Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A • S P R I N G 2 0 1 5 46 46 The reservation had watched him grow into a champion: AAU (Amateur Athletic Union) Champ fi ve times; Montana state champion four times; Junior National Inland Empire Champ; State Male Athlete of the Year for 1972. Traveling the expanse of Montana (no small feat in the fourth-largest state), he was the state amateur champion from 1964 to 1972 in various weight classes from 105 to 165 pounds. Before turn- ing pro, he fought Marvin Johnson and beat Sugar Ray Seales (both were future boxing hall of famers). The half-day salutation—"Marvin Camel Day" was spon- sored by the Flathead Culture Committee and Salish Tribal Council to honor Marvin and the Camel clan for their various "noteworthy achievements in athletics." The chatty, amiable Marvin, twenty-nine, was received with respect. A calm, good-looking man with a fresh face, quick smile, dark eyes, and an air of confi dence, Camel looked antithetical to boxing's crooked-nose pug living on the fringes of civiliza- tion. He spoke articulately to friends and played the part of boxing's sympathetic spokesperson, talking ever so highly of a sport so alien to most others. His silly, eye-rolling sense of humor counteracted the usual melodrama of boxing. Camel answered all the inevitable questions. He discussed the real threat of being throttled and torn to pieces every time he went to work. "Marvin, what's it like in there?" "Marvin, do those three-minute rounds feel like an eterni- ty?" "What does it feel like to land one of those jolting right uppercuts on another man's chin?" "How about a white man's chin?" "There is more to it than a mouthful of blood and just fi ghting," Camel answered. "It's boxing, not fi ghting. Fight- ing is out in the bars. That's what they do there. I'm a boxer." RING BRIAN NOTES: I grew up in Yonkers, New York, around the grit and mustiness of boxing gyms and I've al- ways been intrigued by the psychology of it. I've maintained an affection and affi nity for boxers and I fi nd their tales to be uniquely compelling and disturbing. My fi rst gigs in journalism were working the fi ght beat in New York and I've fl irted with boxing as a participant over the years. When I moved to Montana in 2000, I wondered about the whereabouts of Marvin Camel. I've carried the idea in my head for 13 years before calling and visiting with Marvin in person. Half of the book is based on fi rst-hand interviews and the other half is based on archival material and interviews with friends and opponents. B oxing is customarily credited with changing the lives of disadvantaged youths. Camel fi t this paradigm. The young man had set some lofty, long-term goals for himself, including winning a world championship. His drive to the top wasn't easy. It included a brief jail sen- tence and a struggle to escape the stifl ing atmosphere of an Indian reservation. At this point in his career, Camel boxed because he enjoyed it. It was a job with prospects for wealth and glory, certainly better than most of the ill paid jobs the unprivileged class do to stay alive. Boxing was his ticket out of the reservation quicksand. BY BRIAN D'AMBROSIO The author with boxing champ Marvin Camel WARRIOR RING IN THE

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