Book explores tortured life of Emile Griffith
“Nine . . . Ten . . . and OUT! The Two Worlds of Emile Griffith”
by Ron Ross
268 pages. $16.95. DiBella Entertainment.
Available at Amazon
Book review by Chris Cozzone
Word is, author Ron Ross turned down several book deals when looking for the right publisher for his bio on Emile Griffith, because most publishers wanted to make a big deal out of the former champ’s sexuality.
Unfortunately, that is exactly what this book does.
That’s the bad news—but it’s also the good news, because it’s, obviously, part of the story the former champ, through Ross, needed to tell.
The title itself, “Nine . . . Ten . . . and OUT! The Two Worlds of Emile Griffith” does nothing but draw attention to the fact that one of the greatest fighters of the modern era was living a tortured double life, somewhere between gay and bisexual (you decide, if you think it’s important enough to come up with a label that would, essentially, contradict the book’s mission.)
There’s a lot more to this book than a coming out statement, however. Past the somewhat flamboyant cover that is based on a 1965 Ring Magazine cover, Ross pens a tale that is not only tasteful and well crafted, but bears the champ’s stamp of approval.
For all of Ross’ imaginative prose (“Bummy Davis vs. Murder, Inc.” was even better), it’s Griffith’s direct vernacular that bumps this book up from contention to champ status.
Confesses Griffith:
“I keep thinking how strange it is . . . I kill a man and most people understand and forgive me. However, I love a man, and to so many people this is an unforgivable sin; this makes me an evil person. So, even though I never went to jail, I have been in prison almost all my life.”
In a few sentences, Griffith, through Ross, sums it all up—his life, this book—his prison of loving a man, and killing one.
In 1962, Griffith took on former champ Benny “Kid” Paret in a rubber match for the world welterweight championship. The fight was close until round twelve, when Griffith knocked Paret out—he never regained consciousness and died nine days later.
Griffith was traumatized by killing Paret, who’d provoked the champ at the weigh-in the day before, calling him “maricon”—Spanish for “faggot.”
The fight became the basis of the documentary Ring of Fire, but this book goes far beyond Griffith’s search, and need, of forgiveness.
Ross rightfully reveals Griffith as a beautiful human being—a loving, sensitive soul who, despite developing himself into the perfect fighting machine in the ring, garnering six world titles between welter and middleweight, cared for everyone he met, even if that person was at the end of his gloves.
The breadwinner of a family of more than 17, by blood and otherwise, the Virgin Islands-born Hall-of-Famer fought for 19 years—15 of those haunted by the ghost of Paret.
Forty or so years after his time, Griffith, through his story, continues to add warmth to a sport that remains, at times, too macho for its own good.