Confidential File 

Keeny Bares Facts on Fight With Kid H.

Keeny Teran's back home.

The former boy wonder of boxing who went sour on narcotics is, at the age of 28, going to give life another try.

This week, he finished a three-year stretch at Soledad State Prison. The crime that sent him there — peddling heroin — was just one of the hundreds of stories that kept Keeny in the headlines here for a decade.

In
his glorious, notorious life, boxing's most publicized bad boy was
jailed for burglary and dope, crowned as California's and NorthAmerican's bantam weight champion, and credited, in 1952, for the most courageous comeback in the history of the ring.

Yesterday, Keeny Teran sat down with me only hours after he walked through the prison gates, to discuss the next chapter in his life.

And he admitted that it might be a pretty dull one, so far as newspaper headlines are concerned.

"I'm going to try to do things right," he told me. "When I was at Soledad, I didn't serve time. I made it serve me. I read everything I could get my hands on."

"What kind of books?" I asked.

"Well, like one on the life of Teddy Roosevelt. I really picked up on him."

In prison Keeny
became editor of the paper. He also went to school for three and a half
hours a days until he made up enough credits to get his high school
diploma.

"On the outside I was always too busy with boxing," he explained, adding softly, "and other things."

"Other
things" included a taste for marijuana at the age of 11 and a side
career as an addict which started with his first fix of heroin the day
before his 15th birthday.

With no trace of false pride or tough guy in his voice, Keeny talked about those days.

"Nobody
forced me. Nobody offered it to me. I just took it," he said. "Dope is
its own agent. I just thought it won't happen to me. I'mKeeny."

Just about all through my boxing career I was hooked," he added. "That's something most people don't realize."

In June of 1952, after 17 straight wins, the kid lost to Tommy Umeda.
"Before that, I was just using mildly," he said. "But when I lost that
fight, it broke my heart. I figured I was indestructible. I couldn't
lose.

"After that is when I stated using heavy."

By the end of that year Keeny was back on top of the world. He'd reversed the Umeda decision and for five weeks "beaten" the habit long enough to have everybody in Hollywood begging to do his life story.

"I
had everything to live for," he said. But his habit was bigger than he
was. He fought some more, won some good fights, lost a few — and all
the time he was fooling the State Athletic Commission doctors.

"Say
we'd weigh in at 12 o'clock. I'd take my fix at 1 o'clock. then I'd
wait until after 8 o'clock examination at the arena to fix again. I'd
spread them around all over my body. No tracks that way."

I asked Keeny if some more boxing might be in his future.

"Right now," he said, "I just don't know. I feel fine. I worked out all the time up there. I've never been in better shape.

"But who knows what the boxing commission is thinking of me now?"

Today's Today and That's for Me

"What I'd like to do," Keeny
added, "is get a job in an office. I'd like to be  sports writer, but I
know I'm not ready. I learned a lot up there, but I still sweat blood
getting one little column done.

"Another thing," the grown-up
kid went on, "I'm no crusader. I'm not going to go around telling what
a bad guy I was and how wrong I was. Right now I'm going to take each
day one by one, and make it my job to take care ofKeeny."

I hope he does a helluva good job.

Confidential File

'Justice' in Tijuana Is Extremely Tricky

It's traditional for imaginative American youngsters to be infected with wanderlust.

This is the story of an American youngster whose wanderlust led him to the grim obscurity of a Mexican federal prison.

His name: Robert Petersen.

At
17, he wasn't a particularly cocky little kid. But he did have his own
brand of bravado — exactly the kind of bravado that you'd suspect a
17-year-old who didn't yet scale 100 pounds and lacked an inch of being
5 ft. tall to affect.

Bobby like sharp clothes, flashy cars, and
race horses weighing  nearly a ton. He liked walking "hots" – cooling
off thoroughbreds after they'd worded out — because someday he was
going to be a jockey.

That was the motivation to leave school,
to leave home. His folks were nice people. He'd keep in touch. But you
can't learn how to ride a horse in your living room.

He worked the fairs, picking up $10 or $20 a day and some feedbag tips worth five and 10 times his salary.

It was one of those tips, in his short career at the tracks, that led him to the races at Tijuana's Caliente track.

It was a good tip and his $5 mutuel
ticket netted him enough to pay the rent on a shiny, new U-drive car.
At least, for a few days. But Bobby wasn't old enough to sign for it
himself. So he found a taxi driver in Tijuana — a friend of a friend
— who would.

He reportedly paid him $25 in advance. Then, he headed for San Diego to pick up a girlfriend for a drive-in movie date.

Bobby
told the taxi driver that he'd probably be gone a day. But he made the
mistake of being gone two days before he headed back for Tijuana.

