Once an exile in his own city British fighting royalty Ken Buchanan has finally come home in style
A former world champion who once shared a dressing room with Muhammad Ali funds are now being raised for a statue in his native Edinburgh
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Your support makes all the difference.The men sat in a tight circle, five veterans of hostile foreign wars, trading tales, comparing scar tissue and admiring their damaged hands.
On Friday night in Edinburgh Ken Buchanan was honoured at a dinner in the Hilton, flanked by Jim Watt, John Conteh, John H.Stracey and Barry McGuigan. All five held rare versions of genuine world titles in the Seventies and Eighties and had gathered at Ken’s table to raise funds for a statue in his hometown. Buchanan is arguably Britain’s finest fighter and a statue is overdue in a city where two giraffes, that most Scottish of wild beasts, have their towering perch, but the boxer has gone under the radar for far too long. The giraffes are lovely, by the way.
In 1970 Buchanan won the WBA lightweight title when he fought under a merciless sun, in heat tipping 120 degrees, to outpoint Ismael Laguna over 15 torrid rounds in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Buchanan arrived back in Edinburgh wearing a sombrero, smiling, rehydrated, a hero returning but he was greeted by just two people, his wife and son. He then fought and dominated at Madison Square Garden where he was adopted by the savvy fight crowd in New York City. On one night at the Garden he let Muhammad Ali share his dressing room when they were both fighting. “I took some tape and divided the room with a line on the floor,” said Buchanan. “I told him to keep to his side. That was some night, that was.” Yes, Buchanan was that big.
After two defences, one a full unification of the world title, he was back at the Garden, boxing’s mystical home, to fight Roberto Duran in front of 18,821 in a fight that set a cash record for lightweights of $225,000 at the venue. Duran won when he kneed Kenny where no man should be kneed in round thirteen; Buchanan remains adamant he could have continued even with the damage. Duran has never denied the illegal carnage and is recognised now as one of the sport’s finest fighters.
Buchanan fought for another ten years, often brilliant in exile and even went on the unlicensed circuit when he finally quit in 1982. He shared three thousand pound once after a pirate fight at the Palais, a night club in Ilford. Retirement was harsh on Buchanan, there is no convenient subterfuge to disguise the various horrors; now, he is surrounded by some great people and his Foundation is dedicated to getting a statue erected in a city that too often treats the ageing fighter like an anonymous citizen. The one-time boxing king of New York had been down and out on the streets of Edinburgh. That will never happen again to the pioneer.
On Friday night a sharp medic with a probing doctor’s torch would have easily read the suffering left behind from the ring exploits on the faces of the gathered fighters, scars like blood-stained pages in an ancient book. It’s possible to count their faded stitches across brows, noses, cheeks and just about every part of their heads. They probably have, from reading my dusty cuttings, 300 stitches between them from a total of 240 fights. Some of the greatest fights and nights in British boxing history.
Stracey went to Mexico City in 1975 with just 23 people in his raiding part to fight the exiled-Cuban maestro Jose Napoles and win the welterweight title. The fight was in a bullring, in front of over 40,000 and Stracey was dropped in the first before pounding Napoles. It was front-page news, now it is sadly overlooked. Conteh won and lost the light-heavyweight title in a series of epic fights. He fought in Belgrade in 1978 against a man with an illegal concrete-like layer of skin across his eyebrows to protect against cuts. “I had no choice - I had to fight or not get paid,” said Conteh. To make sure Conteh never regained his world that savage night in front of nearly 50,000 at the Red Star Stadium the referee deducted two points for nothing. It was larceny, pure and simple. Just over 22 million people watched McGuigan win his title on the BBC one night in 1985 at Loftus Road. At ringside priests fainted, every man and woman cried as the tiny idol’s hand was raised; the title was gone just 12 months later when, in a stunning display of bravery, McGuigan lost on points over 15 rounds in Las Vegas. It is impossible to watch the last rounds of that awful fight and not be moved. McGuigan was the young pup last Friday, his fights, however, put him on the table.
At Buchanan’s side and in his ear for five hours was Jim Watt. They once fought for just £7,136 pounds over 15 rounds for the British lightweight title in Glasgow. Buchanan won on points; two years later Watt finally won the British title and then, nine years after Buchanan was world champion, Watt won the same title. Jim had hired Ken as a sparring partner. “I’ve been sitting next to Ken all night,” said Watt on Friday. “And I was thinking: ‘F***, I never got this close in 15 rounds’.” Watt was a brilliant champion and truly decent man. The truth is they could all do with a little more love.
In the auction a three-foot black and white photograph of Buchanan sitting in truly desperate isolation after a fight was in stark contrast to the endless stream of glitter on offer. In the haunting picture, Buchanan has his head dipped, a tiny blood-stained towel is across his naked lap, his body is impossibly thin. Last year Buchanan had shown me the picture, I had assumed it was after his Duran loss. I was wrong: “It’s the Laguna fight in Puerto Rico,” he told me. “I could barely talk, the heat was so intense - I couldn’t even celebrate.” On Friday night I told the story of the fight, the picture’s grim provenance in harsh detail and the image then went under the hammer against some fierce and familiar offerings. A Ricky Hatton glove in a fabulous glass case, a replica pair of signed Anthony Joshua shorts from his epic fight with Wladimir Klitscho in a five-foot frame and a signed Mike Tyson montage all went for less cash in the auction than the pained picture of sweet Kenny. Buchanan stood and applauded the winning bid.
In 1970 he returned to Edinburgh as the world champion, Britain’s only one at the time, he was anonymous and disgracefully ignored, an outsider in exile in his city - on Friday Buchanan came home in some style.
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