Britt VanBuskirk's Long and Winding Road: Part One—Back and Forth to the Gym and Japan

 

“I rode the RTD (Rapid Transit District) bus in LA two and a half hours each way six days a week,” says Britt VanBuskirk about her grueling conveyance to and from the Hoover St. Gym, South Central’s legendary Cradle of Boxing Champions, in the late 1970s. “The bus left at 9:30 am, got me to the gym at noon when the gym was empty. The last bus left the gym at 6:00.”

This left little to no time for pursuits of any other kind. “Eat dinner, practice my jabs,” Britt says matter-of-factly of her early post-gym routine back in her hometown of La Cañada, a small city in Southern California’s San Gabriel Valley nestled in the shadows of the Verdugo mountains. “I had to throw 100 jabs before bed.”

A long and lean 17 year-old, VanBuskirk had first gone to the Olympic Gym in downtown Los Angeles where she asked if they could teach her how to box. Olympic doorman and gatekeeper Caesar Perez informed her that females were not allowed to train there, but suggested that she contact Dee Knuckles, who worked with women in her ramshackle gym located in the basement of a San Pedro Social Services building that was once an Army/Navy YMCA but was converted into housing for troubled youths.    

“I called her, and she invited me to her gym that day,” Britt remembers. It was Knuckles who took VanBuskirk to the Hoover St. Gym which was not only much better equipped but permitted women, a scarce advantage back then. It was at the Hoover St. Gym, owned and operated by former middleweight fighter Thell Torrence, whose claim to fame was earning a 1965 split draw with Denny Moyer at the Olympic Auditorium, that Dee Knuckles introduced her new protégé to trainer Howard McCord.

“Dee set me up with him, told me to come to this gym every day and meet with him and learn to box,” Britt recounted for me. “She also told me that she would be my manager and get fights for me when the time came. I did as she said.”

Among McCord’s roughly dozen and a half pupils, VanBuskirk was the lone female. For the time being, anyway. Not long after, featherweight phenom Lydia ‘Squeaky’ Bayardo, who had already been boxing for two years, would be one of several remarkable female boxers to join their ranks, becoming Britt’s primary sparring partner and moral supporter.

Cora Webber and Lady Tyger Trimiar would also soon turn into mainstays at the Hoover St. Gym. “She was the most recognized female fighter,” Britt enthused about Lady Tyger. “We became friends instantly. I went to her apartment once just to visit. She lived in Compton.” Britt, Tyger, and Webber would all later train at Thell Torrence’s new gym at the intersection of 108^th Street and Broadway in Watts referred to by either name (108^th Street Gym, or Broadway Gym) depending on which direction you were approaching from, explains VanBuskirk.

Britt’s main man when it came to spar mates at the Hoover St. Gym was Randy McGrady. A former Cleveland District and Northern Ohio Inter-City Golden Gloves champion, he was then a middleweight prospect who would end up with an 11-4 pro record. McGrady’s encouragement was a much-needed and much-appreciated shot in the arm for VanBuskirk.  

As was the norm back then, gyms were not equipped with separate changing facilities or restrooms for women and Britt confirms that this was the case at Hoover St. Assuming the gym bathrooms had doors, they never had locks. This is why Howard would strategically position a lookout on the other side of the dressing room door while VanBuskirk was inside.

“I ran into a lot of men who tried to discourage me when I first began fighting, but I still kept going back to the gymnasium,” she told Mike Estel of the Southern Illinoisan in a 1983 interview. “A lot of them changed their opinions of me and started respecting me when they found out how serious I was about it. But there are still a few jerks who don’t think women should fight. The jerks that ride me don’t realize I train every day to fight and I could tear their heads off if I wanted to.”

Her father Owen was not simply accepting of Britt’s boxing career, but enthusiastically supportive. “She is number one in the world. There is no doubt about it,” he is quoted as saying to Robert Enstad in the May 1, 1983 edition of the Chicago Tribune. “There is Britt and there is the rest of them.”    

McCord coached VanBuskirk on how to grapple with the physical as well as cerebral aspects of the fight game. “My trainer Howard taught me to box, but also taught me how to be a champion and how to get to the top and stay there. The first year we practiced defense only. He demanded a solid defense. I was impossible to hit,” she states in no uncertain terms. “He would tell me that one day I would be a champion. I didn’t believe him. And we argued about it. He would tell me that I don’t have enough belief in myself and that would be the hardest part about training me. I argued with him, saying he was just saying that to give me false hope. He argued back, saying one day they will not even box you. He said they will give you every excuse—your arms are too long, you’re too tall, you’re too short, you weigh too much, you’re too light, your eyes are the wrong color—but they will not box you. This just made me even madder, and I would sulk for two and a half hours on the bus on my way home.”

