By John Hively (photo credit to Philly Boxing History)

Richard “Dick” Wagner of Portland, Oregon died a few weeks ago. He was one of the least known and most exciting contenders at that weight during the late Nineteen-forties. His fellow contenders included Ezzard Charles, Joey Maxim, Dan Bucceroni, Lloyd Marshall, Archie Moore, Gus Lesnevich, Danny Nardico, Freddie Mills and Jimmy Bivins, among many other top-notch pugilists.
 
Wagner’s rise to contendership status was rapid, and so too was his descent. Dick entered the ratings of the Ring Magazine in 1949 on the basis of consecutive TKO’s over contender Billy Fox, a ten round points win over another contender, the then undefeated Dan Bucceroni, and two wins over former middleweight contender, Artie Levine. Then Wagner lost six straight to major contenders, guys like Nick Barone, Bob Murphy and Jake LaMotta. This string of losses finished him as a contender by early 1950. 
 
Afterwards, he only fought eight more battles in the squared circle, but he never regained contender status. He was four wins and four losses in these bouts. His last two fights came against future heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson. Floyd won a split decision in Brooklyn, New York in April 1953, and then he scored a TKO over Wagner via a cut eye eight months later. Dick hung up the gloves after that fight.
 
Born in Toppenish, Washington in 1926, Wagner had begun his boxing career as an amateur on the Yakima Indian Reservation. During World War II, the Native-American served in the merchant marine. He began his professional boxing career in the Pacific Northwest in 1945, and then in 1947, he headed for the bright lights of the capital of boxing—New York City. He did most of his fighting on the East coast from then on until the end of his career.
 
Dick was a heavy fisted slugger, always coming forward. His style may account for the brevity of his success.
 
After leaving boxing, Wagner worked for the Union Pacific Railroad for thirty-two years. Dick also performed in small movie roles. He liked to hunt and fish. He also established the Multnomah Community Center Boxing Club after he came upon some young roughnecks looking for a fight. “’You want to fight?’” asked Dick, “’I’ll show you how to fight,’” and that’s why he established the club.
 
By all accounts, Dick was a great dad. He had two daughters and a son. His daughter Betty said, “’Dad was a gentle, but a really strong powerful, person.’” She recalled her father stepping in to break up fights among the neighborhood kids, and on at least one occasion he dared the bullies to take him on instead. Betty Wagner said of her father, “’It was like living with a superhero.’”
 
I met him a few times about twenty years ago. I had heard of him on many occasions from an older neighborhood friend named Larry Sandblast. “He was a hellava fighter,” Larry often told me, always forgetting that he had already said the same thing many times before. Then low and behold an older guy came into the gas station where I worked, and I began yapping with him. We discovered that we were both fight fans, and he introduced himself to me; he was Dick Wagner, and yes he knew this Larry Sandblast character.
 
A few days later, Dick came by the station and gave me a photocopy of a boxer being counted out by the referee. The snoozing fighter received the count of ten while standing on his head! He was fast asleep, tangled upside down in the ropes, perpendicular to the canvas, with his feet and legs in the air, head on the mat, when the referee finished the ten count. It was the only time I’d ever seen such a picture. “I did that to that guy,” Dick said proudly!
 
Years later I was regular substitute teacher at an alternative high school and low and behold Wagner’s nephew was a student there! I gave him that old photocopy and proudly admitted that I had known his uncle. What a coincidence!
 
Dick will be remembered a good fighter, never a great one, but he’ll also be remembered as a great man. He surely was that.