Chuck Bodak, Cutman
Paul Dalrymple
A cut above
His face looks familiar, but his name isn't. Meet Chuck Bodak: boxing
cutman, friend to everyone.
January 3, 1999
By Jeff Miller, The Orange County Register
You flip through snapshots. But you study masterpieces.
You start at the glasses, which he has decorated with images of Ali and
trinkets shaped like boxing gloves.
You go down to the wristwatch and count the tiny stars and hearts he has
placed so precisely around its face.
You go back up to the gaudy, jewel-smothered cross hanging from his neck.
It's right there, beneath the Bohemian shirt and below the white goatee that
once confused a couple in Japan. They knew he was famous because, like
everyone else, they recognized his face, too. But they thought he was Col.
Sanders.
He is an artist, this old man. He has decoupaged everything from Frisbees to
his own bald head to an entire car, covering it with fight memorabilia.
He is a different kind of artist, too. His hands, the ones Oscar De La Hoya
says are "made of magic," can stop the flow of a boxer's blood. He is a
cutman, one of the best ever.
But despite all his successes — the fact he is in the World Boxing Hall of
Fame, that George Bush requested one of his homemade bracelets , that two of
his stone-studded crosses have been delivered to the Pope — his finest
effort can't be framed or worn or closed with a stitch.
No, Chuck Bodak's signature work, his most precious gift from a lifetime of
giving, his greatest masterpiece is ...
Himself.
"He's a character actor who can steal the scene," friend Jerry Bilderrain
says. "No matter how great the other actors are, you can't take your eyes
off him."
It isn't supposed to be this way, of course. Someone in a boxer's corner
isn't supposed to be more popular than the main event. But someone in a
boxer's corner also isn't supposed to appear in movies or sign autographs by
the hour or be stopped on the streets of Tokyo for a picture.
Do you know Bodak from these photos? Look close. There's something familiar
about him, right?
He is recognizable but not always recognized, a very close friend of fame.
Once in New Orleans, people kept telling him, "Hi, Pete," thinking he was
Pete Fountain, the jazz musician. At airports, he isn't always asked for
picture ID, even though he can just tell the person behind the counter isn't
a fight fan.
"They can pick me out of the garbage because they know me as being
associated with someone famous," says Bodak, who lives in Tustin. "This
stuff here is like a disease. It spreads all over and people keep running
into it."
There are plenty of folks, though, who know exactly who Chuck Bodak is.
There are celebrities who have asked him for his signature. Tony Curtis once
said hello, calling him by name despite the fact the two had never met.
One time in Las Vegas, Bodak and a friend decided to go see comedian Paul
Rodriguez. The friend called for tickets, but the event was sold out. "Just
call Paul," Bodak told him. Yeah, right, the guy thought, leaving a message.
That night, Bodak's friend saw the show and could only shake his head when
Rodriguez mentioned Bodak in his routine.
These are the people who know him and his meat-grinder voice. They know
Bodak as the guy who litters his speech with four-letter words to the point
of being funny, who rarely poses for a photo without giving the camera the
finger, who has what he calls "a crude, idiotic mentality."
But, more than all that, they know Bodak as the guy who looks and sometimes
acts as hard as knuckles but really is softer than the oversized gloves that
cover them. They know him as someone who gives away money and memories and
so much of himself.
"Damon Runyon would go into a gym and look for Chuck Bodak," Bilderrain
says. "If Runyon were alive today, he would do a whole page on this guy.
That's how big a character he is."
Bodak's entire life is a piece of art. It's as if he bathed in Super Glue
then rolled around in a giant bowl of Lucky Charms. That is what he's most
famous for decoupaging, you know? Himself.
When he was working with Jorge Paez, a fighting flamingo popular for his
bizarre outfits and haircuts, Bodak began taping things on his head. At
Paez's urging, he put pictures and symbols meant to pay tribute or inspire.
He eventually switched to headbands, decorating them differently for each
fight. Now, when he's sitting at a red light, he'll look over and see the
person next to him making halo-like circles over their head, pointing and
smiling.
Like all classic pieces of art, Bodak lives in a museum. Or at least a
trailer he's converting into a museum. The place is wallpapered in posters,
pins, bumper stickers, magazine covers, newspaper stories, VIP credentials,
hats and T-shirts. All about boxing. Stand in here long enough and you get
an idea of what it might feel like being the prize jammed inside a box of
Cracker Jack.
This trailer has everything, everything except a bed. Bodak sleeps on the
floor. Always has. Even when he was working with Muhammad Ali. "I put you up
in the best hotels," Ali would tell him, "and you sleep on the floor like a
dog."
Bodak has worked with 52 other champions — Camacho, Chavez, Hearns,
Holyfield, Jones Jr. — a list so long he keeps it on a slip of pink paper in
his wallet so he doesn't forget anyone. He isn't real good with the details.
That's why he has a friend check his phone messages and why right now he
can't remember the name of one of his upcoming movies.
"It's something about victory," Bodak says, digging through his wallet for
another piece of paper. "Oh, 'The Price Of Glory.' I don't know when that's
coming out."
Details, damn details.
Bodak would be so much better with the little things if only he could use
his hands. After more than six decades in this sport, he still is one of the
best, still works about 10 title fights a year. A national magazine recently
ranked the top cutmen, and Bodak tied for first.
