Las Vegas Sun

May 5, 2024

Blind dad coaches son on boxing’s finer points

Martin Gallegos is shadowboxing a few feet away from his father. The 10-year-old appears minuscule near his 300-pound papa. He throws rights, lefts, jabs, hooks, uppercuts. Dad drops quiet reminders.

"Keep that chin down. Keep a wide base. Straighten those arms out. Straight as an arrow."

Martin quickly adheres, knowing little gets by his father, who is staring right through him. It doesn't matter that his father is blind.

Levey Gallegos lost his sight five years ago due to diabetes. Even with sight he never boxed, but his voracious appetite for the sport devoured every bit of knowledge -- techniques, strategies, philosophies.

"I guess you can say I have a feel for boxing," Levey says, flashing a cherub's grin.

And Bernice Gallegos helps put it all together. Martin's mom acts as the eyes of the operation, relaying the blow by blow to her husband.

"My wife watches everything," Levey says. "When Bernice got involved, it was the best thing that ever could have happened to Martin."

Martin, a natural southpaw, recently became the only Nevada boxer of any age group to win a regional tournament and qualify for the national Silver Gloves tournament. He already is a two-time state champ in his age and weight classifications.

His accomplishments landed him in the Feb. 24 Sports Illustrated's "Faces in the Crowd." His photo, with former junior-welterweight champion Frankie Randall, appeared in the August 1995 edition of World Boxing magazine.

That's not all. The fifth-grader is an honor-roll student at Twin Lakes Elementary and, like his father, plays guitar.

But right now, it's time to train. After every school day, Martin works out for two hours. When he's not at the Golden Gloves Gym, he's honing his skills at home.

"He's going to be a KO artist," Levey says. "He definitely works on making his punches hard."

A converted family room serves as a gym, with two heavy bags, a speed bag, exercise bike, treadmill, weight bench and assorted accessories. The walls of this open area are lined with dozens of 8x10 photos of Martin and Levey, posing with a Who's Who of the boxing community: Mike Tyson, Oscar De La Hoya, Julio Cesar Chavez, Terry Norris, Eddie Futch.

"I've been in a couple of sports and they're all boring compared to boxing," says Martin, who currently hovers around 90 pounds.

Still seated before his son, Levey slips on the hand pads. Martin's gloves turn rapid-fire. For his own safety, Levey has assigned each six- and seven-punch combination a number. That way he knows which punches are coming and from where.

The two virtually move as one.

"He trains me like no other trainer ever could," Martin says.

And Martin already has had some good ones. Former two-time world champion Roger Mayweather was one such coach, but Levey took over because he felt he could do better.

"I couldn't understand the logic behind some of their training methods," Levey says. "He was getting knocked on his butt, bloody noses. I wanted him to quit and he started crying. He begged me not to make him quit."

Martin stayed with it and, with the help of his father, proved a capable fighter. He regularly spars with 13- and 14-year-olds and owns a 17-3 record with 4 KOs.

"He has that rare combination of speed and power and determination," Levey says. "Martin wants to be the best. He lives boxing. Sometimes I have to tell him 'That's enough, son. Relax.'"

But he can't. Martin is working toward awesome goals.

"Turning pro, I'm counting the years," he says. "The competition is going to be harder, but I'm going to get better. Just the whole idea of turning pro seems so exciting to me."

Becoming a professional, however, is just the first step in attaining his ultimate dreams.

"I plan to become the heavyweight champion of the world so I can buy my dad some new eyes and my family a new house," says Martin, who has two sisters: Irene, 19, and Betty, 17.

"Sometimes I think about it and wish my dad could see real bad, but then I don't want to think about it because I'll start to cry."

The thought of his son's wishes evokes the same emotions in Levey.

"To hear his goal to be world champ, I have no doubt in my mind he'll achieve that," he says. "Then, to hear the first thing on his list is new eyes. ... He says 'If I could get you new eyes, you can see me and tell me what you think.' Tears would start flowing."

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