Someone from My Little Town

Thanks to Facebook I, like many others, have re-connected with friends from the past – and long lost extended family, usually cousins.  Just the other day I watched a short documentary of one such friend, Ian Clyde.

Because I just read a collection of short stories about a wise old sage who loved to tell stories – which, coincidentally, was written by another friend – let me tell you a story about Ian…

Ian Clyde, ca. 1980

Sometime in the mid-seventies, not sure exactly when; I believe we had graduated High School. I was with Ian and at least one other guy, just not sure exactly who it was.  May have been Kevin G. or one of Ian’s friends – a guy I remember, just not by name.  It was a long time ago.

We are standing in Beurling Park in Verdun, on the east side, around the track & field area – closest to Brown Boulevard for you locals.  It was summer, early evening, so plenty bright. The exact conversation I can’t say for sure, but it was about his blossoming boxing career and his excitement in finding it. He was explaining his training program and how it all worked, which was new and fascinating to me.

At some point some other guy came over and started ‘trash talking’ boxing in general and Ian specifically (trash talking had not been defined by the mid-seventies, but describes it perfectly).  I don’t remember who the guy was, but he knew Ian and knew the rest of us.  I think he was a ‘tough guy’ that was still in High School.  I probably should mention that Beurling Park is adjacent to a High School on Champlain Blvd.

Well, to shorten this story up, being that this is a blog and not a novella, this guy continued to prod Ian about his so-called boxing abilities.  Ian, to his credit, kept his cool. He kept saying that this was a park, not a boxing ring and that he did not fight outside the ring.

The guy would not stop.  The back and forth went on for a while. Ian did his best to ignore it.  We tried moving away.  Finally, this guy went over the line by either poking Ian in the chest or threatening to (it was a long time ago, so the details are sketchy.  If Ian even remembers this incident maybe he can fill in the blanks), I can’t say for sure.

It was over in a flash.  In the blink of an eye there was a flurry of motion in front of me. Once I realized what had just happened I looked first at the guy.  His eyes were wide open, there was blood running from his nose and he was bringing his hands to his face.  When I turned to Ian, he was cursing himself, and then apologizing to anyone who would listen, saying something like, “… the guy just would not stop and I thought he was going to hit me.”

The Boxer with Angelo Dundee

Nothing further came of it. I assume we all worked everything out. But I am still amazed how fast it all occurred.  The quick blows to the face were over before I even knew what happened.  At that moment I made a note to never start a fight.

Ian went on to be a Golden Glove boxer, represented his county in the 1976 Olympics in Montreal (which I had forgotten), made three Olympic teams before turning pro, and is doing quite well in retirement somewhere in the Montreal area.  I regret not being able to have seen Ian at the Olympics in Montreal, but such is life.


Update:  I received a reply from Ian regarding this story.  As I suspected, he does not remember the incident.  I understand completely.  It was I who was astonished at the speed of a boxer's hands, not Ian.