American Fight Clubs

"The Smithsonian should find one of these gyms and pick it up brick by brick."


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Published: Nov 5, 2008

Jim Lommasson

In 1993, Jim Lommasson took an assignment shooting promotional photographs for a new rowing machine at the Grand Avenue Gym in his hometown of Portland, Ore. The assignment, he says, changed his life.

While the job itself was nothing special, Lommasson instantly fell in love with the old boxing gym's grit — the pungent smell of sweat that permeated its every inch, the muffled sounds of gloves hitting gut and dense leather bags. He had to know more about the Grand.

For a first lesson, Lommasson turned to Jesse Sandoval, one of a handful of trainers that worked the gym. "He was like the docent at the museum and he was giving me a tour," recalls Lommasson. "I realized this really is like a boxing museum — it's amazingly visual."

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Still curious, he arranged several return visits and spent hours talking with trainers and fighters (many of whom he remains friends with) to learn more about the gym's history and boxing culture. Over the next 10 years Lommasson continued his investigation, traveling to and photographing 100 or so other boxing gyms across the country. The seven here in Philadelphia — the Front Street Gym, Champs Boxing Gym, Joe Frazier's Gym, James Shuler Memorial Boxing Gym, Jack Costello Boxing Club, Joe Eye's Goodfella's Boxing Club and the Legendary Blue Horizon — will be the primary focus of "American Fight Clubs," a photography exhibit opening Friday at the Painted Bride and extending through December.

The mix of black-and-white and color photographs pay homage to a secret side of boxing that few outsiders are privy to. It's a side without the flashiness of prizefighting and its stereotypical violence, corruption and exploitation. In a photo taken at the Front Street Gym, a fighter stares down a punching bag as if it were an opponent. As he practices his jab, his trainer observes, watching his form and concentration. In another taken at the James Schuler, a proud boxer stands in front of the ring with both arms raised and flexed, his steady eyes demanding respect from the viewer.

Lommasson found most gyms by word of mouth, as many had no Web site or listed telephone number. All were tucked away in tough, high-crime neighborhoods. "The trainers could tell you how many people were shot on the corner, or stabbed or beat up," says Lommasson, who routinely had to show up unannounced and after dark, the only time they were open.

The atmosphere inside presented a stark contrast. "Once you walked through the door it was almost like going to grandmother's house for Thanksgiving," he says. "The gyms are so mentoring, nurturing, warm and intimate. It isn't what we expect."

At Champs, kids had to show their report cards and keep their grades up in order to box. This, he says, was an "aha" moment. "The gyms play a supportive role of trying to give kids some direction, trying to give them discipline, trying to distract them from the seduction of the street."

But according to Lommasson, these gyms are a dying breed. For this reason, he felt compelled to document them before they disappeared. "The Smithsonian should find one of these gyms and pick it up brick by brick, poster by poster, duct tape on the bags," he says. "They are such classic American institutions."

Receptions Fri., Nov. 7, 6-9 p.m., and Fri., Dec. 5, 5-7 p.m., runs through Dec. 20, free, Painted Bride.