Dee Knuckles came calling in 1978 with a fight offer. In Japan of all places. “She said that I was too young to get a license in the United States, but I could in Japan,” explained VanBuskirk, who had turned 17 not long before. As if the prospect of debuting overseas wasn’t daunting enough for a first-time teenaged fighter, Britt was thrown a curveball by the Japanese officials once they laid eyes on her.

“When we got there, the promotional company had a problem with how tall I was,” the five-foot-ten Britt says. Although she weighed the same as her opponent, her height was an issue to the degree that they insisted the match could go ahead only as a boxer vs. kickboxer mixed match rather than a straight-up prizefight. Having trained so hard and traveled all that way, turning back was not an option.

“Dee said I had to do it, so I said ok. It was my first fight and Dee worked my corner in Tokyo,” continues VanBuskirk, who debuted at Korakuen Hall. “Probably the hardest thing that I had ever done at that time. I watched as a line of boxers went out, all bright eyed and confident, only to return defeated, swollen, and bloody. I thought to myself, ‘Britt, what have you gotten yourself into now?’ Then they called for me. My turn. As I went up the steps to the ring, my knees buckled. Then, when she put the mouthpiece in, I gagged. She scolded me.”

VanBuskirk’s very first opponent was Itsuki Masako, who Britt says was “their best fighter.” The two would become reacquainted inside the ring twice more during Britt’s tour of Japan later that year. “I won in the second round just like Howard, my trainer, said I would,” VanBuskirk recollects. “He always said it will be in the second round that you will land that big right hand of yours and the fight will be over. His predicting puzzled me. I was only 17, and I didn’t understand how he knew so much. I returned to LA with a new sense of purpose and belief in my trainer.” Britt’s stay back home would be a brief one.

“After about a month of bus riding, Dee called again and we went back to Japan for my second fight,” she says. As luck would have it, a full-length video sourced from an old VHS tape exists that shows Britt’s tussle versus kickboxer and wrestler Kaorou Jumbo in Van Buskirk’s new home away from home in Tokyo.

Blue gym shorts and a white V-neck t-shirt sufficed perfectly fine for boxing gear as far as Britt was concerned, whereas her Japanese adversary entered wearing a billowy yellow pantsuit with a cape to match which covered the top of her head like a hood. Beneath this fashionable garment was sensible ring attire, a red singlet and skirt.

“Total panic ran through my body, and I moved forward,” recounts VanBuskirk, who deflected a series of kicks and came forward behind her long jab to score with a nice left hook moments into the bout. Backing Jumbo against the ropes with two body blows, VanBuskirk found herself on the seat of her pants at the 18 second mark when she was shoved to the mat by a left foot to the midsection. The third woman in the ring (the referee was also female) initiated no count, permitting Britt to regain her footing and the fight to continue.  

Curiously, Jumbo threw a grand total of one earnest punch (a jab which did not connect), the remaining sum of the Japanese combatant’s offense accounted for by knees and kicks, using her gloved hands only to ward off Britt’s attacks or paw at her during tie-ups. At the minute and a half mark of round two, Van Buskirk put Jumbo down with a right hook that was preceded by a left to the body.

“My trainer’s voice came to me,” she reminisced. “I did what that voice said: Stay behind your jab, pump your jab. When you see an opening, throw a right hand.” Going in for the kill now that her prey was wounded, Britt sent her to the deck again twenty seconds later with a flurry that culminated in one of those right hands she just spoke of. With her eyes rolling around in her head like a parody of an old silent slapstick comedy, Jumbo beat the count and survived to fight another round.

She would not make it out of the third. With less than thirty seconds elapsed in the stanza, VanBuskirk dropped her once more with a pair of lefts which were set up by a body shot. Negligibly supported by shaky legs once standing upright, Jumbo stumbled back a few steps and spit out her mouthpiece. No measure was taken one way or the other, probably since the referee had turned to signal Britt forward from her neutral corner when this occurred, and action recommenced.   

After three kick attempts missed their mark, VanBuskirk lunged forward and landed a left to the ribs which initiated a clinch. With her left arm rendered temporarily immobile by the bearhug, Britt relied on her trusty right hand to bring about the beginning of the end by unleashing it to the head and body in rapid fashion. Her left hand now sufficiently free, VanBuskirk let it go as well, digging it to the liver. Tasting canvas for the fourth and final time, Jumbo was still writhing around in agony even as Britt favored the press photographers with an ear to ear smile while holding the large ornate trophy she was presented.   

“There was no cheering in the arena. You could hear a pin drop,” recalls VanBuskirk of the customary yet surely no less eerie silence that accompanied her victory. “I was elated that it was over first, then happy about the finish. That’s why fighters hug when a fight is finished, because it’s over and they are happy.”