By Matthew Hurley

There are two things that come to mind when one turns their attention to boxer Bobby Chacon – excitement and tragedy.  Bobby, now a member of the International Boxing Hall Of Fame, was also a lovable character.  He’s the type of guy you might see at the end of the bar who just somehow makes you want to buy him a beer and give that little fella with the toothy grin a pat on the back.  Never once did he look like a guy on top of the world, though he was intermittently.  Bobby Chacon was and remains that guy who went through too much too soon and aged much too quickly.  And yet, he never stops smiling.

Bobby Chacon was born in 1951 but, perhaps, he was reborn on April 17, 1972 when he engaged in his first professional boxing match.  A tough street kid of Mexican-American descent, Chacon found refuge, as so many fighters do, in the gym.  The allure of the spotlight and, of course, the lingering promise of a big paycheck, dictated how he would conduct himself in the ring.  Not particularly gifted, Chacon knew that what the fans craved was a fearless warrior who would give them their nickels worth.  Bobby was a man who understood the value of a dime or a nickel. 

There was no such thing as “chump change” in his world and his fans were of his world.  He didn’t just fight for them, he represented them.  And Chacon took that very seriously.  Win or lose, he would give it everything he had.

After three years of struggle he finally captured fistic glory when he knocked out Alfredo Marcano in the 9th round.  But his reign as featherweight champion would be short-lived.  Two bouts later he lost his belt to the great Ruben Olivares in the second round.  So would begin an up and down career that careened into a tragedy worthy of a movie script.

In 1975 he faced off with Rafael “Bazooka” Limon in Mexico.  Chacon would lose a ten round decision, but it began a four bout grudge fest that many modern day boxing enthusiasts compare to such rivalries as the Micky Ward – Arturo Gatti trilogy.  The two would fight to a technical draw in 1979.  Chacon then stepped up in class and was knocked out by the legendary Alexis Arguello in the seventh round.

Said Chacon at the time, “He’s a great fighter.  Man, he can punch.  I’ll be back.”

He followed that up with a decision victory over Limon in 1980 and then, almost inexplicably in retrospect, things began to go wrong. 

In what would become another great rivalry he lost in dramatic fashion by knockout to Cornelius Boza-Edwards in the 14th round.  Bobby pulled himself up and began making his way up the rankings again, all the while his wife Valorie was begging him to quit the sport.  Already emotionally fragile, she desperately wanted Bobby to move to Hawaii and settle down.  Her psyche, spinning out of control, was something Bobby could never truly comprehend.  It was just anxiety, or something she would get over, he thought.

“I didn’t see it,” he says of what happened.  “I don’t think anybody really does.”

Valorie flew back to Sacramento and pleaded with Bobby to quit the fight game.  But Bobby felt he had at least one last surge left in him.  “Everything will be alright,” he told her.  “Just give me some time and I’ll make some money and we’ll be all set.”

On March 14th, 1982, the night before he was to square off against Salvador Ugalde, Valorie placed a rifle to her head and pulled the trigger.  She died instantly.  Chacon somehow went through with the bout, knocking his opponent out in the third round.  As the ring announcer was about to speak Bobby grabbed the microphone and tearfully dedicated his win to his fallen bride.

“I felt so guilty,” he says.  “I also felt angry.  I thought that many times.  I said to myself, ‘Damn, you should have waited!  I told you that I would get it right.’  You just never really recover from something like that.  And it was hard fighting that day.  But that kept me together.  I know I had something else on my mind that I had to take care of, so I got a break from all of that.  A break from her.  My mom called me just before I was going to the gym the day before and told me that Valorie had killed herself.  I went into a trance or something.  Shock.  Damnit, I have to fight tomorrow!  I’ve got the kids at home.  I’ve gotta get home.  So I flew home.  She was on the bed… actually, next to the bed and she was as beautiful as ever, but there was blood on her.  They didn’t move her.  The gun was right next to her.  How do you recover from seeing that?  I don’t know.  I just fought.  I cried constantly and then I got in the ring and fought.  And my kids, they were little you know?  But they said, ‘We gotta be strong.’  I pulled myself together and just got on with it.”

Three fights later Chacon would meet “Bazooka” Limon again, this time for the WBC junior lightweight title.  In an epic struggle that was voted “fight of the year” Chacon won a fifteen round decision.  He would then go on to defend against Boza-Edwards and retain his crown in another “fight of the year”.

“I broke down after the Limon fight,” he says.  “I didn’t like that guy to begin with and with everything that happened…  I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat.  I just kept thinking about Valorie.  I cried for days afterwards.  She came to me in my dreams.  I would cry and then when I could finally sleep she came to me, as beautiful as always.  Maybe to say goodbye.  She hated boxing.  She hated all of it.  But those dreams gave me some peace.  She said goodbye and I cried like hell.”

Chacon’s travels through life resonate because his struggles are so very human.  We’ve all experienced loss and sadness; it’s how you cope that measures the man.  Bobby dealt with his grief and guilt in the ring.  Still, boxing fans cast a weary, sad glance at Bobby Chacon, the little warrior with the ingratiating smile, because the punishment he endured in and out of the ring has cost him dearly.  No fight fan likes to see a hero broken and battered, but that is what remains of Bobby Chacon.  His speech is slurred and thick-tongued; his mobility altered and he lives off of medical disability.  And yet, that wonderful smile remains.  Never did it beam more proudly than when he was inducted into the Boxing Hall Of Fame.  It’s a place where fallen, sometimes forgotten warriors who thrilled us with their courage and toughness, can relive the glory for a short time.  It means so much to them.  And Bobby Chacon was always the perennial crowd favorite.

“There’s problems all over the world,” he says, smiling, “I’m just one guy.  There’s gonna be problems.  That’s life.  But get as much out of it as you can.  That’s all you can do.  Boxing was good to me, it lives with me.  You just gotta find where you belong.”

Bobby Chacon found a place to belong the minute he laced up a boxing glove.  In our hearts.