For Blood or for Glory: A History of Cuban Boxing, 1898-1962 by Anju Nandlal Reejhsinghani Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of The University of Texas at Austin in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy The University of Texas at Austin August 2009 The Dissertation Committee for Anju Nandlal Reejhsinghani certifies that this is the approved version of the following dissertation: For Blood or for Glory: A History of Cuban Boxing, 1898-1962 Committee: Frank Guridy, Supervisor Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, Co-Supervisor Virginia Garrard Burnett Madeline Y. Hsu Michele B. Reid To Billy Geoghegan, my cornerman Copyright by Anju Nandlal Reejhsinghani 2009 Acknowledgments This project had its origins in January 2001, when – during a two-week trip to Havana and Matanzas as part of a U.S.-Cuba writers’ conference – I was in training for a series of amateur boxing tournaments back home. Without access to a boxing gym and unwilling to subject myself to catcalls by running in the street, I chose to train by the hotel pools, where – as my fellow writers worked on their tans or cavorted in the water – I assiduously jumped rope, did sit-ups and push-ups, and shadowboxed. My regimen, all the more unusual for its having been carried out by a woman, came to the attention of a Havana sports journalist, Martín Hacthoun, and led to his invitation to profile me for some of the national newspapers. Wary of being used for propaganda of whatever sort, I nonetheless was too curious not to accept. No native girls or women were boxing in Cuba at the time (or at present, to my knowledge), despite the state’s pursuit of international excellence in male amateur boxing. Although I was told that a few foreign (non-U.S.) women had recently come to Havana to train, none, apparently, blended the pursuits of literary and fistic excellence, which was what Martín and many other Cubans found so fascinating.1 As part of our interviews, Martín invited me to visit the historic Arena Trejo gymnasium with him in old Havana. There, I met 1972 Olympic bantamweight champion Orlando Martínez, who was training a group of talented youngsters. I was amazed at the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 In the U.S., such distinctions had little bearing in female amateur boxing; many of us pioneers in the late 1990s and early 2000s were viewed as being too “smart” to volunteer our heads as targets for others’ fists. Here, what made me most unusual in the sport was not my Ivy League education or professional credentials, but my being Indian American. Despite having lived on my own for several years, I was frequently asked (particularly by journalists) how my parents felt about my boxing. ! v ingenuity with which, lacking even a full roof, much less adequate equipment, the Cubans managed to train. Most of all, I was thrilled by the boys’ fluid performances, especially while sparring; I had heard of the Cubans’ stellar ring skills but had never paid much attention to them, as few were then active in the professional ranks. Not long afterwards, while strolling on the Malecón, the boulevard that abuts the sea wall in Havana, I discussed my excitement at having met Orlando and his charges with my friend Michele Reid, who was in Havana researching her dissertation and had accompanied me to the Arena Trejo. Whether it was her suggestion or mine (I remember it as the former, she as the latter), the idea emerged for me to tackle the history of Cuban boxing as my dissertation topic. Upon my return to the U.S., further investigations revealed that Cuba’s pugilistic history had never been addressed in any comprehensive manner in the scholarly literature, and that the few mainstream works on the subject left much to be said. There were hardly any guideposts at all for how to begin, never mind complete, such a daunting task. I didn’t know whether I could be the one to do it, but I was determined to try. Begun amorphously as the collection of any and all materials related to amateur and professional Cuban boxing, on the island and abroad – a project that could well have taken up the rest of my life –, my doctoral dissertation committee members encouraged me to place much-needed temporal and thematic limits on what I proposed to do. Frank Guridy, my co-advisor, suggested that I put aside most of my Castro-era materials and instead focus on the Republic years, whose cultural historiography was undergoing a renaissance. Virginia Garrard Burnett suggested that I leave aside a serious study of colonial-era boxing and instead begin my narrative with the Spanish-American-Cuban War, allowing me to focus more extensively on the emerging U.S.-Cuba relationship. Frank further encouraged me to vi explore the Johnson-Willard bout as it pertained to the development of Cuban boxing and as it reflected the deepening of U.S.