The Sad Tale Of Eddie Machen

“My theory is that Eddie Machen was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.” This is how veteran trainer Will Edgington sadly remembered the life of the former heavyweight contender when hearing of Machen’s death in 1972. And it is true. The life of Eddie Machen — from being denied an opportunity to achieve what was then the pinnacle of sport, the heavyweight championship of the world; to his institutionalization for mental illness, followed by recovery, to again becoming one of the world’s best boxers; to his sudden and premature death — is a sad tale that could provide an album’s worth of inspiration to a blues musician.

Machen came of age as a Black man in Redding, California in the 1950s, when the tensions over civil rights issues were coming to a head. Many were tired of waiting for rights to be granted in “due process,” a slow and sluggish response which had been American government policy since the Civil War, while others were vehemently opposed to sharing any more rights than they already did. Not all the advocates for change practiced the non-violent, civil disobedience preached by Martin Luther King Jr. And Eddie Machen did not regard himself as a pacifist. 

“It isn’t something you just find in the south,” Machen said of the racism in his hometown. “I can remember what it was like. I can remember being insulted, being called names. I can remember the bloodshed. It was usually someone else’s blood, in my case.”

Before establishing himself as the highly-skilled, beautifully-moving, number-one ranked heavyweight contender, Machen attended Pine Street Elementary School and Shasta High School and was a newspaper boy for The Redding Record-Searchlight. He was also the star fullback on the football team as a sophomore, and competed in baseball, basketball, and track. The “Shasta Blaster” did not graduate from high school though, acknowledging later in life that he had been an angry man with a chip on his shoulder who “fell in with the wrong crowd.” Machen served three years in Soledad State Prison for robbery, but decided to shift his focus to boxing when he was released at the age of 23. He had in fact been taught to box as a child by his Uncle Dave. 

Machen’s first professional fight was in Sacramento in 1955, but he made his home in the San Francisco area because it was the center, figuratively speaking, of Northern California boxing activity, and where he trained with manager Sid Flaherty. Undefeated in his first 25 fights, with only a draw against world-class heavy Zora Folley marring a perfect record, Machen was seen by many as the fighter to lead a revival in Bay Area boxing. Former world champions Gus Lesnevich and Billy Conn saw a great future for Machen, as did Flaherty, who also managed middleweight champion Bobo Olson. Flaherty said of Machen, “He’s the most remarkable prospect I’ve ever had for just twelve fights.”

But Machen proved to be too good for his own good, as the top-rated contender could not secure a shot at the world title with the Cus D’Amato controlled world champ, Floyd Patterson, telling reporters that “Machen doesn’t figure in my plans.” Machen was confident about his chances against the current title-holder. “He is fast from the waist up,” he said of Patterson, “but not from the waist down.”

Desperate for a break and under financial strain — Machen would experience money troubles throughout his life — Eddie took his ranking to Sweden in 1958 to fight the lightly regarded Ingemar Johansson in front of a massive crowd of fifty thousand at the Ullevi Stadium in Gothenburg. The result was so dubious and unexpected that many knowledgeable boxing people believe Machen must have augmented his official payday by agreeing to lose. Someone who could go twelve rounds with Sonny Liston and fight Cleveland Williams to a draw could have spent all day in a boxing ring with Johansson and not be touched once except for the referee raising his hand at fight’s end. This bout can be seen on Youtube and is an ugly affair. Johansson attacks a nonchalant Machen in the first round and does not let up. The referee was seemingly being paid for every punch landed and let the bout go on far too long.  

Machen would recover from this setback as he claimed to have been caught “cold” by Johansson. He once again became the top-rated heavyweight in the world after going the distance with Sonny Liston and scoring wins over Willi Besmanoff, Mike DeJohn, and Doug Jones, while still being avoided by Patterson. Liston  would eventually get his big chance and took the world title from Patterson by first round knockout as Machen, calling for a rematch with the new champ, thought of himself as the “forgotten man” in heavyweight boxing.

