L.A. Respect

He hasn’t kept many mementos. Richie Lemos long ago gave his trophies and medals to his grandchildren. His boxing gloves, the ones he used to pound out a living nearly 50 years ago, are gone. Same with his robe.

What Lemos does have locked safely away are memories. Memories of the battles fought in the dual meccas of West Coast boxing, the Olympic Auditorium and Hollywood Legion Stadium. Memories of being the second Los Angeles-born fighter of the modern era to become a world champion. Memories of actress Lupe Velez, the Salma Hayek of her day, on the ring apron hugging and kissing him after he’d won the featherweight title at the Olympic on

July 1, 1941.

Yet although Lemos insists he doesn’t dwell on his past--”It’s so far gone, why think about it?’--he will most likely be called upon to spin some yarns today at the Old Spaghetti Factory restaurant in Hollywood. The Golden State Boxer’s Assn. is honoring Lemos, who celebrated his 80th birthday Sunday, with a luncheon as the sport’s oldest living Los Angeles-born champion.

“He’s part of an era that people have forgotten about,” said Don Fraser, vice president of the Golden State Boxer’s Assn. “It’s out of respect, mostly, for a guy who fought in an era of little money and lots of wars. Today, Richie Lemos would have no trouble picking up two or three titles.”

Lemos fought when there were only eight recognized world champions, a far cry from today’s alphabet-soup world of boxing organizations and multiple title claimants in redundant divisions. Back then, the National Boxing Assn. was the lone governing body and Lemos held his title at the same time that Joe Louis was heavyweight champion, Freddie Cochrane the welterweight titlist and Sugar Ray Robinson was the No. 1 contender.

Lemos also fought when it was not unusual for boxers to have as many as 18 fights in a calendar year, as Lemos did in 1942. Lemos, who boxed professionally from 1937-43, finished with a 55-23-3 record and 27 knockouts, marks that are staggering by today’s standards.

And he was fighting in a less-than-glamorous division where a big payday was $3,500--about $40,714 in today’s money. Compare that to the millions that Oscar De La Hoya gets for each of thrice-a-year fights and you couldn’t blame Lemos for wondering if he was born 60 years too soon.

“It seemed like I’d fight Tuesday at the Olympic and then Friday at Hollywood,” said Lemos, who fought under the management of Baron Henry Von Stumme. “I had to make good money to survive, to make ends meet. It wasn’t too much, but at least it was good money coming in.”

It was enough for Lemos, the oldest of nine children, to support his extended family as well as his own, which he was just starting with his wife Julia.

Even though he was born in Los Angeles, near First and Main by Olvera Street, Lemos was known during his fighting days as both the Plaza Mexican and as the Mexican Tiger. His parents were from Mexico, his father Feliciano from Michoacan and his mother Michaela from Guadalajara.

Lemos was the De La Hoya of the Zoot Suit era, though he didn’t present himself as such.

“I wasn’t involved in that kind of dressing,” Lemos said. “Of course, my old man was old-fashioned and he didn’t like that kind of stuff. But I dressed well because I could afford to, I guess.”

Feliciano never saw his son as a world champion. He died before Richie won the title, leaving him as the head of the family in his late teens.

Lemos was more of a brawler than a boxer. He was a natural left-hander who started bouts fighting on his right side before switching to southpaw in mid-fight, confounding his opponents. That’s how he beat Petey Scalzo for the featherweight crown.

The Times’ account of Lemos’ southpaw switcheroo and resulting knockout was almost as colorful as Lemos’ style:

” . . . And almost immediately [Lemos] connected with a vicious left that shot Scalzo’s head back and brought a look of anguish into his face.

“Lemos then chased the staggered champion into a corner and poured lefts and rights to the head with pistonlike rapidity. Scalzo, gloves to his head, made no effort at a return.

“When Richie stepped back and Petey dropped his mitts, the whole right side of his face was bloody from a small cut beside his eye and a large abrasion on his cheek.

“Scalzo attempted to backpedal, but Lemos caught him with another scorching left and the titleholder crumpled to his knees for a nine-count. Arising, he was greeted at once with still another murderous, arching left to the chin and he dropped like a log.

“Scalzo lay still until ‘eight’ then made a pathetic effort to stand, only to collapse after getting part way up. . . . “

Referee Benny Whitman counted Scalzo out at 2:02 of the fifth round, giving Lemos his title and hugs and kisses from Velez.

Lemos won five nontitle fights in the next four months and Julia gave birth to their first child, Ann Marie.

Six days after that, in his first title defense, against Pittsburgh’s Jackie Wilson on Nov. 18, 1941, at the Olympic, Lemos lost his crown in a 12-round unanimous decision.

A rematch a month later yielded the same result and Lemos never again wore the championship belt.

He kept fighting, though, until Aug. 27, 1943. After winning a 10-round decision over Tyree White of Fresno, Lemos emerged from the Hollywood showers and felt something wrong with his right eye. It hurt like never before and he had trouble focusing. The diagnosis was a detached retina.

Less than two months later, at the same time Julia was giving birth to their second daughter, Dorothy, he was undergoing eye surgery. His boxing career was over.

A third daughter, JoAnn, arrived and Lemos found other pursuits to support his family. He tried to enlist in the service during World War II but was told his eye was so bad he couldn’t be used. So he became a truck driver, bad eye and all, before finding work as a butcher and, much later, as a custodian at an Alhambra elementary school.

Although he is blind in his right eye now, he has no regrets about his boxing career. Lemos has lived with his second daughter, Dorothy, and her husband since Julia died 13 years ago.

He has nine grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren. None have taken up boxing.

“He still gets fan mail,” Dorothy said. “Whenever people ask about him, we just tell them that he’s as ornery as ever.”

Lemos, who was inducted into the World Boxing Hall of Fame in 1989, shuffles around his daughter’s Rowland Heights home and insists that he has forgotten all about his days as a fighter. He says he’ll only watch a fight if it’s a title bout--he predicted that Felix Trinidad would beat De La Hoya last September--and prefers to spend his time taking his dog Fluffy, a Chihuahua-mix, for walks around the neighborhood.

Dorothy disagrees. The few mementos he has kept--a replica belt of his featherweight title, his original state championship belt, a Hall of Fame medal and plaque, and a plaque from the Mexican American Opportunity Foundation feting him for historical contributions as a boxer--are kept in a hutch in Dorothy’s dining room.

“I catch him sometimes, looking in there,” she said. “I can tell that he’s thinking about it all, remembering things. But he’s slowed down. He likes to watch TV and sit with his dog.”

Finally, the old boxer relents and his chest puffs out just a bit as he mentions the old L.A. boxing venues.

“The Olympic and Hollywood,” he says, eyes twinkling, “those were the days.”