"If he can't stop a cut, no one can," Bilderrain says. "Sometimes it does
happen. Sometimes you get a pumper no one can stop. There are certain things
great surgeons can't overcome, either."
He is what comes from the other side of the tracks. Bodak was born to
illiterate immigrants in Gary, Ind. He dropped out of high school as a
senior, in part to help raise his nine brothers and sisters.
"I had a lot of education beyond the books," he says. "I didn't end up being
a dummy. I didn't miss a thing. With what I've done, all I needed was common
sense."
He has memories of the Depression, a Purple Heart from World War II and
stories about a teen-age sensation named Cassius Clay. Just how old is this
guy? Well, look, he says, pointing to a drawing that shows him serving as a
busboy at the Last Supper.
His real age: 83, a remarkable 83.
"The number doesn't mean anything to him," friend Gil Rosas says. "He
doesn't pay any attention to it."
He is eating now at Luigi's, a Bodak favorite in Anaheim. His art is on the
wall and his name is on the menu, Vermicelli Alla Bodak. There's also Vasil
Egg Special, Vasil being Bodak's given first name.
Rosas has written a book about him. It's called "The Shaman Of Boxing," and
he's looking for a publisher. It's about the sport, and so much more. Just
like Bodak.
"I've lived an extensive life in entertainment and sports," he says. "Now
all I want is to give something to someone else. To receive nothing but
recognition from good people is worth more than any amount of money."
He returned the first check De La Hoya gave him, telling the future champion
he needed the money more. He doesn't even charge fighters today unless the
bout is scheduled for at least 10 rounds.
Sometimes, standing at the grocery store register, Bodak will point to his
chest, signal the cashier with his eyes and buy the groceries of the
stranger next to him. Then he'll leave without saying a word.
He'll stand outside a Tijuana gym, giving away money to kids. He'll pull
singles and fives from his silver clip and pass out the bills as if they
were nothing more than pizza coupons.
"Money has no meaning, no value," Bodak says. "What matters is what comes
from the heart. It's a great feeling to have someone think something of
you."
He pauses. He laughs.
"Those kids down there, they think I'm a millionaire," he says. "I swear
some of them change clothes and come back for seconds."
He speaks to inmates at the Santa Ana jail, donates time to the City of Hope
and visits schools. Two months ago, Bodak won a humanitarian award named
after Joe Louis. He accepted it, then gave it to a friend. He received a
medallion when he was inducted into the hall of fame. He gave that one to
another friend.
"You have to be careful around him," longtime ring announcer Danny Valdivia
says. "If you say you like something of his, he'll just give it to you."
Bodak sticks $10 bills in Valdivia's pocket and tells him they're for his
grandson. When he walks into this restaurant, his first act is to give a
random busboy $20.
A wedge of cake with a single candle passes, and Bodak is at it again. His
money clip will be two five-dollar bills thinner because someone else's son
is having a birthday.
The kid comes by to say thanks, and Bodak signs an autograph for him. Then
he signs for the kid's sister and dad. He jokes with them about being ugly,
old and out of shape. Not him, but them.
"Remember, humor is one of the best weapons you can ever use," Bodak tells
them, "even when you're as goofy as I am."
After five more minutes of silly exchange, the three visitors walk away,
former strangers for life.
"Was that worth $10?" Bodak asks no one in particular. "You bet. Every
penny."
And you believe him. Because this is a man who understands how much a dollar
is worth.
And how much it's worthless.
Melanie Ley
<Paul...@worldnet.att.net> wrote:
>A cut above
>His face looks familiar, but his name isn't. Meet Chuck Bodak: boxing
>cutman, friend to everyone.
>
>January 3, 1999
>By Jeff Miller, The Orange County Register
What a great piece about a very wonderful person!
>"He's a character actor who can steal the scene," friend Jerry Bilderrain
Jerry is the matchmaker (and glove man) for the Irvine
Marriott pro cards. A wonderful man in his own right.
>But despite all his successes — the fact he is in the World Boxing Hall of
>Fame, that George Bush requested one of his homemade bracelets , that two of
>his stone-studded crosses have been delivered to the Pope —
I am also a recepient of one of Chuck's crosses, given to me
by him some years ago. It is a treasure - just like it's maker. 8-)
Mel
Amateur Boxing News at:
www.amateurboxing.com
The Sanity Cruzer
>His face looks familiar, but his name isn't. Meet Chuck Bodak: boxing
>cutman, friend to everyone.
>
>January 3, 1999
>By Jeff Miller, The Orange County Register
I met him in S.J. when he worked the corner of Manuel Medina in his title
winning bout with Hector Lizarraga. When I asked about Chavez, Bodak merely
said, "Chavez is an asshole."
TSC
boymayo.at.boxingchronicle.com
CyberBoxingZone. Bodak relays his thoughts on training and candidly comments
on many of the champions he's worked with in the past.
You can find the interview at:
http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/box2-98.htm
.....BoyMayo
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Editor, Boxing Chronicle.com
http://www.boxingchronicle.com
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Contributing Writer:
http://www.cyberboxingzone.com
http://www.kronkgym.com
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