Face by Bob Kaufman

Face was a southpaw, but he wasn't an athlete, so we'll just say he was left handed.

He was a pretty good-looking guy with strong facial features and thick, dark, wavy hair.  I can't imagine he liked that nickname and I have no idea why Willie Ghidossi pinned it on him, except maybe because of those strong features.  But getting a less-than-flattering nickname comes with the territory when you're a new kid in town and you're not a sports superstar. Willie was always doing things like that, when he wasn't throwing me into the sticker bush by the front steps to the high school.

The only credit listed with Face's senior picture in the 1965 Pineneedle, our school yearbook was "PHS-2,3,4, transfer from McGregor, Texas", meaning that he attended PHS for his sophomore, junior and senior years and didn't do much else to stand out from the crowd.  Contrast that list of accomplishments with any of his classmates – Dan Fisher for example: “PHS-1,2,3,4; Block P-1,2,3,4; Football-1,3,4; Basketball-1,2,4; Baseball-1,3,4; Track-1,2,3,4; Student Council-1,4; Chico Student Leaders Conference-4; Class President-2; School Play-4;” and you can see why he was an easy target for some high school antics.  But as I remember, Face was a good-natured, gentle, and kind sort of a guy. It was difficult not to like him. I cannot recall ever hearing him say an unkind word about anyone.

For three years we walked the same hallways and even had a class or two together. Surely, we must have bumped shoulders in a crowded hallway once or twice between classes, although I remember none of it.  But then one day, in 5th period PE class, we spent a few minutes separated by little more than the length of his lanky left arm, which might have been an inch or so longer than mine. That day when we shared almost the same space and time was most likely his fifteen minutes of athletic fame in those three years, maybe even in all of his life.

The Old Gym at Portola High School
I believe this is a Bertha Miller photo
Courtesy of Carrie Neely

Boxing was one sport we experienced in PE, like it or not.  I didn’t care much for it.  During those long winter months when we played indoors, the most fun I ever had was playing pin baseball or dodge ball in the old gym...but that's another story.  Coach made certain we had a wide range of activities in our physical education and that meant we spent a week or two pounding on each other's bodies and faces if we wanted a passing grade.  And, of course, to NOT pass PE would be a disgrace worse than … well I can't think of anything that ranks in the same universe as failing PE, so we boxed a little. Strange how I feared taking a punch in the face more than using any part of my body to stop a 90 mile an hour volleyball thrown at close range by Willie, Dan, or Bunky Brown in a dodge ball game...but I did.

Taken at a home a block east of ours on
Plumas Street. I don't know the kid on the right.

Face and I were paired up for a boxing match in our 5th period PE class in the old gym. I was sort of an athlete, so I guess Coach figured it was fair for me to face an upperclassman that wasn't. He was older, taller, gentle, and nice.  I was macho and mean (right!).  I competed in football, basketball, baseball and track so I guess it was an even match.  At least I had had some experience with physical contact in a less-than-friendly environment.  I finally had outgrown my ninety-eight-pound weakling stereotype.  I must have been a whopping 120 pounds by then.  In short, I think Face was the underdog in this bout, or at least he was the emotional favorite.

We both had to wear the leather boxer’s headgear to prevent any serious injury.  In hindsight, that probably presented a greater danger to our health.  If you could sequence the DNA that had been sweated into those head protectors and boxing gloves over the years, you’d get an interesting list of who’s who from PHS in the 50’s and 60’s.  The smell of the gloves was unforgettable, and remarkably pleasant.

My first time being knocked down.
I think the chicken tripped me.

Face and I went a round or two without doing much harm to one another. But then, in the third round, Face poked at me with a right jab  and I leaned back to avoid contact.

Now, remember he was left handed and I was right handed. He danced like a butterfly with his right foot forward and jabbed with his right hand, saving his powerful left hand for the knockout punch.

I, on the other hand, stung like a bee leading with my left hand and my left foot forward. That's easy to understand. Right?

Face threw a right jab, I ducked back. I don't remember feeling any contact with my face.  If his glove touched me at all, it was completely in character with his gentle nature. Without the benefit of instant replay, I’m sure all the guys watching the match would swear he landed a punch squarely on my only-slightly-experienced-if-not-completely-unexercised-kisser.

As I tried to step back, he stepped on my left foot with his right foot.  Instantly I stumbled backward out of control.  I think it had something to do with the concept of center of gravity that Mr. Popish had taught us in 4th period Physics class just before our lunch break earlier that day.

Philip Cook
1965 Pineneedle

I stumbled backward several steps trying to regain my balance. Unable to get my feet back under me I finally went down flat on my back on the hardwood floor and just missed hitting my head on the padded wall under the basketball backboard. My feet flew over my head and I almost could have done a backward handstand against the wall. But, regaining control, I did a kip up to get back on my feet, just as Coach had taught us in gymnastics. Everybody cheered for Face and I was the unfortunate goat!  That “knock down” was a real crowd pleaser!

I have been “knocked down” only twice in my life that I can remember.  This was the second time.  Immediately I jumped to my feet and tried to explain what really happened, but nobody would have any part of it. The most unlikely athlete had just scored a knock down and that was a better story.  I don't think it made the next edition of “el Tigre”, the school newspaper, but I'm pretty sure the news echoed around the halls for a few days.  “Philip, ‘The Face’ Cook scores TKO against Bobby ‘Bad Boy’ Kaufman in 5th period PE!”  (Nobody ever called me ‘Bad Boy’.  I just made that up. After all, this is a boxing story.)

Philip Cook and his twin sister, Lai Launi were two pretty fine people from the class of 1965. I don't know when or if Willie ever stopped calling him Face, but if he did, I’m pretty sure it was right after he scored that knockdown in 5th period PE class.