Unable to get a fight and the large purses he coveted — Max Norris of the Redding Record-Searchlight wrote that Machen “was making money by the buckets full and spending it by the barrels full” — Machen was at wit’s end by December, 1962, three months after Liston had demolished Patterson. This is when the hard-luck story of Eddie Machen becomes even more somber.

Vince Correnti, owner of a San Francisco car-wash and future manager of Machen, told Sports Illustrated’s Tex Maule, “I’ve known Eddie for ten years. He used to come into my place, and we got to be real good friends. And then one afternoon he comes in and he looks worried. Eddie was one of Sid Flaherty’s fighters, never saw any money, got fights on too short notice, and now it is just before Christmas and I know he hasn’t got any money, but I don’t know how worried he is.

“So we talk in my office for a little while. Then I get a call, and I’ve got to go out for a while. And when I get back to the office, Eddie is gone. He went off in my car, but I always let him use it, so I don’t think anything about it. Then, about an hour later, I get a call and this cop says, ‘Do you know Eddie Machen?’ and I say yes.”

Machen was driving to Redding. He enjoyed the Bay Area, living mostly in Berkeley, just across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco, because he felt more comfortable in the city than he did in the Jim Crow atmosphere of Shasta County. But most of his family was still at home, which means Redding was still Machen’s home. However, the drive is about 200 miles and Machen had failed to check the gas gauge on Correnti’s car before leaving. Correnti, a deputy sheriff, kept a .32 caliber pistol in the glove compartment. A passing motorist saw a stranded vehicle on the side of the road with a large black man shooting the ground with a gun and called police. 

The officer who responded to the call, Bill McClusky, found Machen on a highway near Vallejo, sitting quietly in Correnti’s car with the gun on the seat next to him. He was writing a suicide note to his wife. “I’m thinking of killing myself,” Machen told McClusky, because he was broke and couldn’t get a fight and “everything was all wrong.”

McClusky and his partner drove Machen to Napa State Hospital for psychiatric evaluation.  “He was no trouble,” McClusky said. “But he looked very tired. All worn out. When we drove him to the hospital he said he felt so bad he might jump out of the car. To tell the truth, I felt sorry for the guy.”

Machen did not remember much of this, but he did remember, “I needed $3000 and it was Christmas time and I couldn’t get it and couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep after they started taking care of me, either,” Machen said of his admittance to the hospital.

He might have been peaceable with the police on the ride to the hospital, but once admitted, Machen was, according to his doctor, “in a very confused state of mind,” and attempted to escape. He knocked two attendants unconscious and injured a third before finally being subdued by seven people and a sedative. “I couldn’t relax,” Machen said. “I felt like I had to go and go. And then they gave me the electric treatment.” 

The doctors reported Machen’s condition to be serious and dangerous. Diagnosed with what today is referred to as paranoid schizophrenia, the medical staff at the hospital stressed Machen’s need for treatment. A judge signed a warrant authorizing Machen’s confinement in the facility, “for his own protection.” However, Eddie made remarkable progress and was moved, at his family’s request, to a private hospital in San Francisco, and from there he was released in early 1963. 

“I don’t want to fight for Flaherty anymore,” Machen stated after leaving the hospital. “What have I got for all my years as a ranking heavyweight? Nothing.”

This is when Correnti, along with the Minskoff brothers, Walter and Leo, bought Machen’s contract from Flaherty. Machen was then given a $5000 bonus and a $1000 per month stipend on earnings. Veteran trainer Al Silvani was hired by the Minskoffs to work with Machen, and he saw noticeable room for improvement, an opinion which he expounded on for Sports Illustrated’s Maule.

“He stands back all the time,” said Silvani. “He don’t go in underneath.” 

A short-armed boxer with an effective jab, Machen had been schooled well in defensive tactics by his uncle and, according to Edgington, “took what he had in physical attributes and molded that into, maybe not the most spectacular, but one of the best fighting machines in the world. He blocked punches beautifully with his shoulders and gloves and his hands were fast so he could beat his longer armed opponents to the punch.”

An excellent counter-puncher, Machen would often wait to capitalize on mistakes his opponents made, rather than taking chances himself. But Silvani wanted to change that. “He was fighting straight up with a stiff left leg. He couldn’t move in and bob and weave and rip and tear underneath. You got to get down a little to do that and you got to bend your left leg to get down. If this boy can go inside, if he can be aggressive, who is going to beat him? No one, that’s who.”

