go.Jimmy.go

It was June 9, 1978.

I’d love to tell you I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing that night, but I don’t. I was eight years old, just a few months shy of nine, and my priorities probably had more to do with Godzilla, Hot Wheels and figuring out what I was going to do once school let out for the summer.

But while I was busy being a kid in Easton, Pennsylvania, something was happening nearly 2,500 miles away that would forever change the way the rest of the world heard the name of my hometown.

That night in Las Vegas, Larry Holmes defeated Ken Norton in one of boxing’s great heavyweight battles and became the WBC Heavyweight Champion of the World.

And suddenly, Easton had a champion.

For the next seven years, whenever Larry Holmes defended his title, it felt like a holiday around town.

His fights were everywhere. In the newspapers. On television. In conversations at neighborhood bars and restaurants. At school. At work. On street corners. It didn’t matter whether you were a serious boxing fan or barely knew the difference between a jab and an uppercut.

If Larry Holmes was fighting, Easton was watching.

And as a kid, there was one part of those nights that I loved almost as much as the fights themselves.

The introduction.

“From EASTON, PENNSYLVANIA … the Heavyweight Champion of the World … LARRY HOLMES!”

There was something magical about hearing those words coming through my parents’ television.

You heard New York on TV all the time. Los Angeles. Chicago. Philadelphia. Atlanta.

But Easton?

Our Easton?

That little city along the Delaware River where I rode my bike, went to school and spent my summers?

For a few seconds, the whole country was hearing its name.

And in my eight- or nine-year-old mind, they weren’t just talking about Larry Holmes.

They were talking about us.

I used to wonder how many people watching around the country heard “Easton, Pennsylvania” and asked themselves where the heck that was. And somewhere in the back of my young mind was another thought:

If the Heavyweight Champion of the World could come from Easton, what else could come from here?

Maybe even one of us.

That was part of Larry Holmes’ gift to this town. He gave Easton something bigger than bragging rights.

He gave us pride.

I proudly wore my black Easton Assassin T-shirt, and I was even fortunate enough to attend school with one of Larry’s daughters. He wasn’t some distant celebrity we only saw on television. Larry was part of our community.

He was ours.

And he was one of the greatest heavyweights who ever stepped into a boxing ring.

Holmes held the heavyweight championship from 1978 to 1985 and won the first 48 fights of his professional career, coming within a single victory of tying Rocky Marciano’s famous 49-0 record.

Look at some of the names on his résumé he vanquished: Ken Norton. Earnie Shavers. Mike Weaver. Muhammad Ali. Gerry Cooney. Tim Witherspoon. Marvis Frazier. Those weren’t just victories. They were chapters in one of boxing’s great careers.

Even after losing two close fights to Michael Spinks, Holmes refused to simply disappear. He eventually stepped into the ring against a young Mike Tyson at the height of Tyson’s terrifying rise through the heavyweight division. And when most fighters his age would have stayed retired, Larry came back again, piling up more victories and earning additional opportunities against some of the best heavyweights of another generation.

But as impressive as his boxing career was, that isn’t the only reason Larry Holmes remains a champion to me.

Because when fame and fortune arrived, Larry could have gone anywhere.

He stayed here.

He invested in Easton. He opened businesses, developed properties and helped breathe life into parts of the city. Long after he no longer needed Easton to introduce him to the world, he continued to make Easton part of his identity.

Eventually, the city returned the favor by renaming Riverside Drive along the Delaware River Larry Holmes Drive.

I’ve always thought there was something especially fitting about that. Because Larry Holmes connected Easton to the rest of the world.

Nearly half a century has passed since that night in 1978. Boxing has changed. Easton has changed. I’ve certainly changed.

But whenever I think back to those nights when Larry defended his title, I don’t first remember his monstrous left jab, the knockouts, or even who was standing in the opposite corner.

I remember that introduction.

“From Easton, Pennsylvania…”

For a kid growing up in a relatively small Pennsylvania city, hearing those words on national television made the world seem a little smaller—and my dreams seem a little bigger. Maybe it’s part of the reason I’ve always believed that where you come from doesn’t determine how far you can go.

All these years later, I’ve been fortunate enough to write books, interview people I once only saw on television and chase a few dreams of my own. But Larry Holmes taught a generation of kids from Easton something long before we were old enough to fully understand it:

You didn’t have to come from New York or Hollywood to make people notice you.

Sometimes you could make the whole world notice Easton, Pennsylvania.

And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Thanks, Champ.