A Puncher Goes for It: Gerry Cooney and Larry Holmes

Gerry Cooney has the big bat, but Champ Larry Holmes has the odds

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Cooney began to work for his $10 million in toasty Palm Springs, Calif, (to simulate the dry, hot climate of Las Vegas), under a gleaming white tent pitched behind the Canyon Hotel. At suppertime the parking lot was still steaming. The challenger appeared for his ring work every evening at 5 o'clock, to a tape of George Benson's mellow ballad The Greatest Love of All. Said Cooney dreamily: "Listen to the words." As his dainty hands were being double-bandaged by Trainer Victor Valle, the fighter sang along: ". . . Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be . . ." Sonny Liston skipping, sparring and sneering to Night Train it was not.

Showtime and for Valle, a come showy easily to man, was a pitty-pat exercise in which Cooney fended off the trainer's slapping hands to the tempo of the spectators' building applause. Cooney is devoted to Valle. When he appears, Cooney exclaims: "There's my man!" Says Valle when he hears this: "Boy, that puts strength in me to teach this kid." Valle's task may be more awesome than Cooney's: going up against Holmes' wise old trainers Arcel and Eddie Futch.

"Gerry has learned to be mean inside," says Valle, who taught him and had to teach him, since Cooney did not always care for the sight or smell of blood. "Savageness means a lot in the ring. Then, outside it, gentleness means almost as much. If the crowded senses gentleness, it will be for you, and that will give you a feeling of strength. The minute Gerry stretched his hand across the table to me five years ago, just the way that boy smiled at me, it was like God put us together. Destiny."

Smiles and laughter come easily to Cooney, who is absurdly cheerful and regards life with mischief and amusement. In place of the customary toadies, moochers and other pilot fish that hang on to fighters for dear life, Cooney has surrounded himself with old grade school playmates. If he grows officious, they bluntly tell him off and he laughs appreciatively. In the evening they would assemble in his room as in a clubhouse, play poker or watch a movie like Arthur and compare each other's impersonations of Sir John Gielgud. "Georgie here is a Cooney-come-lately," Cooney said, introducing George Munch. "Fourth grade. Now Hilly and I, we go back to second grade."

Hilly is Hilton Cohen, who fought under the name Hilton David Cohen until his nose started to resemble a mine cave-in. Together they ran in the mornings. "Hilly had all K.O.s in the Golden Gloves one year. I said, 'Listen, Hilly. Don't expect to knock everyone out.' I was trying to give him my experience, but he took it wrong. Thought I was jealous. We had a big argument, and he went out and lost. Hilly doesn't know how to talk to people, but he's my friend."

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