The Strange Death Of My Friend Mike Quarry

I just learned shortly after watching some film of an old Mike Quarry fight, that he had died over a year ago.

He was a good fellow, although I only knew him as a kid.

Here's one story of our bout in 1965.

Dave Fierro is my trainer. A Mexican gnome He’s good natured and funny. We are waiting for my fight to come up. All night long handlers have been helping their beaten fighters to the lockers in the Anaheim Civic Auditorium. Other fighters came back after their fights obviously elated, some overjoyed at success in the ring. Tonight was a big night for me, I was fighting someone who was famous, Mike Quarry. His brother, Jerry Quarry, had just won Olympic Gold by knocking out five straight opponents. Mike was also tough. Like me, he was tall for a middleweight. Dave was talking quietly as he taped my hands. “This kid’s tough, Michael. You’re a better boxer, but he has a powerful right cross. He knocks guys out.” He wraps the gauze around my hand and between my fingers methodically and expertly. “Don’t trade punches with him, out box him.” I hear him, and I don’t hear him. I hear his voice and the words, but my mind is flying. I look around and see gray lockers, street shoes on the floor, clothes strewn over the benches.I can hear the crowd upstairs yelling. I can tell by the amount of cheering that someone is probably taking a fearful beating. All it sometimes takes is one punch to decide the winner and loser in this type of combat. They are practically carrying some guy downstairs, obviously the loser. He has a purple welt under his eye, his nose is bleeding, and he looks barely conscious. Well, that’s what all of us fighters face down here. Could be me in a few minutes, I’m thinking. Dave puts the last strip of adhesive tape across my knuckles, I stand and shadow box a little. I feel quick, my hands blur as I throw combinations of punches that Dave has taught me. Quarry and I stand abreast as we wait for our fight to be announced. He looks over at me, “Hey Michael,” he says, quietly, “We ‘re friends and all, outside the ring, but inside the ring, the way I feel, we’re not friends anymore.” I smiled, “I’m glad to hear you say that, Mike. No hard feelings. A voice drones out of the ludspeaker. “Quarry, Blackburn, you’re up next.” We walk up the stairs like gladiators and out into the arena. I can feel the eyes of the women in the crowd as I make my way towards the ring. Mike gets his intro first, his famous brother is mentioned, and then I’m introduced, as “one of the hottest prospects in a long time, and the East Los Angeles boxing champion.” Quarry gets a huge ovation, I get some polite applause, some catcalls, and some boos. In the center of the ring the referee says, “You boys know the rules. Let’s have a good, clean fight.” Everything else seems to disappear, it’s just me and my opponent in this universe which is the ring. Quarry is jabbing, circling counter-clockwise, I’ve always noticed the odd way the Quarry’s fight. Mike’s head is bent to the right, unless he’s bobbing and weaving in the odd, jerky style that is peculiar to Quarry brothers. I unleash a combination, Mike fires back with a combination of punches of his own, catching me with a hard right hand. I back pedal and throw long left jabs, the punch Mike had landed did some damage, my mind is foggy. I hear the crowd roar for my blood.” Knock him out, Quarry!” Fans shout excitedly. I’m moving from side to side, using my speed and footwork to avoid the flurry of blows Quarry flings at me. Suddenly the lights go out as he lands a left hook flush on my jaw. At some point I’m back on my feet and the referee is brushing my gloves against his white shirt, which is dazzling in it’s brilliance. Then I’m back in my corner. Dave is calm. Everyone else is screaming. I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Across the ring, Quarry looks like he's being restrained from coming at me by his handlers. I feel like I'm in some kind of Salvador Dali painting come to life.

I was able to avoid being punched out in the second round, and in the ensuing rounds we traded punches. I remembered Dave saying not to fight this way, but Mike’s pre fight comments and Dave’s feeling that I couldn’t punch as hard as Quarry, or survive his shots, made the bout personal. In the final round we were both exhausted. I didn’t want to raise my hands they were so heavy. In the corner Dave says, “Michael, he’s tired.” I answer, breathing hard as Dave pours ice water down my neck. “So am I.”

Dave is rubbing my shoulders and talking into my ear, “Michael, you got this fight won. Just jab and move, don’t take any chances.” I don’t answer, the bell rings. I leap off of my stool. Quarry comes roaring out of his corner. We touch gloves, he smiles, “This is it, Man, go for it.” We square off and he comes at me with two quick jabs and a flashy looking over hand right which grazes my jaw, That was close, I’m thinking. I throw a left , lean to the right, throw a hook and a hard right hand, uncoiling my body and throwing the right like a fastball. The punch lands flush on Quarry’s chin, I hit him with a left hook and another right before he pulls back at the waist then back pedals a couple of steps. I chase after him, he stops, I coil my body to the right and my gloved fist is like a whip as I bring the punch low then up. Just before the blow connects Quarry steps inside and lands a perfectly thrown right which hits me while all of my momentum is going forward. Everything goes white for a second. Just like a whiteout in the high country. I leap back and to the side as Quarry pursues me with a confident smile on his handsome Irish face. I grab him around the waist, clinching, as the referee steps between us and shouts, “break”. Quarry won a split decision. A disputed split decision.

Mike Quarry (born March 4, 1951; died June 11, 2006) was a light heavyweight boxer. He had a record of 63-13-6 with 17 knockouts during his career, which began in 1969 and ended in 1982.
Mike Quarry was born in Bakersfield, California. He first began boxing at the age of 8 and obtained his license to fight as an amateur at 17. In 1968 he tried out for the Olympics but was disqualified for ducking below the waist and using the ropes to provide additional momentum for his punches.
Mike Quarry tried to emulate his older brother Jerry, a renowned heavyweight fighter.
"(Mike) always felt like he didn't have his own identity," Robert Pearson, his brother-in-law, told the Los Angeles Times. "At one time Michael said, 'They might as well put on my epitaph: Here lies Jerry Quarry's little brother.'"
Mike Quarry had his one chance at a title shot in 1972, when he went up against Bob Foster for the World Boxing Council and World Boxing Association light heavyweight crowns. Quarry lost on a fourth-round knockout.
Mike Quarry's death was attributed to pugilistic dementia, which also caused Jerry Quarry's death.
Mike Quarry's grave is in Shafter, California, near the grave of Jerry Quarry.