-Cuban ties. The research of this work took me to several states within the U.S., where I was grateful to secure the assistance of many wonderful archivists, librarians, and directors. Ed Brophy and Jeff Brophy at the International Boxing Hall of Fame in Canastota, New York, literally made me feel at home while examining the hall’s archives, setting up an impromptu work station for me amidst the museum collections. At the University of Notre Dame’s Joyce Sports Research Collection, Curator George Rugg and his able staff were always exceedingly helpful and gracious. I particularly appreciate George’s insights on early boxing and wrestling culture in the U.S. and his assistance in locating materials for me that had not yet been catalogued. At the Kautz Family YMCA Archives at the University of Minnesota, Curator Dagmar Getz and her staff, particularly Reference and Outreach Archivist Ryan Bean, offered tremendous assistance in every way possible as I explored that organization’s presence in Cuba. I truly enjoyed my conversations with Dagmar about the YMCA’s history and much else; I wish her well in retirement. In Coral Gables, Florida, the aid of the Cuban Heritage Collection and main library staff at the University of Miami was much appreciated. David A. Smith at The New York Public Library’s midtown Manhattan branch has been particularly enthusiastic about my project and willing to share ideas and assistance whenever I made it to the city. And at my home institution, the University of Texas at Austin, Jorge Salinas and other staff members of the Benson Latin American Collection were always ready and willing to assist me in whatever ways possible. In Havana, Cuba, many people were generous with their time and eager to extend their good will. Four couples in particular helped make me feel at home. Martín Hacthoun vii and Sonia Rodríguez Febles were my first anchors in Havana, offering me assistance with my project in whatever ways they could. Their worldly sophistication, love of sports and culture, and perfect English skills made our rare evenings together so much fun. Nidia García and her husband Alberto warmly opened their home to me and, conscious of my desire to stay in shape, even rigged up a mini boxing gym on their balcony to give me a quasi-private space to work out; I deeply appreciate their kindness. Katia González León and Maikel Cardoso Vázquez taught me much about bowling (at which they both excel), Cuban baseball, and life in contemporary Havana. Katia became my indispensable companion and friend, with whom I spent hours roaming the city; without her, I would have been lost in more ways than one. Suddenly and quite by accident, Dr. Alejandro Larrinaga (who I met at the national library, where he was trying to learn English), his wife Leo, and their daughters, Yahima and Yeika, became my second family, inviting me over on Sundays for home-cooked Cuban meals, entertaining discussions, televised episodes of Monk, and Cuban radio broadcasts of Murder She Wrote. My thanks as well for the friendship and hospitality of Jacqueline Moreira Sosa and her family, María de Lourdes Drets Barrasa and her family, and Miriam Nacer. My research at the Biblioteca Nacional José Martí (BNJM), Instituto de Literatura y Lingüística (ILL), and Museo Nacional de Deporte (MND) in Havana was critical in developing this project. I extend my gratitude to the directors and staff members of those institutions, particularly to Jacqueline Moreira Sosa at BNJM, Dania Vázquez Matos at ILL, and Martha Pérez Viñales, Maikel Cardoso Vázquez, and Katia González León at MND. My conversations with Carlos Reig Romero, while few and far between, were nevertheless exceedingly helpful in understanding the history of pre-revolutionary Cuban boxing. I am viii especially indebted to him for providing me with a copy of his book on the YMCA in early twentieth-century Havana. In the U.S., I have been extremely fortunate to have as dissertation committee members five individuals who serve as inspirations to me. Frank Guridy was enthusiastic about this project from the moment he signed on; his guidance in matters both academic and practical has been indispensable. Most of all, I appreciate his wise counsel in guiding the shape of this narrative, sharpening its focus, and questioning my interventions in the dominant historiography. I never walked away from a conversation with him without having learned something new. The brilliant cultural historian and my co-supervisor, Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, now at the University of Chicago, was tremendously influential in my own decision to engage in cultural history. More than anyone else I have known, he has been able to read my academic mind, knowing where I might be cutting corners and where I truly shined.