Machen would have mixed results against top opponents following his breakdown and hospital stay. He did beat Jerry Quarry and Joey Orbillo, but lost to Manuel Ramos, Karl Mildenberger and Ernie Terrell. He lost to Floyd Patterson too, with Floyd showing the magnanimity in 1964 that he did not, or could not, when he was champion and refused to fight Machen. The twelve round verdict clearly belonged to the former champ as he controlled most of the bout and scored a knockdown in round eleven. 

Afterwards, Patterson disagreed with old nemesis Johansson after the Swede chided Floyd for not going for the knockout in the eleventh. “I was winning the 11th round when I hurt him, and I looked in his face and I saw hurt and defeat,” said Floyd. “This is a man who has had a hard life. He has been broke and in a mental institution. Should I knock him down further for my own good? I was winning. I didn’t have to hurt him. He fought a good fight. He deserves a shot at Clay more than I do. He’s broke and he’s been down and he deserves  it.”

Among Machen’s losses in the twilight of his career was a twelve round decision to Henry Clark in the spring of 1967. The Sacramento Bee’s Ben Swesey would, upon Machen’s death, write of this fight that “The late Eddie Machen started and – for all practical purposes – ended his boxing career in Sacramento’s Memorial Auditorium.” Machen knew it himself. “I’ve gone to the end of the line and this is a good time to get out,” he said after losing to Clark. But less than two months later, he was  stopped in three rounds by the 10-0 Daniel “Boone” Kirkman.

Still unconvinced his boxing life was over, Machen was training to meet Dave Zyglewicz in Houston when he retired for good a week before the fight, at the request of his family. Bankruptcy filings followed, as well as several arrests for driving under the influence, once with a “girlfriend.” 

Living in San Francisco and working intermittently as a longshoreman, Machen would regularly visit Redding to see his family, though he liked to keep a distance between himself and that part of his past, remembering the time when he had been invited by a white friend to play a round of golf at the Riverview Golf and Country Club; Machen had not been allowed to tee off. The country club had no formal policy about African-American membership, but the rules were understood by most.

The Elks Club, however, left nothing to chance.  The words “No person shall be accepted as a member of this order unless he be a white male citizen of the United States of America, of sound mind and body, of good character, not under the age of 21 years and a believer in God,” were encoded in the organization’s constitution.

Machen could not understand why baseball great Willie Mays did not speak out more on behalf of his race. Mays’ attitude was that he helped his people by “being a good player on the field and a ‘nice guy’ off.” Eddie’s approach was a bit more abrupt than that.

Machen’s death in August of 1972—reported by the AP as Machen having “died Monday in an apparent fall from his second-story apartment”—remains, to this day, something of a mystery. The 40-year old was found in his pajamas lying between a post and a car on the driveway below his Mission Street apartment. A seven-foot trail of blood led from the center of the driveway to where his body was found. The autopsy determined Machen had died of shock and blood loss from a ruptured liver suffered in the fall.

Police found no evidence of foul play, and the investigation into a possible suicide uncovered that Machen was still under psychiatric care and frequently took medication to help him sleep. Family members described Machen as recently being “wrapped up in his own sad thoughts.” Machen’s wife had left him three years earlier, but his girlfriend reported that he had been in good spirits the weekend before he died but that he would often sleepwalk when taking his medication. It was determined that Machen had most likely fallen from his apartment while sleepwalking. 

About a hundred people were at Machen’s gravesite service, including his four children – Norman, Karrie, Diane, and Roberta – his mother, who had buried her husband only two months earlier, and heavyweight Thad Spencer, who Machen had been training. The Reverand Monroe Taylor spoke of boxing as “a profession that exacts so much and gives  so little,” and of a “blood-sick society” that worships the famous and then forgets them. “I say to you, ‘Sleep on, Ed, sleep on,'” said the reverend.  “Never more will you have to face the challenges of a cruel and indicting world.”         –Glen Sharp