Sunlight washed the busy street nestled deep in the middle of Brooklyn. People hurried along the sidewalks in search of shade. The gym stood in defiance of everything, its redbrick walls guarding against the heat for those inside. A group of children sat outside the main entrance, harassing those that passed by, daring them to challenge their bravery. They were too young to workout and too poor to afford the fees, but they could dream and imagine the glory of being a champion prizefighter, their ticket out of Brooklyn, as far as they were concerned.

Inside, Billy grunted out sit-ups as Don beat his torso with gloved hands. Around them worked hardened fighters, hungry for a shot at the big time. The fights did not harden them, but the lives they lived. Most were first generation immigrants; Italians and Irishm...

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