When you lose a friend: Harry Wiley Jr.

I have tears in my eyes as I write this. 

Some people in this world are sincerely kind. 

Harry Wiley Jr. was one of them. 

I could feel it every time we spoke on the phone.   

Though very ill and facing an uncertain future, he always asked how I was. 

That was Harry. 

We met on Facebook several years ago.

It saddens me that though we talked about it often, we never got together in person to discuss books, politics, old movies, and boxing. 

Harry’s father was the renowned trainer, Harry Wiley Sr. 

One day, I expressed an interest in writing about his dad. Harry was thrilled. For over 40 years, he had campaigned tirelessly to get his father inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. 

I wrote the article and called the IBHOF. 

I spoke to Ed Brophy. He was sympathetic.

Harry had been told that the IBHOF felt his father’s name didn’t have enough “sizzle. 

“One night I was talking to (Muhammad) Ali,” Wiley Jr. says. “He asked me if my father was in the International Boxing Hall of Fame.” I said, “no."

Ali said, “I want you to call Ed Brophy and you tell him I want Harry Wiley in that damn Hall of Fame. You tell him Muhammad Ali said so.” 

The conversation happened over 40 years ago, but Harry Sr. still sits outside the hall. 

Harry’s stories about his father were enthralling and historical. 

The man had trained Sugar Ray Robinson. Met him when he (Sugar Ray) was a teen. Helped mold him - guided Robinson’s to his last fight. Trained Ali.

Still, he’s like a ghost to the IBHOF. 

I would often dream of the day Harry would represent his father at the hall. 

In the last few months, as his health failed, I could feel Harry losing hope. 

His father would never have his day. I would try to cheer him up.

Harry desperately wanted me to pen a biography on his father. 

I wasn’t sure I could give the man his due. 

“You can do it, John,” Harry often said. 

Even though his friendship and support meant everything, I never got around to it. 

I should have.

I’ll miss his intelligence and humor. 

His depth and feeling. 

But most of all, his kindness.

Rest easy, my friend. 
John