Angelo Maglione

Angelo Maglione
Maglione still cleaning up memories
Times, The (Trenton, NJ) - Saturday, April 27, 1996
Author: CRAIG HALEY, Boxing

Trenton resident Angelo Maglione holds a framed photograph
from the 1940s, when he boxed professionally as a lightweight.

Maglione still cleaning up memories

TRENTON _ It was almost the day of the big ballet show,
and Maglione's Cleaners was full of dresses and costumes and
all the bright colors that would help make the show successful.
While the sales office was being overtaken by the world of ballet,
the display case on the left side of the room was in sharp
contrast. The display case, however, was just as prominent as
the many costumes, and the room was lit up by its contents: a
framed photograph of Angelo Maglione taken when he boxed
professionally in the 1930s and 1940s, and one of the books
the Trenton native has written since his pugilistic days ended.
For the past 39 years, Angelo and his wife, Stella, have owned
and operated the dry cleaners that has become a fixture in
Chambersburg at the corners of Emory Ave. and Anderson St.
Maglione's boxing career gets its just due in the display
case, although in historical terms, his career has been
forgotten as much as boxing in the capital city has declined
through the years.
Long disillusioned by the dark underside of boxing, Maglione's
passion has changed to the ballerinas in his life, as his
daughter, Julie Caprio, runs the Hamilton Ballet Theatre and
his granddaughter, Julie Caprio Kazakoff, is one of the
participants.
''They're both on their feet,'' Maglione said of boxers and
ballerinas. ''It's not easy. Ballet is difficult. In some ways,
it's more difficult than boxing.''
MAGLIONE, NOW 76, fought at a time when boxers deserved
the title of prize fighters. As a 5-foot-8 1/2, 135-pound
lightweight, he sometimes fought under his middle name Tony
and often wooed crowds with his action-packed style that led to
many knockouts. He had nearly 160 bouts in his amateur and pro
career. As an amateur, he was Mercer County AAU champion in 1936,
won the Trenton Golden Gloves lightweight title in '38 and
advanced to the Eastern Finals at Madison Square Garden.
But, sadly, his career has been forgotten, so much so that
through time his life as a boxer is defined in this manner.
You could say, at least as a Trenton boxer, Maglione is
famous for not being famous.
The highs of Maglione's career included a 1940 decision
over Ike Williams, the lightweight who went on to become
Trenton's only world champion. The lows included Maglione
never escaping from the huge shadow that Williams cast over him.
''This is all I've got,'' said Maglione during a recent
interview, holding up a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings
and photographs. ''And this, they're trying to steal.
They're all trying to say they beat me.
''Now I've got people coming out of the woodwork saying
they beat me.''
Not so. The boxing history books will forever verify what
Maglione accomplished in the ring. Fighting at such local
venues as the old Grand Theatre, Dunn Field, the Stockton
Street Arena and the Armory in Trenton, the Fox Theatre in
Bordentown and the St. Ann's Club in Bristol, Pa., Maglione
was always seeking headlines amid the many Trenton fighters
of his era, including Williams, Paulie Walker, Tommy ''Kid''
Murphy, Charlie Carter, John Brennen, Young Terry (known as
''The Trenton Buzzsaw'') and Larry Mangine, whom Maglione
knocked out in one round and considers his career's biggest win.
MAGLIONE LEARNED the hard way that boxing is a business as
much as it is a sport. He blames the hardships of his
career on his first pro manager, Bushy Brooks, with whom
he signed a five-year contract when he turned pro. Maglione
maintains he was thrown into bad fights against both ringers
and bigger opponents, and that pieces of his contract were
continuously being sold off to others who wanted part of the
pie. When Maglione tried to quit boxing, he says Brooks would
get him fired at other jobs and lure him back to boxing
(fight fans knew Maglione as the battling bus driver
from Chambersburg ).
Maglione, though, didn't let his problems deter his
self-esteem, admitting, ''Good people stay good. You either
rob a bank or take a million-to-one shot. I was glad I fought
the hard way. I'm glad I did it on my own.''
MONEY OR no money, the right way was Maglione's way.
''I was very shy,'' he said. ''But when I was boxing, the
lights go out and you don't see anybody. You just go on
and fight the guy.
''Everybody that has had a problem that I heard of, I wish
that problem was mine. When they fought for $200 (Maglione
was paid a mere $75 for fighting Williams), or (today) they
have a sore thumb and fight for $20 million. Do I look stupid?
No, I'm not stupid. Why a guy like me gets trapped? (he shakes
his head) I'm not stupid, maybe that's the reason. If I was
stupid, maybe I'd make money.''
After retiring from boxing, Maglione didn't profit from a
writing career, either. In the 1980s, he wrote an autobiography
about his career, titling it, ''Oh No! This Story Couldn't Be
True,'' and several short stories that comprise his book
''Tales of the Ring.'' According to Maglione, he has
changed names to protect the ''guilty.''
''When I started reading my autobiography,'' Maglione
said, ''it took me maybe a whole week to read. As I read it,
I read a part. Then I read another part. When I was done, I
lifted up (in spirit). I got it out of my system.''
THE BITTERNESS from an unfulfilled boxing career still lingers
in Maglione. Whether he can admit it or not, Maglione just
can't get boxing out of his system more than 50 years removed
from his career. It has and always will be a part of him.
He's not down-on-luck the way so many other boxers of his
era became after retiring from the sport. That fact Maglione
attributes to his perseverance. He is correct.
Angelo Maglione says he wants to be remembered as a gentleman.
And to so many people in his life _ from family to customers to
old friends _ he is that and more.

Craig Haley is a Times sports copy editor.