It was 1961 and after a year without a boxing license due to being injured, I had resumed my career kicking it off with a preliminary bout on the Eder Jofre-Jose Medel Bantamweight title eliminator at the Grand Olympic Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles California. Miraculously after freezing up and being knocked down twice I scored a dramatic one punch knock out in the last round that brought down the house.

It was so exciting that I barely remember the Main Event as many of the boxing people were stopping by with congratulations and pats on the back as we all sat in the comped area designated for those on the show and insiders. My management team wanted to take me out for a celebratory drink, but there were two problems one minor the other major, #1 I didn't drink and #2 I had to be at work at eleven in the U.S. Postal main building in downtown Los Angels, still there today called the Terminal Annex. Not to mention two black eyes, I agreed to go in late and after being assured that a couple of 'Screwdrivers' wouldn't hurt me , after all it was made with orange juice, I downed them in a couple of gulps, with no problem because I was dehydrated from the fight it was summertime and hot.

So I arrived at work wearing a pair of sunglasses to cover the eyes and my workmates not being aware that I was a fighter had a grand time that eve dubbing me 'Joe Hollywood', its ironic that an hour or so before I was performing in front of 10,000 wild boxing fans and now was just another Joe at the T/A on the graveyard shift throwing mail. Finally when it was time to punch out, go off the clock that is, I was pretty tired, but I had been informed by the Matchmaker and my about to be full time promoter, Mickey Davies after the fight that I had to go in the morning to take some publicity photos for a spread titled, ' Up and Coming California Boxers' for the next Edition of the 'Ring Magazine', thank God that the photographers studio was only a few blocks from where I lived and when I hit the morning breeze exiting from the Post Office I was invigorated, so black eyes and all I headed for the corner of Western and Melrose in West Los Angeles for the photo shoot.

Following, there were a series of preliminary bouts at the Olympic which coupled with some adroit matchmaking I was able to win them all, but for some reason I was always able to put on a good show and was popular with the fans. With connections, the preliminary matchmaker, Mickey Davies an assistant to George 'The Greek' Parnassus, the main go to in Los Angeles at that time placed me on some championship cards and I was now training fulltime having left the Post Office to concentrate on a boxing career.

Mickey 'always hustling' Davies landed a Matchmaking job for Steve Strelich and old rassler at his aptly named stadium in Bakersfield, California 'Strelich Stadium'. Who better to promote in the new venue, well home town guys and familar faces, one of those faces being me!

Signing for fight in Bakersfield, Seated L to R Tommy Noel, Larry Soto -Opponents American Representative, Trainer Denny Abenellia and Matchmaker Davies

But by that time I needed sure cash because we now had two kids so I had taken a job at a Electrical distribution warehouse a few weeks before the first in a series of shows were to be presented at Strelich. Bakersfield is about 160 miles north of Los Angeles and in those days a freeway was only a dream, you took the old Ridge Route, two lanes and 18 wheelers going in and out of Los Angeles up and down the coast.

During Lunch time I rode over to the State Athletic commissions office on Spring Street in downtown and weighed in and Mickey told me he would pick me up at work about 2;00,
I told the warehouse supervisor I had a dental, appointment, the things you have to do to be a boxer. Yeh, he picked me up with out a hitch but the car was full off other fighters and there was not much stretching room.

After a dangerous ride up the 'Ridge Route', getting stopped by the Highway patrol and Mickey injuring his leg as we jumped into a ditch to do some road side business, rest Stops hadn't been thought off yet, we arrived in Bakerspatch as I affectionatley called it. So this is it, were fighting here tonight, over to our left was a spherical type building, that's the stadium, Strelich Stadium and Spa. The rest of the infrequent buildings I viewed as we made our way down the main drag were 'Honky Tonk' bars featuring Western music. Oh. just wonderfull I mused, I had given up an easy life for the fame and fortune of being a big sports star and this is it, Oh my God, what is this? Bakersfield was known predominantly as an Oil Producing Area in those days.

