It is hardly controversial to say that 1976’s Rocky is the most identifiable boxing movie of all time. It won the Academy Award for Best Picture that year; it spawned sequels galore; it has that unmistakable musical score; and those Philadelphia Museum of Art steps. But the great thing about Rocky is that it all rests on such a ridiculous notion: an unknown club fighter is gifted an undeserved chance to fight for the heavyweight championship of the world.
It’s a trope in boxing movies that even in 1976, had already been played out for decades. In his book Smash Hit: Race, Crime, and Culture in Boxing Films, David Curcio examines this trope as it appeared decades before Rocky, in the 1937 movie Kid Galahad, starring Edward G. Robinson. “The square-off between an inexperienced fighter with no record or ranking and a champion is pure fantasy,” Curcio reminds us.
But then, sometimes boxing is a fantastic sport.
Francis Ngannou springs to mind. He was a champion in MMA, but untried in boxing, yet he faced Tyson Fury in his debut professional boxing match. Fury was a world title holder at the time, although officially his championship was not on the line.
To a lesser, but no less surreal, degree, there was Mike Tyson versus Jake Paul. Despite Paul’s fame and Tyson’s age, some element of the champion versus nobody trope persisted and struck a nerve with audiences in the run-up to that ultimately abysmal fight. And we don’t have to look back that far for other examples. Floyd Mayweather Jr. versus Conor McGregor in 2017 comes to mind. Or Larry Holmes vs Butterbean in 2002. Other heavyweight mismatches: Holmes versus Tex Cobb. Joe Louis versus Tony Galento. And the fight that inspired Stallone, Muhammad Ali versus Chuck Wepner.
But there is an interesting and little-known example buried in boxing history, a bout actually much closer to the movie trope than the examples already cited. On this day in 1957, the then-heavyweight champion of the world, Floyd Patterson, fought Pete Rademacher in Seattle, WA.
Now maybe that doesn’t sound like much. Most of us haven’t heard of Pete Rademacher, but then, most of us haven’t heard of several of Patterson’s opponents from that period, such as Roy Harris or Brian London. But Rademacher was different. He was fighting Patterson for the title in his debut professional bout. That’s right. When Rademacher went in against the lightning-fast disciple of Cus D’Amato, he did so with an unblemished professional record of 0-0-0.
Rademacher was not wholly inexperienced to the ring, however, despite what his record (or lack thereof) would indicate. Rademacher was an accomplished amateur boxer. He did well in the Golden Gloves and the US Amateur Championships, and then he made the 1956 Olympic team. In Melbourne, Australia, Rademacher knocked out Soviet heavy Lev Murkin in the first round to win the gold medal and was the flag bearer for the U.S. at the closing ceremonies. In an intriguing coincidence, Floyd Patterson had won the heavyweight championship of the world only the night before, when he knocked out Archie Moore in the fifth round in a battle for the title that had been left vacant when Rocky Marciano retired.
Rademacher was an Army Lieutenant stationed at Ft. Benning in Georgia. Alternatively described by the press as either “burly” or “balding,” depending on their spin, Rademacher was viewed as more businessman than prize fighter. Sports Illustrated referred to Rademacher as “The Veep” – not the most intimidating nickname for a fighter.
Seven years older than Patterson, Rademacher understood that turning pro at 28 meant a long career would not be possible for him. To make turning pro worth the risk, he needed a gimmick, and so he put all his efforts into leveraging his gold medal fame to negotiate a deal with Patterson’s manager, Cus D’Amato. Patterson himself had been a gold medalist in 1952. Rumors of a possible fight began to circulate in March of 1957. When asked about it, Rademacher played coy with the press. “Sounds like someone is dreaming up something preposterous,” he said.
When approached, the idiosyncratic D’Amato was open to the idea of the gimmick. More pragmatically, D’Amato had alienated himself from much of the New York boxing establishment, and getting fights for his young champion was proving difficult. D’Amato negotiated a $250,000 guarantee for his fighter, secured by Seattle businessman and fight fan Mike Jennings. When asked about the unusual fight, D’Amato said simply, “I like the fantastic.” By June, the deal was inked.
Not everyone in the boxing world was impressed, however. Oscar Fraley, sports writer for United Press, couldn’t believe the announcement. He wrote it off as a publicity stunt, declaring it either “boxing’s biggest hope or its most dismal disgrace.” Fraley gave Rademacher no chance. “To think of throwing Rademacher in against Patterson is like stopping a beserk elephant with a champagne corks. Give poor Pete a meat cleaver in each hand and I’ll still lay you 10 to five he wouldn’t last three heats.” If the announcement by the fighters’ managers was just a stunt, it would be all right to laugh, Fraley conceded. “But if they’re serious, they ought to be shot.”
Boxing bigwigs soon lined up in opposition to the bout. “I’m utterly astounded,” said Julius Helfand, chairman of the New York State Athletic Commission, “that D’Amato would be even thinking of making such a match.” The National Boxing Association threatened to refuse to sanction the fight. When the Washington State Athletic Commission called their bluff and sanctioned the bout anyway, the NBA was forced to concede. “Everytime the heavyweight champion goes to bat, the title has to be at stake,” they said. However, in a show of displeasure, the NBA’s executive committee voted for a resolution stating that the Association “does not look with favor on this proposed bout” and that it would not fulfill their stipulation that the champion must defend against a “rated opponent” within six months.
