9811060263
DETROIT FREE PRESS
981106
Friday, November 06, 1998
METRO FINAL
1C
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1998, Detroit Free Press
THEIR BOXING STORY JUST LIKE A LOVE STORY
After all these years, we now know that "Love Story" got it wrong. It's boxing
that means you never have to say you're sorry.
How else do we explain Thomas (Hit Man) Hearns, entering the ring tonight with
Emanuel Steward in his corner? Oh sure, folks around here know their history.
Steward, the brilliant trainer, discovered Tommy, the future champion, as a
shy, skinny 13-year-old hanging around the Kronk gym in Detroit. He taught him
how to move, how to swing, how to duck and how to wallop. For Tommy's high
school prom, Emanuel lent him his gold Cadillac, so he could impress a date.
In truth, Emanuel taught Tommy everything, from how to write his first check
to how to earn one with seven zeroes. They rode the same magic carpet for two
decades -- Hearns doing the punching, Steward doing the training and managing.
They captured world titles, raked in tens of millions of dollars, and gave
boxing some of its gutsiest performances, in slugfests against Sugar Ray
Leonard and Marvin Hagler.
None of which seemed to matter in the fall of 1990, when Steward got a call,
during dinner, from a Free Press writer.
"Tommy's in New York," the writer said. "He says he's leaving you to work with
other people."
And sure enough, it was true. Without so much as a phone call to the man he
once called "my father," Hearns had hooked up with a convicted embezzler named
Harold Smith and was telling the world that "I know the business. I can do it
myself.
"I hope (Steward) and I can go our separate ways without any
misunderstanding."
Then Emanuel ripped Tommy
Now, at the time Steward was beside himself. Stunned. Brokenhearted. And
vengeful. Never mind what he says today. Never mind that when Tommy is asked
about the split, he now says he doesn't want to talk about it. Trust me. Tommy
was into himself back then -- and Emanuel was peeved. I know, because I
interviewed both at the time.
So I went back and got the notes from 1990. Here are some of the things that
were said:
Emanuel, in newspapers: "This is typical of Tommy's mentality.... It's good
riddance....
"I guess I can say now that Tommy was never what I'd call a talented fighter.
Four or five times I thought he was finished...."
On radio: "He didn't even call me.... The only thing I saw was what everyone
saw on the news.... It was very unprofessional and discourteous."
As for Tommy? He kept saying, "I can do it myself. I'm tired of living behind
a manager."
There was no denying, they were history. Split. Done with each other. Yet here
there are tonight, bringing boxing back to Joe Louis Arena, Tommy taking on a
journeyman fighter named Swampman, Tommy and Emanuel laughing, doing
interviews, playing the we-are-family angle for all it's worth.
When I called Steward to ask about this, he was non-plussed. The way he sees
it, squabbles and breakups are as much a part of boxing as they are of teenage
dating. Of course, the fact that Hearns and Steward had been together for so
long was the very thing that made their breakup news. It was like Paul Newman
and Joanne Woodward getting divorced.
"Everyone gets to a point where he says he should be his own boss," Steward
said. "It was like a son breaking away from his father.
"I admit, if you had asked me when we split up if we'd work together again, I
would have said no. But I was very emotional at the time. Other people around
me said, 'He'll be back.' "
Obviously boxing veterans.
Then Tommy headed home
The slow drift homeward began a few years after their split. Emanuel had
become a hugely successful gun for hire, signing with big-name fighters
looking for new direction. He eventually would go on to work and win with
Evander Holyfield, Lennox Lewis, Oliver McCall and Oscar De La Hoya.
Tommy, meanwhile, lost a close fight to Iran Barkley, and underwent surgery on
his right hand. Many thought his career was over.
One day, in 1993, at Steward's private gym in Detroit, Tommy showed up with
his young son. The men looked at each other. The conversation was awkward.
"Hey," the boxer said to his mentor.
"How ya doin'?" Steward said.
Tommy asked whether he could borrow the keys, so he could do some private
workouts. Steward said all right. As the days passed, Steward began to come
around and tape Tommy's hands. He planned on merely taping them, because that
is what a trainer does, but when you've been with a fighter for that long,
well, pretty soon, the taping turns to a handshake, the handshake turns to a
reunion, the reunion erases the bitterness. They were together again.
"Did Tommy ever say, 'I'm sorry'?"
"Well," Steward said, "we went on a TV show, and he said to the host, 'I told
him I loved him and I was sorry.' "
"Yes, but did he ever say it to you? Did he ever say those two words: 'I'm
sorry'?"
Steward paused. "No. But he didn't have to."
It's a remarkable union, these two men. Hearns, 40, has won more championship
belts than you can count. And no trainer has ever worked and won with more
big-name fighters than the 54-year-old Steward.
Yet the relationship that always will define them is the one that they have
with each other. And it has this three-year hole in the middle of it, a hole
that, like a black eye, looked terrible when it happened and now can't even be
remembered. This is boxing. Who have you punched for me lately? Tonight is
living proof that it doesn't matter what you do in the heat of battle as long
as you come back to the right corner, and that corner is home.
To leave a message for Mitch Albom, call 1-313-223-4581.
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
COLUMN;TOMMY HEARNS;EMANUEL STEWARD