Sensing the ghosts of history at the old Los Angeles Sports Arena

As you age, you reminisce.

I was recently thinking about the last live boxing show I had attended. It was only five years ago. It seems longer. The location was Los Angeles, CA., not far from where I was born.

Driving to LA is always nostalgic. I feel it immediately when I spot the smog hanging over the city.

Then there are the movies. I love the old ones.

Traveling down Highway 134, I gazed at Warner Bros. Studios – dripping with movie history.

Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney, Errol Flynn, and my favorite, John Garfield, all worked at Warners.

Back in the 1970s, I snuck into all the movie studios, including Warners.

I had to see where it all happened.

Sneaking in there back then was incredible.

It was easy. Apply for a job, but don’t exit the street. Instead, go onto the lot and roam as inconspicuously as possible.

Anyway, I digress.

The boxing I would witness that day in 2015 was at a place called the BMO Stadium in downtown Los Angeles. It was brand new and sprawling, with a soccer field.

It was big and ugly and not exactly intimate.

BMO had replaced a stadium that I had revered. The same address, but that was where the similarities ended. It was apparent that, like a death, the soul of the old place was gone.

I had been at this same location ten years ago. I was covering a fight card.

The Los Angeles Sports Arena would be turned to rubble in a matter of weeks.

Mauricio Herrera was the headliner.

I liked Herrera.

A great guy, I was quietly pulling for him.

But it was the Sports Arena I wanted to explore. That day, the owners had opened the arena up to the fans.

I had arranged to meet up with publicist Bill Caplan. We walked around. He told me stories. Bill had come to the Arena for the first time in 1959.

I literally bumped into the uncrowned welterweight champion of the world, Armando Muniz. I had known Armando for several years. We had emailed each other a few weeks before. We were amigos.

Armando would be talking to a middle school class about his boxing career and college degree.

I watched as he chatted with the kids. His eyes sparkled as he reminisced. The kids were mesmerized. I smiled, always happy to see Armando feel the love and recognition.

He’s one of a kind.

Later on, I walked into the lobby of the Sports Arena and immediately spotted two warriors. They had fought here in one of the most publicized fights in the Southern California area.

The year was 1974. Danny Lopez was undefeated. Bobby Chacon had one blemish on his record. They had been circling each other for a couple of years, selling out the Olympic Auditorium regularly.

The Sports Arena was rocking that night. Chacon had learned about Lopez when they had sparred the year before.

Chacon was quicker from the get-go. His right hand hardly missed. Lopez fought valiantly, but Chacon prevailed by knockout in round nine.

Forty-one years after their war, the two Hall of Famers and former champions laughed and hugged. I didn’t want to interrupt them, but Chacon spotted me.

“John!” he said. Sometimes I can’t help but pinch myself.

A few hours later, after all the fights were over, I roamed around the big arena one more time.

I pictured some of the history, from politics to music and sports.

Former President John F. Kennedy had spoken here.

Muhammad Ali and Archie Moore rumbled a few feet from where I stood.

The place was quiet now – some workers were dismantling the ring. The seats were empty.

I paused as a noise from somewhere in the rafters drew my attention.

Could it have been ghosts from another time?