that the gym teacher ended matters then and there. He barely laid a glove on me.

Upon the announcement of my victory, two of my classmates ran from the stands, hoisted me on their shoulders and briefly paraded me around like a conquering hero. For several precious days I was just that, for many thought the bully was long overdue for his comeuppance.

A few hours later, while waiting in the hallway for a school assembly to begin, the bully worked his way through the crowd toward me. At first I thought he would seek vengeance but instead he shook my hand and congratulated me. He never bothered me again.