In the 1950s and 60s when the "sweet science" of boxing was a savage, brutal, rough and tumble, sock 'em, mug 'em, knock-'em-out sport, along came a kid who was a magician with his hands and a ballet dancer with his feet; a master boxer, a gladiator with a polished defensive technique. His name was Willie Pastrano, known in boxing circles as Willie the Wisp because he would come in with a left jab-or two, or three-sting his adversary, and then seemingly vanish ending up to either side or behind them. He was a boxer, not a slugger, and he simply wore down his opponents. Tagged the Errol Flynn of boxing, Willie's charm was as profound as his boxing ability. He ran the gamut of hard times: born into poverty, stricken with asthma as a child, weighing 200 pounds plus as a 12-year-old, taunted and laughed at by classmates, then thrown into the boxing arena at 14 years old to fight men. It's a remarkable story. Its Willie's story, told mostly in Willie's words, and one you'll not soon forget. Yes, Willie the Wisp was one of a kind.
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