‘Honest Bill’ Daly Wears a Toupee (Published 1979) (2024)

LAS VEGAS, Nev., March 22 — The couple from Sioux Falls were checking into the Las Vegas Hilton today when the registration clerk mentioned tomorrow night's boxing card in the hotel pavilion.

“Who's fighting?” the man from Sioux Falls asked.

“Holmes, Norton and Shavers,” the clerk answered.

No, it's not a free‐for‐all among those three heavyweights. It's just that not many people know the fourth boxer. For those who need an introduction, Osvaldo Ocasio is a 23‐year‐old Puerto Rican undefeated in bouts with nine knockouts. He will challenge Larry Holmes for the World Boxing Council title after Ken Norton goes against Eamie Shavers in a 12‐round bout, presumably to determine Holmes's next opponent. Osvaldo Ocasio is here because he twice outpointed Jimmy Young in the last five months. But he also is here because his manager is Bill Daly, alias his manipulator. Bill Daly is considered a “sage” by Don King, the promoter of tomorrow night's card. He is known as Honest Bill Daly but he wears a brown toupee. And when boxing people talk about “Honest Bill” there is skepticism in their voices.

“Honest Bill,” warns Holmes's manager, Richie Giachetti, “will do anything to win.”

Sports of The Times

Studying at Kearns University

But anything is not expected to be enough tomorrow night. Not even Honest Bill sounded as if he believed his gladiator would astonish boxing in the same ring in which Leon Spinks dethroned Muhammad Ali in a 15‐round split decision early last year.

“Bob and weave, that's what he's got to do,” the old manager was saying in his room. “But if he comes up, he's going to get hurt.”

Some people say that Bill Daly is 82 years old. But as he sipped a Bloody Mary before dinner, he confessed, “I just hit 80, so make that 79.” When he talks boxing, he drops names of the famous and the infamous — Jack Dempsey and Jack Kearns, Frankie Carbo and Blinky Palermo. He was a teenager living at 525 West 131st Street in Manhattan (“funny how you never forget the addresses where you lived”) when he read that Kearns was bringing in Dempsey to box Fred Fulton over in Harrison, N.J.

“Over in the old Federal League ball park there,” he said. “One punch, Dempsey flattened him. But I got to meet Kearns and he took me to Chicago with him. He had to go see my mother, who told him, ‘Make sure my son goes to church every Sunday.’ The other part of the deal was that I send home $10 a week. But anybody who goes to Yale or Harvard, they'd be better off if they could go with Kearns — what an education.”

And what a reputation Bill Daly developed. Two decades ago he was an unindicted co‐conspirator in the extortion case that resulted in convictions and prison terms for Carbo and Palermo, the two hoodlums primarily responsible for the underworld control of boxing at that time. According to a Federal prosecutor, Bill Daly “played the role of everybody's friend in the boxing business.” But when reminded of that scandal, the glow in his bright blue eyes matched his bright blue shirt.

“ I have nothing to hide,” he said. “I sent children to college. I've got 14 grandchildren. I go to mass every Sunday and I beat every case. And when Carbo died, I went to his funeral. Why wouldn't I go. But every time that Carbo stuff comes up, I'm mentioned. You know why — because nobody else is left. “

That reputation still exists. More than anybody else in boxing, Bill Daly is supposed to have the largest pockets in his jackets — large enough to have officials in. He is always suspected of somehow persuading referees and judges to vote for the fighters of his choice. No evidence exists, only accusations. Opponents like to joke that they don't care who se lects the officials as long as Bill Daly does not. Not long ago he was accused of having influenced one of the officials in a San Juan bout.

“But everybody knows,” he said of that charge, “that you got to have two [officials] to tango.”

One of 22 Children

Bill Daly lived in Englewood, N.J., for many years and lives in San Juan now. But he did not find Osvaldo Ocasio there. The fighter found him.

“I put Carlos Ortiz in a dry‐cleaning and laundry shop there,” the old manager said of his former lightweight champion. “One day this kid walked in asking to be a fighter and I told him no, but I gave him a job in the laundry anyway. He kept hounding me, so I put him in the gym across the street train. One day I told him, ‘I'll get you a couple of amateur fights.’ But he told me, ‘I don't want to fight if I don't get paid.’ I liked that because that's the way I was brought up.”

The fighter's family needed the money. Osvaldo is one of 22 children (20 boys and two girls) of Joaquin and Eugenia Ocasio.

“He had six amateur fights anyway and won them all,” Bill Daly said. “Then he turned pro in 1976 in a prelim when Ali fought that Belgian, that Coopman, in San Juan. Now he's even got a nickname — Jaws. He got it around the time of the movie when the guy hit him low and he bit an earlobe off the guy. But tomorrow night he's got to stay in a crouch and then bob and weave, like Joe Frazier did with Ali and like that Arturo Godoy did with Joe Louis, except that Godoy couldn't punch. My guy digs in there.”

Honest Bill Daly took another sip of his Bloody Mary and straightened his tie.

“I had a lot of fighters I thought would win, but I had go into the ring and pick them up,” the old manager said. “Maybe this time I'll be surprised. But if I am, at my age, I'll wonder what to do with the money.”