Baltimore Boxing Club

 

The rough heroism of boxing is a recurring motif in popular culture, from films such as On the Waterfront, Rocky and Raging Bull to its latest incarnations such as Million Dollar Baby and The Fighter. The boxer has endured as the ultimate symbol for the particularly American myth of the rugged individual who, although born with nothing through courage, determination and a wicked right hook, has one dramatic chance to thrust himself to the top of the heap.  As long as Americans continue to swallow that romanticism, tales of boxing glory will continue as perennial contender for the most- tired-metaphor prize.  The reality of the sport, however, is far from the Hollywood ideal and despite Mohammad Ali’s Herculean efforts and self-proclaimed prettiness, up close boxing is not so attractive. Faces are bashed and eyes roll back into heads as brains bounce around inside the skull.  Not to mention the fragrance of old sweat-stained boxing trunks and assorted peripherals.

But hang around the Baltimore Boxing Club a bit and you will witness something quietly extraordinary in its unpolished realism.  Jake ‘The Snake” Smith established the club in 1995 in its humble digs up a steep and narrow flight of stairs above an erotic novelty shop.  Here you will find a group of mostly working class men – and a few women – black and white, Anglo and Latino, teenagers and middle-age tough guys, who, without fanfare, spend their days and nights shadow boxing, skipping rope and pummeling the duct taped bags that hang from the ceiling.  Along with the rapid pulse of the speed bag and the automatic ring of a bell every three minutes, there is a staccato chorus of grunts that mark each flurry of punches landing on target.  Under the single cluster of florescent lights that hovers over the makeshift ring, sparring partners taunt and encourage one another through the muffle of mouth pieces.  The ad hoc communal culture here more closely resembles the hardscrabble ethos of classic Americana than any ersatz Rocky dream that might distract us from the stubborn facts of class in America.  Whether they are pro, amateur or simply want to be witness to the daily drama of the ring, the fighters of the Baltimore Boxing Club are the real deal.

 

 

Photographs and text by Mark Alice Durant. Originally published in LINK, Issue #10, Fall 2005