Sage Advice, 1950

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Morgan was just sixteen years old, but was pretty fearless for a kid his age. He’d survived many street fights, and had been around enough drunk men to know which ones might try to mug you. Morgan was not the type to let anyone get the better of him. He was a brawler. He knew how to attack, and how to counter. Boxing was his whole world, and here in Brooklyn boxers were top of the list. They brought in the local crowds to watch the weekend club fights. It was the law of the jungle: the strongest, the most agile, or the cleverest fighter would come out on top. “You gotta stop taking all those fast hits. Juggle him ‘round the ring, like a grasshopper,” his coach, Billy, was busy telling him. In the next round, Morgan hoped to best his opponent by trapping him in a corner. Once he had him there he could land a string of punches. “Hit him with that left jab, got it?” cried Billy, with just seconds to go before the next round started. The bell rang. “Alright, go get him, kid!”

The crowd were going wild, and chanting Morgan’s name. He might be a champion one day, after all. Morgan dodged his opponent’s blows with skill. Now he just needed to steer him into a corner. It wouldn’t be easy; no sir. “Like I told you, kid!” cried Billy, looking on from below. The crowd rose from their seats. Morgan had managed to trap his opponent against the ropes. He threw a flurry of fierce left jabs. The opponent was on his last legs, but then the bell rang. The crowd booed and whistled, having hoped to see the other guy laid out on the canvas. Billy didn’t care that Morgan had dropped out of school to focus on boxing. He was full of sage advice. He dressed like a wise guy, but he was the best coach in Brooklyn. Morgan was proud to be fighting for Brooklyn at just sixteen. His eyes shone as he looked out at the crowd cheering him on. “Morgan, Morgan!” the call came from the stands.

“Keep it up, kid! You’re doing great,” Billy told his student as he pulled out the boy’s mouth guard. Billy handed the kid a water bottle and told him to rinse and spit. “Keep it up, alright? Two more rounds and this guy’s toast. Everyone in Brooklyn’s behind you.” Morgan nodded. He was ready to beat the guy’s brains in, and put him down like an old dog. “Grasshopper, remember?” The bell rang and the fight restarted. Morgan stood with confidence, and raised his gloves into a guard. He circled around the ring, and his opponent was beginning to feel dizzy when Morgan gave him an uppercut square in the stomach. The other guy staggered as the Brooklyn crowd cheered. He staggered again, as Billy hollered: “Give him a left hook!” Morgan did so, and the opponent crashed to the floor as the crowd went wild.

Billy always had the best advice. What good was school when there was the ring? Who needs math when you can use your arms and your fists? “Morgan, I promise that if you listen to me you’re gonna make it, kid. It’ll be a long road, but it’s all laid out for you. You just gotta train. Keep punching. Not harder, but better. Learn how to land your punches,” the coach went on. Morgan loved boxing, especially when the fights ended and he heard the adulation of the Brooklyn crowds. The audience rose from their seats and applauded. Tonight, they had bet big on Morgan. The kid hadn’t let them down. Morgan had done it again. He threw his gloves into the crowd, and bared his teeth.

Alan Alfredo Geday