Wright: For Danny Romero, boxing is in the past (but what a past it was)

Kid Dynamite, AKA Danny Romero, turned 50 on July 12. Fifty!

On top of that, he’s a grandpa. His daughter, Danimarie, is the mother of two.

He can hardly believe it himself.

“I hit 50, baby!” Romero said in a phone interview. “How in the hell? I would never have thought that.”’

The original purpose of the interview was to get the Albuquerque boxing legend’s take on Saturday’s Top Rank, Inc. card at Tingley Coliseum — but also to catch up on the former world champion himself.

He’s lived quite a life, both in boxing and now, purposefully, out of it.

Does he still love the sport? Yes, then, now and always. But he’s rarely, if ever, seen at local boxing cards.

Romero said he’s been approached to be part of this fight week; he was a Top Rank fighter as he rose to world contender status and when he won his first world title in 1995.

He has no plans to do so.

Relations between Top Rank and Romero’s late father, always known as Big Danny as opposed to Little Danny, were often stormy. When Romero lost to fellow Albuquerque fighter Johnny Tapia in Las Vegas in July 1997, Top Rank was Tapia’s promoter and not Romero’s.

But for Romero, it’s not about that. It’s not about nursing grudges; he has none — only gratitude, more than 18 years after his last fight, to everyone who helped him along the way.

He’s grateful most of all to his father, though, and losing him in 2019 left him rudderless in a lot of ways but particularly where boxing was concerned.

Without Big Danny, there would have been no Little Danny. It was Big Danny who’d lock him in the gym overnight when he was training for a fight.

It was Big Danny who had him hit the training mitts while standing on two paint cans, developing the balance that helped him become one of his era’s most powerful punchers.

It was Big Danny who stubbornly resisted early attempts to get his son in the ring with Tapia, waiting — correctly as it turned out — for a bigger payday.

A while back, Romero said, he was in Las Vegas, Nevada on business and wound up talking to Top Rank chairman and founder Bob Arum.

“Bob said (in a friendly way), ‘You son of a bitch, you gave me so much hell back then,’” Romero recalled. “‘Why aren’t you still in boxing?’”

“He was giving me real good props,” Romero said. “It was wonderful. But I had to tell him, ‘Listen, it’s extremely difficult for me. I’m not trying to be a little crybaby, but without my father, when I go to these (boxing cards), it’s fricking horrible.’”

After Romero retired as a boxer, he promoted a few cards.

The last one he tried to stage, he canceled due to poor ticket sales.

He just wasn’t, he realizes now, the businessman he needed to be.

Nor was he any longer Kid Dynamite, the ferocious puncher who floored Colombia’s Harold Grey four times in two rounds in winning his second world title at the Pit in 1996.

“I lost myself a little bit,” he said. “My life, I thought it was a lie.”

Enter Ricardo Chaves, an Albuquerque businessman who became the mentor Romero had lacked.

Romero now partners with Chaves in ownership of parking lots in Albuquerque and throughout the nation.

“Now I own a lot of commercial properties,” Romero said. “I own a lot of real estate.

“I want to be a world champion (at business) now, and do the same thing we did that my father taught me from 5 years old. The only way to win is to work your ass off.”

Life is good, he said. He has been with his wife, Michelle, for almost 30 years. His son, Danny — Danny Boy — is 14 and works out at his father’s Hideout Boxing Club.

Yes, there is still a Hideout Boxing Club, founded by his dad in the mid-80s and now located in the basement of the old Albuquerque High School building.

For Romero, that’s one connection to boxing he’ll never let go.

“The Hideout ain’t never gonna be closed,” he said. “My father fought hard for that and did tons of great things here in our state.’

I’ve known Romero for this long: My first feature article on him ran in the Journal on Dec. 17, 1987, in advance of the New Mexico Silver Gloves amateur championships. He was 13 and already had 78 amateur fights — winning 75 of them.

As with Top Rank, my dealings with Big Danny Romero didn’t always go smoothly. Little Danny doesn’t care about any of that, if he even remembers. For him, a natural optimist, the good has always outweighed the bad.

Boxing? He’s moved on.

Then again: “I never wanted to disrespect boxing, because I wouldn’t be where I’m at right now if it wasn’t for boxing.

“Bottom line.”