His final record: 44 wins, 36 knockouts, 9 losses and $0 in the bank.
Rocky, Carolyn and their two boys had moved back to Tacoma a year and a half after Lockridge's original retirement, in 1991, but the family didn't stay together for long.
Rocky and Carolyn split up shortly thereafter -- partially, Lockridge says, due to the stress of being broke and partially because he didn't know what to do without boxing. Drug addiction, Lockridge admits, may have played a part, too. Carolyn Lockridge could not be reached for comment.
In 1993, at age 34, Lockridge moved back to Camden. Alone.
"I could not handle not being involved in the fight game, not being a fighter or even partaking in the fight game as a trainer and/or manager," he says. "My wife, Carolyn, we both were somewhat slapped in the face and she realized Rocky couldn't handle the blow, what is he going to do? I just didn't know how to handle that. Her and I both began to see that we weren't going to be the team that we at one time had been -- inseparable."
Lockridge took a job working for William Jones & Son, Inc. in Camden, a drum and barrel company on Liberty Street, where he cleaned and painted barrels for $8 per hour starting in January 1994.
Shortly thereafter, he was arrested for burglary -- the first time -- but was sentenced to five years probation, according to court records. Three years later, he was arrested for burglary again, this time serving 27 months before being released in July of 1999.
He hasn't worked since.
When he got out of jail, he found he had nowhere to go and ended up on the streets.
"I don't know exactly what happened or how it happened or what happened at that particular time in my life," he says.
One thing he does remember is going back to using drugs.
"I knew a lot of people who I partied with here in Camden after a victory," he says.
Lockridge says that if you're going to be homeless, Camden is the place to be. There are many different places that will give you a free meal, many shelters that will put you up for a night.
Lockridge lives on the $140 a month and food stamps he receives from the government -- as well as pocket change he gets from panhandling. He says the stroke he suffered three years ago makes it difficult to walk, no less hold a job.
John O'Boyle/The Star-Ledger
Rocky Lockridge walks along a street in Camden.
He sleeps in shelters occasionally but admits he's had issues committing to a shelter because the curfew is sometimes as early as 7 p.m. Lately, he has slept in a mosquito-infested abandoned row house around the block from his regular corner.
And he continues to have troubles with the law, though his last arrest -- for criminal trespassing in May -- resulted only in community service.
Lockridge's troubles are similar to issues many other former fighters face. In many cases, some feel it's inevitable.
Former middleweight Alex Ramos, a friend of Lockridge's who founded the Retired Boxers Foundation in 1998, says boxers aren't equipped to handle life out of the ring. They are not trained in financial responsibility and, unlike other sports, there is no union to turn to for help.
"Boxers don't come from the Ivy Leagues and Beverly Hills, they come from ghettos and Third World countries, looking to get themselves out of poverty," he says. "A lot of times it's sad what happens to a lot of fighters when they retire."
Scott Frank, who fought out of Ice World at the same time as Lockridge, says promoters and managers (in Lockridge's case, the Duvas) should be responsible for putting aside money for when their boxers can't fight anymore.
"Lou always said Rocky was like a son to him, so how do you do that to your son?" Frank says. "He made enough money that they should have put some away for him, they should have taken care of him.
"What's $200 a week for life for a guy like Lou? Rocky fought his heart out for him."
Duva says he would be open to offering Lockridge a job training boxers -- but only if he stays clean and sober.
Orlando Pettigrew, a mail carrier and Camden resident, has befriended Lockridge in the last year after hearing that a former world champ was living on the streets. He looks out for Lockridge.
"He's a nice guy, he just needs to find his way again," Pettigrew says. "People call him The Champ, they greet him, hug him. People still look up to him. Any time I see him, that's what I see.
"It has to be hard, going from living in Mount Laurel to living here."
Lockridge doesn't mind losing his house as much as losing his family.
As he sits on his stoop, smoking a cigarette, he talks about why he is finally ready to turn his life around, find a place to live, give up drinking and drugs.
"I'm going to get it back together and say no to drugs," he said. "I've got a family that I want to spend some time with 'til my time is up on Planet Earth. I'm on a mission now, perhaps even greater than my mission before. My kids need me in their lives, experience being the best teacher."
John O'Boyle/The Star-Ledger
Rocky Lockridge (left) jokes with his friend Charles Braxton on a street corner in Camden.
Lockridge says he recently was tracked down by his son, Ricky, now 24, who lives in the Washington, D.C., area near Lamar. The twins were surprised to find out a few months ago that they have a half-brother, Ramond Dixon, 22, born in Camden but who now also lives in the D.C. area. The three have become close -- but they remain distant from their father.
"I remember spending time with him when I was 3 or 4, but he was never there at a steady pace," Ramond, known as "Ron-Ron," says. "Even though my dad wasn't there for me growing up, I never really had harsh feelings. I never was really upset. As a man now I can see that people make mistakes."
Ricky Lockridge has mixed feelings.
"It's sad. It hurts," he says about his dad's predicament. "But I never lost confidence in my dad, he's a strong person."
Lockridge says reuniting with his boys is his inspiration for cleaning up his life.
"Now I'm ready for this, mentally and physically, to get me back on track," Lockridge says. "I am in dire need of that kind of support and I want it. I've been knocked down. Now I'm finally ready to get back up."
The Retired Boxers Foundation says it will help him -- like his kids and Duva -- but only will do so if he gives up drugs and alcohol and sticks in a shelter.
"Rocky would be eligible for supplemental security income, which would provide a monthly check, housing and Medi-Cal, but one of the requirements is that he is sober," Jacquie Richardson, executive director of the RBF, says. "Boxers don't always want to accept help. Beyond brain injuries, the shame is overwhelming. They have regrets about what they didn't do, the mistakes they made, and it's really hard to forgive themselves. It keeps them hiding out where they are."
Lockridge says the need to see his sons and help them avoid the mistakes he made is the motivating force to clean up and accept the help of outsiders.
"Edumacation is the best occupation," he jokes. "Knowing how to handle your money, stay educated in all the areas so perhaps what happened to me will never happen to anyone else.
"It hurts. It hurts. In more ways than one, it hurts. How can you be a great man, father and husband ... how can you be a great champion and not be a great father, husband? Dad? It hurts. But I'm still alive. I can't make up for the lost time, but I can just get there, be there, spend the rest of the time with my wife and children and give them the time that I have left."