We pulled up next to a very decent coffee shop which was designated as the pre-fight gathering place for those on the nights show including the members of the State Athletic commission. I stuck close to Mickey and we sat down at a table with the assigned chief athletic commissioner for that night, and as I quietly consumed my pre-fight meal, Mickey and the state representative got in a heated argument about the quality of my opponent for the night, (not a representative actions by either of these gentlemen), finally Mickey realizing I was listening, told me, "You finished eating? go take a walk,( basically you don't need to hear this), so I was more than happy to go out and get some air and stretch my legs in the conveniently adjacent park.

But as I strolled by a couple of kids, they began pointing at me and shouting that's him, and I'm going, what's this all about? There was a newspaper rack nearby with the local paper being displayed and there was my mug, (Ring magazine photo), taking up almost the entire space above the fold, with the caption local boy fights tonight at Strelich, Hell I was only one of the supporting bouts, not the main go, picture on front page?

Oh Jesus! I got to fight and now I'm the hometown boy, I never heard of this place until two weeks ago, oh shit! When I got back to the diner, Mickey, What in the hell are you doing? I never been here before in my life. He replied, "Don't worry about it, you're the 'Greenfield Gladiator', that's a farming area a few miles outside of town, nobody will know the difference." First promoting lesson, home town boys sell tickets.

Stadium time- we arrive and are directed to the dressing area, sitting in the first row of seats was a local Bakersfield fighter I had knocked out at the Hollywood Legion in Los Angeles, he came to see the show, yeh! nobody will know. Dressing room, well just a hook on the wall in an empty room would have been better, it was like a series of wooden stalls, probably and old sauna bathe cubicle that was no longer used, suitable for one body, except two fighters were assigned to each area and who do I draw but one of my rideing companions, Jimmy Fletcher a heavyweight no less, he was fighting another local guy at least he was billed as such? things we're gettin worse. So we somehow got our respective gear on as from time to time we were knee to knee, and besides that it was pitch dark. Jimmy was frustrated, he didn't say a word but I could tell by his body language that he was unhappy, I wasn't jumping for joy either.

Fight Time-Back then it wasn't unusual to never have had seen your opponent prior to the introductions and this was no exception. He was tall and rangy, the minute the opening bell chimed I was eating a stiff left jab over and over and wasn't getting off, fight talk for throwing some punches. On top of that my manager and trainer had been late getting out of Los Angeles and I had a substitute in my corner giving me instructions, which I was pretty unhappy with, come on' throw some punches, he urged, what's wrong with you? If you understand the Hot Headed Irish Mind like mine you don't like anyone telling you what to do especially a stranger, so I was doing exactly the opposite.

Finally in the fifth I had had enough and opened up and soon had dispatched my opponent to the canvas and the best referee I ever had, (John Thomas), who went unnoticed to that point stepped in a stopped the fight, he was an accomplished boxer in his own right and knew what he was doing and he was adept at keeping out of the way and administering his duties in a professional manner, something today's attention seeking arbitrators should aspire to emulate.

Happy- yeh, I was happy, I won and was ready for a shower after this hectic day before the ride back to Los Angeles and catch a few hours shut eye before going back to work in the warehouse in the A.M. except my opponent Alsonso Miranda was already in the shower and I had to wait for him to finish, once he came out he engaged me in a conversation and told me that the punches I had hit him with had paralyzed him and he couldn't get up! He was very gracious.

Pay Time-On the way to the paymaster, a lady in the ticket booth, John Thomas hailed me down and was giving me some advice on how not to wait so long before getting going, you know start fighting right away, and then we were interrupted by a fan who congratulated me and proceded to admonish John Thomas for stopping the fight so soon, but I jumped right in and explained of my conversation with Alfonso where he admitted he was helpless, so you see it takes an experienced pair of eyes to realize what's going on in a fight, both the fan and myself didn't realize that Alfonso was unable to continue but Thomas did!

I saw Alfonso fight again a few years later at the Olympic against a well regarded Los Angeles Lightweight Ralph Bunch, Al had moved up to the higher- weight class and the people sitting next to me were estatic over Al's performance, I was anxious to tell the fans Ya, but I knocked this guy out, but decided to remain silent, because they would have never believed me I figured, so what's the use.

More in future stories about my escapades in Bakersfield in the early sixties coming soon..

Sincerely, Tommy Noel