For Retired Boxer, Arena of Memories
Historic Figure Now Fights for His Health

By Joe Holley
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, March 9, 2006

The legs are long gone, his health is precarious and it's been years since he threw a punch. But for old boxer Billy Banks, the memories are almost as sharp as those lightninglike left-right combinations he used to land on opponents' chins.

For Banks, 86, one fight in particular stands out, a match nearly 70 years past that made local boxing history.

At Griffith Stadium on a June night in 1940, on a card that featured Louis Kid Cocoa vs. Wild Bill McDowell, the classy young featherweight from the District squared off against "Baltimore" Joe Sole in the first fight of the evening. Even though it wasn't the main event, the Banks-Sole fight had people talking. It was the District's first-ever boxing match between a white man and a black man.

"That particular fight was the greatest thrill of my life," Banks recalled recently, "because I knew that fight was going to break the segregation line."

Now Banks is facing two opponents that pose greater challenges than any of the fighters he met in the ring: diabetes and lung cancer.

William Medford Banks grew up near 17th and Corcoran streets NW, not far from Dupont Circle. His father died when he was 5, and he dropped out of Francis Junior High School at 14 to help support his mother, two sisters and a brother.

His boxing career actually started when a neighborhood bully made his life miserable and he decided he had to do something about it. "I remember thinking, 'I can't be doing this,' " he recalled, alluding to his daily efforts to avoid the boy, "so I just went into him." Young Banks weighed maybe a hundred pounds, and the bully seemed to weigh at least twice that much, but it was the smaller kid still standing when the tussle ended. The bully didn't bother him again.

An ex-fighter who lived in the neighborhood started training him in the man's back yard, even though Banks's mother did everything she could to discourage her young son from learning the manly art of self-defense. Although she eventually got used to his boxing dreams, she never would let him bring his boxing gear home.

Local trainer-manager Billy Edwards took on Banks at his gym in an alley near 12th and U streets NW, despite having doubts about the skinny little guy. But as Edwards recalled in a 1991 Washington Post article, Banks did everything he was told to do, and it wasn't long before he was the hottest prospect in town. "All he needed was to learn how to punch," Edwards told The Post.

Banks also became acquainted with an alluring "older woman" who worked for a nearby business that distributed photo booths. Ada Banks, still feisty and energetic at 89, has been in her favorite boxer's corner through 61 years of marriage.

After winning two Golden Gloves championships and compiling a 30-1 amateur record, Banks turned professional in 1938. Quick and smart, with a powerhouse punch for a little man, he soon was dominating both featherweight and lightweight divisions.

Griffith Stadium, demolished in 1965 and now the site of Howard University Hospital on Georgia Avenue, was packed that spring night in 1940, and police were everywhere -- in the crowd, along the runway, at ringside. "They must have had every undercover policeman in this town at the fight that night," Banks recalled.

Although Banks was popular, especially among black Washingtonians, nobody knew what to expect, including Banks. He made sure he had a couple of white friends with him to serve as bodyguards if things got nasty.

He remembers coming out of the dressing room, walking through the tunnel underneath the stadium and emerging from the dugout. As soon as he set foot on the field, the crowd, whites and blacks alike, went wild in support of the hometown guy. He climbed into the ring, gave a polite bow and began throwing warm-up punches. The stadium rocked with "Bil-lee! Bil-lee!"

"I told myself, for once I'm a king," Banks recalled.

For the first couple of rounds Banks and Sole felt each other out. In the third, the D.C. fighter began to take control. When the bell sounded for Round 4, Banks came out fast and caught Sole with a three-punch combination. The Baltimore boxer hit the canvas. The crowd erupted.

"The ref could have counted to a thousand," manager Edwards told the Post in 1991.

After that memorable night, Banks went on to fight featherweight and lightweight contenders up and down the East Coast. "Sometimes I'd fight twice a week," he recalled. "I'm coming in at 126 pounds, and my opponent might weigh 150 pounds. But it didn't make no difference; I was just happy to get that $50."

He was popular around D.C. throughout his career. Edwards back in 1991 called him "a role-model type."

"Gentlemen in the boxing game are not uncommon," Post sportswriter Tony Neri noted in 1942. "Here in the Nation's Capitol, a rising young colored lightweight, who answers to the name of Billy Banks, is one of those gentlemen."

Banks's career lasted into the late 1940s, until a thumb in the eye resulted in a detached retina. The injury, misdiagnosed for two years, not only ended his career but also cost him the sight in his left eye. Records vary, but he retired after a 10-year pro career with a record of about 50 wins, 30 losses and three draws.

Known during his fighting days as "the U Street Beau Brummel," Banks opened the Billy Banks Tie Shop on U Street after he hung up the gloves. He also trained local fighters.

For 20 years or so, he owned or managed local bars and restaurants, including the Kenyon Grill and the Ringside Inn. For the past 15 years, he's been the "Billy" in Chuck and Billy's Bar and Grill, the popular Georgia Avenue establishment across from Howard University. He and his wife also have been stalwart residents of the Woodridge neighborhood near Catholic University, living in the same house for the past 53 years.

The gentleman boxer, still soft-spoken and modest, is in the fight of his life these days. Diabetes has rendered his legs almost useless, and he's undergoing chemotherapy for lung cancer. It's tough, and yet as a neighborhood bully learned years ago, Billy Banks is a fighter, in the ring and out.