OLIVER HOLT: The tragic tale of the great Sonny Liston

The tragic tale of the great Sonny Liston and his bare gravestone – a man unloved to the end

  • Sonny Liston was a heavyweight champion of the world but America feared him
  • Liston’s grave in Las Vegas is bare and the inscription just two-words long
  • Why Anthony Joshua’s next fight plan makes sense for his career: The Hook 

Before the Formula One caravan arrived in Las Vegas last week, I took a taxi a couple of miles down East Flamingo Road, away from the Strip and its neon to the suburb that was called Paradise Township back in 1966 when Sonny Liston bought the house at 2058 Ottawa Drive.

Liston’s career was heading into decline by then, after the back-to-back defeats to Muhammad Ali in 1964 and 1965, in Lewiston, Maine, where many believe he took a dive. Most days, he would walk or cycle the mile or so along the quiet, affluent streets to the place where Joe Louis lived at 3333 Seminole Circle.

The two men would sit on Louis’s bedroom floor and shoot craps for hours on end. Louis, once revered as the Brown Bomber, was long retired by then and soon he would be working as a greeter at the newly-opened Caesar’s Palace. He was the closest thing to a hero that the much younger Liston had.

Louis was one of the great American heroes of the 20th century, a fighter who brought joy and escapism to Americans during the depression of the 1930s and who enlisted in the army during the Second World War. More than sixty million of his countrymen tuned in to his rematch with Max Schmeling at Yankee Stadium in 1938.

By the time he started hanging out with Liston, though, Louis had become a heroin and cocaine addict. Nick Tosches’ brilliant book about Liston, Night Train, quotes a mutual friend of the two fighters as saying Louis was a craps degenerate, ‘an alchemist who turned money into shit’. Soon, Liston was starting to hit the skids, too.

Sonny Liston lived in Las Vegas back in 1966 when he bought the house at 2058 Ottawa Drive


Joe Louis (right), once revered as the Brown Bomber, was the closest thing to a hero that the much younger Liston (left) had

Liston (on floor) was the subject of one of the most famous sports images of all-time after being knocked out by Muhammad Ali (above)

I had been standing outside the house on Seminole Circle, a shallow cul-de-sac off East Desert Inn Road, for a couple of minutes, trying to make out the house number and thinking it looked so dilapidated it might be derelict, when I heard a voice and turned to see a smartly-dressed middle-aged woman marching towards me.

Her tone was uncompromising. She wanted to know what I was doing there. I told her I was interested in the history of great fighters who had lived in Vegas. That did not mollify her. She said there had been break-ins at the old Louis house. I told her I wasn’t planning on breaking in.

That did not mollify her, either. Quite the opposite. She said there had been problems with squatters. The house had been damaged by fire. She said she had made calls when she saw me standing outside. ‘The police are coming,’ she said. ‘And people with guns will be coming, too. Just so you know.’

I wasn’t sure she was telling the truth or not but I didn’t wait around to find out. I walked towards Ottawa Drive, down the quiet sideroads that Liston would have walked down until I came to the modest house that backs on to the 16th fairway at what is now the Las Vegas Country Club, the house where Liston lived and where he died.

An olive tree, a symbol of peace, dominates the small front garden, a couple of newly-planted oleanders guard the steps leading up to the modest frontage of the house and a pile of bricks lie in front of the ochre-coloured garage doors. An estate agent website suggests the house is for sale. Not that its history will help it.

America loved Joe Louis but it did not love Sonny Liston. It was scared of him and, for a time, before the Ali fights, it was in awe of him. He was such a formidable fighter, his style so brutal and overwhelming that most felt he was invincible. He was characterised as a monster.

He won the world title by demolishing Floyd Patterson in Chicago in 1962 and knocking him out two minutes into the first round. Sports Illustrated writer Gilbert Rogin observed that ‘that final left hook crashed into Patterson’s cheek like a diesel rig going downhill, no brakes.’

Louis was at that fight. ‘Nobody’s going to beat Liston, ‘cept old age,’ he said. Liston, who had emerged from a childhood of rural poverty in Arkansas, whose place of birth, date of birth, and age at death, remain unknown, and who was the object of persistent rumours that he was controlled by the Mob, was feared and despised by white America.

Liston’s grave is bare and the inscription short. It carries his name and the year of his birth and death. And then two words, and only two words: ‘A MAN.’

Liston (right) won the world heavyweight title by demolishing Floyd Patterson in Chicago in 1962

Liston who was the object of persistent rumours that he was controlled by the Mob, was feared and despised by white America

When Liston’s wife, Geraldine (left), came home from a week-long trip in January 1971, she found his decomposing body in the bedroom of the house in Ottawa Drive

The American poet, Amiri Baraka, called him ‘the big, black Negro in every white man’s hallway, waiting to do him in.’ 

That was still a time when white America demanded black sportsmen play by its rules — Louis was told he must never be photographed with a white woman — and Liston was treated with outright hostility and only thinly-veiled racism by press and public alike.

America loved Louis but it did not love Sonny Liston. It was scared of him

He kept bad company in Vegas, which is easy to do. When his wife came home from a week-long trip in January 1971, she found his decomposing body in the bedroom of the house in Ottawa Drive. The coroner’s report was inconclusive. Some said he had died of a heroin overdose. Most believed he was murdered by the Mob. He was 38, the records say.

I took one more cab ride, a few miles south to Paradise Memorial Gardens, where the planes fly in low over the cemetery as they come in to land at the airport and the Strip is framed against the mountains behind it. You have to work hard to find Liston’s gravestone.

It is in a section not far from the entrance, not far from a row of children’s graves, decorated with toy trucks and a Captain America and rubber ducks left there on the Day of the Dead a couple of weeks earlier.

Liston’s grave is bare and the inscription short. It carries his name and the year of his birth and death. And then two words, and only two words: ‘A MAN.’

Clippers owner clamps down on executive experiences

Former Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer, the owner of the LA Clippers NBA team, is building a new arena for the franchise so they no longer have to share facilities with the LA Lakers. The Intuit Dome is set to open in autumn next year and it will be built on the revolutionary idea of encouraging fans to watch the game. 

Ballmer, who hates the idea that sport should be an afterthought at a match where people spend their time in hospitality or staring at their phones, has limited the number of executive boxes at the new arena and had to be persuaded to allow even those to have one television screen.

Former Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer, the owner of the LA Clippers NBA team, is building a new arena for the franchise

He wants to create an atmosphere where fans are active, raucous participants in matches again rather than semi-engaged spectators too intent on posting on social media to support the team properly.

If it does something to inhibit the way that so many fans seem to need to refract their experience of watching sport by holding up their mobile phones rather than seeing the game through their own eyes then Ballmer will have provided a priceless service to basketball.

Mayweather’s nickname gift

Boxing is full of grandiose and catchy nicknames but I discovered a new favourite when I went to the Top Rank show at the T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas on Thursday evening. 

Bantamweight Floyd ‘Cashflow’ Diaz took his record to 10 wins in his first 10 fights with a split decision victory, ensuring, presumably, that the cash flow is not interrupted. I asked him how he got the nickname.

‘Floyd Mayweather gave it to me,’ he said. It figures.


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