Despite the outrage and concern, Rademacher seemed in good spirits. “Patterson is not going to get the soft cookie the boxing world expects,” he told reporters confidently. “If I didn’t think I could win, I wouldn’t get into the ring.” So in August of 1957, less than one year after his final amateur bout at the Olympics, Rademacher stepped through the ropes at Sick’s Stadium in Seattle to challenge the heavyweight champion of the world for his title.
And Rademacher almost won.
Patterson took a slow start in the first round. The young champion launched a few of his leaping “gazelle” jabs at his fellow Olympian, but landed little of distinction. Rademacher kept his own jab busy, and even landed a solid right to Patterson’s midsection. It was a laudable first round as a professional for “The Veep.” He’d stood toe-to-toe with the heavyweight champion of the world, and had not wilted before the pressure. Heck, he might even have won the round!
Rademacher continued much the same way in the second. Extending his jab, he circled continually to his left. Patterson rarely threw, content to slip and roll and feint. With little return fire, Rademacher began firing his notably strong right hook and near the halfway point of the round, Rademacher’s hooks succeeded in knocking Patterson off balance. The champ’s feet were not set, and he reached forward to Rademacher, who responded with yet another right hook. This blow sent Patterson to the canvas.
Rademacher was just a ten-count away from winning the title in his debut fight.
The referee, former light heavyweight legend Tommy Loughran, did not even get to administer a count, however. Patterson was up almost immediately, appearing more embarrassed than shaken. Encouraged by the knockdown, Rademacher pushed forward aggressively. If Patterson had been somnambulant during those first few minutes, he was wide awake now, returning shots at close quarters with his novice foe, who was now ahead on the scorecards. As the bell rang to close the second round, the short-winded Rademacher walked back to his corner gulping for air.
If the champion’s game plan had been to allow the amateur to run his gas tank low, it was working. Rademacher continued to trade with Patterson in the third, but his firepower lacked the muscle he’d wielded just a few minutes earlier. That’s how quickly the direction of a fight can turn. A minute into round three, Patterson caught Rademacher with a pair of hooks — a right to the temple and a left to the jaw — that slumped him. Patterson, whose humanitarian instincts seemed so unlike a prizefighter, reached out and caught his man, appearing to hold Rademacher up rather than let him fall. Loughran stepped in to make room and signaled the two Olympians to continue. Rademacher showed himself game, but without steam, he threw wild and inaccurately. Patterson suffered no such deficit of wind, and his punches were as clean and crisp as spring sunshine. Rademacher was tottering, clearly outclassed, and moving backwards. Twenty seconds before the end of the round, Patterson delivered a right hook to the chin that sent Rademacher to the canvas proper.
When the bell rang for the fourth round, Rademacher, whose amateur fights were never scheduled beyond three rounds, was entering uncharted territory. All momentum was behind the champion. Rademacher’s Hail Mary of a debut seemed all but over now. He’d come in with a puncher’s chance, biffed his best blow, and watched Patterson walk comfortably forward, hand-in-hand with the inevitable. Patterson seemed in no rush to extend himself, however, and the round passed without much incident.
In the fifth, Rademacher’s motor wound down. He was dropped four times in three minutes. His legs were gone and his body language was troubling. Still, he survived and his corner allowed the slumping Veep to return for the sixth round. Patterson dropped him once, then twice. Rademacher stood, but barely. Seeing the contender’s posture sag and slump, Referee Loughran called an end to the fight. Rademacher lost his title shot by TKO in the sixth. He remains the only fighter to have fought for the heavyweight title in his professional debut bout.
Despite the loss, Rademacher continued fighting as a professional. He lost his second match, another Quixotic matchup, this time facing Zora Folley (who Rademacher had beaten once in the amateur ranks). His record now 0-2-0, he dialed back the level of competition and found some success, including fighting in Germany. In 1960, he faced iron-jawed Canadian George Chuvalo – and won. The following year, he lost to Doug Jones and Archie Moore. Rademacher ended his pro career in 1962 with a win over Bobo Wilson. His record stood at a respectable 15-7-1.
Floyd Patterson held the distinction of being the youngest person to win the heavyweight belt in 1956. Unfortunately, as a result of his winning the vacated title, many felt Patterson was merely a “paper” champion. The “sideshow up in Seattle” with Rademacher did little to improve this low opinion. Title defenses against Roy Harris, Tommy Jackson, and Tom McNeeley didn’t help, either. Patterson gained another distinction in 1960, however, becoming the first heavyweight to reclaim the title after losing it to Swedish-born Ingemar Johansson and then winning the rematch. Patterson lost his title to Sonny Liston in 1962, though he continued to fight for a decade after, facing stiff competition in Eddie Machen, George Chuvalo, Muhammad Ali (twice), Henry Cooper, Jerry Quarry (twice), Jimmy Ellis, and Oscar Bonavena.
Although Pete Rademacher retired from the ring in 1962, he never lost his love for the sweet science. He refereed many times over the years, including Tim Witherspoon versus James Tillis in 1983, and he judged club fights around Akron, OH until 2007. He died in 2020.
Twelve years earlier, Shawn M. Murphy spoke to Rademacher for a Boxing Insider “Where Are They Now” piece. “Looking back, any regrets about your career?” asked Murphy.
Rademacher replied, “Absolutely none.” — Andrew Rihn
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