And then he made his second mistake. Instead of driving straight for the house of taxi-driver, he stopped off at Caliente to put down two bucks on a horse he'd heard was ready to run.

The
horse was good but Bobby's luck wasn't when he walked out into the
parking lot after the sixth race. The nervous taxi driver had spotted
his car while dropping off a customer, and had then called the Tijuana
police to tell them that the car had been stolen from him. The police,
and a jail cell, were waiting for Bobby when he arrived in the lot.

The
kid got a trial, just like everybody else in Tijuana — except his, in
certain respects, was better. The U-drive representative testified that
the bill was paid in full. And thecabbie added that the whole thing was just a mistake.

But the judge didn't see it their way. Bobby was guilty of stealing the car.

And
suitable punishment for the crime would be four years hard time, in the
dusty, sun-soaked federal pen on the eastern outskirts of Tijuana.

For
more than a year, that's been the home of this teen-age kid. He's got a
knife gash on his back and some sores and bruises to prove it.

He's
been sleeping on the ground until it's comfortable and eating mush
until it almost tastes good.  I've been told that he doesn't complain
any more. It's healthier not to. Even if your family sends you shoes
and shirts and socks and somebody else wears them, it's better not to
say anything.

Besides, he's going to get out soon. His parents have fought his case to the Baja California court of appeals, and now it's been decided that for $640 he can buy his conditional release.

'We'll Get the Money'

I telephoned his folks yesterday, at their home in Northern California.

They've
got other kids — other mouths to feed — they admitted, but maybe by
selling a few things and contacting all their friends, they'll be able
to raise it.

"We'll get the money somehow," his mother told me. "We've got to."

And from what I've heard about teenage American prisoners in Mexican prisons, they better raise that money. Real fast.

Confidential File

New Fast Buck Method

Just when I think I'm wise in all the ways we can fleeced, I run across a new one.

This time the suckers — some 80 of them in the El Monte-Rosemead area — got taken to the tune of roughly $3,000.

But these weren't the usual type of "suckers"  — the kind who fall for the something-for-nothing line.

They
were just plain people. And if you say what happened to them couldn't
have happened to you or to me, I for one won't believe you.

Their only error it judgment was in trusting a neighborhood businessman to do a chore for which he was fully qualified.

The
businessman operated a self-service gas station in their neighborhood.
And, like so many other gas station operators, he offered a special
service to his customers last January, when 1959 auto license renewal
applications were being taken by the state.

Leave your money and application with him and he'd pick up your new tabs for you.

A lot of people took advantage of his convenient offer, and a week later they received their '59 registrations.

And,
so far as they knew, everything was fine — until each of them received
the following letter from J.W. Meyer, departmental accounting officer,
State Department of Motor Vehicles, a few days ago.

"Dear Sir:

"On Jan. 30, 1959, Mr. Thomas Gould, also known as Thomas Goldberg, presented a check for $1,619 to our West Covina office for 89 renewal applications. The check was subsequently returned unpaid by the bank with the notation, 'uncollectible funds.'

"We
have made numerous attempts to collect from Mr. Gould but, to date, he
has not reimbursed us. Since remittance was made by a dishonored check,
it is the same as if no payment had been made. Therefore, penalties
have become due on the registrations.

"We are turning to you, the registered owner of the vehicle, for payment of the unpaid fees and penalties.

"Please
forward a remittance of (amount) to us in the form of a cashier's check
or money order. If payment is not received within 10 days, we have no
alternative under the California Vehicle Code but to request that
seizure and sale papers be issued and additional costs assessed.

Advised to See DA

"If
Mr. Gould reimburses us at a later date we will refund your payment. In
the meantime, we suggest that you see your district attorney to find
out if he can assist in recovering your funds.

"Thank you very much for your assistance in this troublesome matter."

That's a politely worded missive, I'll have to admit. Unfortunately for those involved, however, the DMV is apparently within its rights.

The
department authorizes no one — and  that includes auto clubs,
insurance men, banks, finance companies and gas stations — to serve as
its agent in collecting renewal fees. These outfits do it strictly as a
customer service and if you trust an unreliable one you're stuck.

These
are cases on record where independent service station operators headed
south with a suitcase or two full of their clients' money.

This, however, wasn't the situation with Goldberg, from what I've learned. he had presented the DMV with some good checks prior to the final week in January.

A
few days ago the authorities finally got around to picking him up. He
was booked by Temple City sheriffs and charged with two counts of grand
theft and one check count.

But that's not much consolation, I'm
afraid, to the individuals who are finding that they're going to have
to pay their 1959 auto registration twice, plus approximately 80% more
in penalties.

For one man my sympathies are particularly keen.
He got renewals for all three cars in his family. His fee and penalty
billing by theDMV this week was a tidy $174.

Even knowledge, in these days of inflation, comes high.