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the same way that fighters try not to let on that they’re having thoughts that scare them. Of course, everyone has them. When I came to realize that, it helped me put my fears into perspective. It’s one of the things that I’ve used ever since, and that’s helped me to become a good trainer.
    Rikers Island had a reputation for being a rough place, and it was. Any place where kids spit razor blades out of their mouths to cut you is not a real great place. These other prisons, like Attica and Sing Sing, were tough, but the youth facility at Rikers was more dangerous because it was all young kids who were angry and lost, and not—even in criminal ways—directed yet. They were dangerous the way I was dangerous. They didn’t know why they were so full of anger, so full of hatred. They were still groping, trying to eliminate certain fractured feelings in themselves in whatever way they could; whereas the older guys in those other places had a better sense of themselves, were more practical, knew how to do their time. Older guys didn’t need to stab you to show they weren’t afraid. A kid in Rikers might stab you just to avoid facing something else he might be feeling.
    Early on, I made it clear that I would stand up for myself. This guy who was six feet and a mean-looking motherfucker came up to me in the rec area and let me know he wanted my sneakers. I can’t remember exactly how he phrased it, but I knew what he was asking and what it meant. I knew what it would lead to. I didn’t even say no. I just went after him. I knew that if I didn’t, it wouldn’t stop there. I knew that after the sneakers it was going to be my dignity he would try to take, my soul. Some people might feel that it would be easier to avoid the confrontation, to give up the sneakers. In the ring, I see fighters quit or give up all the time because it feels at that moment like it’s the easiest option. I always tell them the easiest thing is actually to make a stand. The act of fighting, of facing what you have to face, in reality lasts only a few minutes. Otherwise, you have to deal with and live with the consequences forever. And that’s much harder. So I went after this guy, and it really didn’t matter who got the best of who—though I think I got in more shots than he did before the guards broke it up. The point was, I was standing up for myself. That was what was important. After that I was pretty much left alone.
    Even though I kept to myself at Rikers, there was one guy there I made a connection with, a chaplain there, Brother Tim McDonald, who was a Franciscan friar they called the Brother of the Rock. He knew my uncle slightly, and he kept an eye on me from the day I got there. I didn’t know, but he was watching through a one-way mirror when they brought me in, and he came and saw me the next day.
    Now I know that the Catholic religion has taken a big hit in the past few years, but this guy was the real deal, what a guy like that is supposed to be. He was a big, burly Irishman, and when he shook hands with you, he tried to break your hand. That was the way he showed you that he was in charge. I knew right away he was telling me very clearly, “This is my place.” But he was solid, and there weren’t many things in there that were solid. Or outside of there, either, for that matter.
    He already had all my records. He said, “You belong in here, Teddy. You’re a dangerous person.”
    He wasn’t saying, “You poor thing. I can see you’re really a sensitive person deep down.” Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to hear a little bullshit. I’m no different from anyone else that way. But I appreciated that I wasn’t hearing it, that maybe somewhere down the line I could hearsome other stuff from him that connected to something real, and that I would be able to trust that what he was saying had meaning. It was another lesson that I