Gervonta Davis wore the victory spoils: his typical, bright post-fight smile and a freshly-accurate, pre-printed black t-shirt that read his nickname, “Tank,” and his new record as a pro, “23-0,” in white lettering. But this bout wasn’t as straightforward and clean as the previous 22. The uncommon dark bruises near his eyes afterward told the story, as did the final box score.

In the longest fight of his young pro career, West Baltimore’s own boxing champion added another bulky world title belt to his waist—but not without a test. Davis, who moved up to the 135-pound division for the first time to fight for the WBA Lightweight title, outlasted a defiant 38-year-old former champion Yuriorkis Gamboa—winning with a 12th-round knockout in front of 14,129 spectators Saturday night at State Farm Arena in Atlanta.

It was the first time that Davis fought past nine rounds since he turned pro in 2013. Usually his fights have ended with a powerful left-handed punch much earlier. But Gamboa, a veteran opponent, was game to go long despite early injury at Davis’ hand. In a second-round exchange, the Cuban boxer partially ruptured his Achilles’ tendon and went down to the canvas, but he kept fighting. (Apparently, that’s possible to do even with bad Achilles, but doctors don’t recommend it.)

Davis knocked Gamboa, who was 30-2 in his career before the match, down again in the eighth round before landing a late uppercut that ended things for good. Warning: The slow-motion replay of the knockout at the end of this video can be difficult to watch; we wouldn’t wish the head injury on our worst enemy.

In an interview in the ring afterward, Davis, an Upton Boxing Center product with a gold key to the city who is arguably Baltimore’s biggest sports headliner this side of Lamar Jackson, graded his performance as a “C-plus”—an honest assessment. In a press conference after the fight he said he should have hit his opponent in the body more and earlier to weaken him. But he also maintained perspective as he fielded a series of questions about why the fight went as long as it did.

“It was a great experience. I’m only 25 years old. I’m learning each and every day,” Davis said. “Leading into the fight, the media was writing [Gamboa] off. But in my heart, I knew that he was a good fighter. I wasn’t trying to go out there and rush it, and then get caught with a clean shot. Because I knew he had power, he was fast, and he got timing. My thing was go out there, touch him up, and not get hit.”

Davis got hit more than usual, but Gamboa still only connected on just 13 percent of his punches, compared to Davis’ 48-percent performance. Still, it was enough to leave a mark. On social media, Davis later wrote, “Wear my war wounds proudly,” in a caption of a photo of him showing off a black eye.

As has been the case during Davis’ entry and ascent in the highly promotional pro boxing world, a journey born from his hardscrabble Sandtown childhood, the post-fight conversation quickly turned to what’s next, as he enters the prime fighting and money-making days of his career. “2020 will be a big year. I believe I’m the top dog at 135/130 [pounds],” he said, before making a gun analogy that drew a few laughs. “Ain’t no safety on this glock. I’m willing to fight anybody.”

The discussion about his future begins with the fact that pro boxing has a kind of convoluted championship system, with different classifications within four world-recognized boxing organizations. The 5-foot-6 fire-hydrant-like Davis has won three world title belts—the World Boxing Association (WBA) regular lightweight title he won Saturday, and the WBA super featherweight (130-pound) title and the International Boxing Federation super featherweight titles he previously held but gave up with his move up in weight.

Many boxing observers have long pined for a meeting between Davis and 31-year-old, two-time former Olympic gold medalist and undefeated pro, Ukrainian Vasyl Lomachenko (oh, the politics that would be involved). Lomachenko is considered right now to be the “unified” lightweight world champion at 135 pounds, because he holds belts across several organizations. That matchup would theoretically decide the best lightweight fighter in the world, hands down, clear as crystal in a Drago vs. Apollo style confrontation.

But Davis could also go back down to 130 pounds to fight challengers such as Leo Santa Cruz, who’s publicly called for a matchup with Davis. (That’s how these guys do things and how matchups are sometimes made.) “Line them up,” Davis said.

Leonard Ellerbe, CEO of Davis’ representation Mayweather Promotions, says he has eyes next on what would be the young Davis’ first pay-per-view fight, though he couldn’t say where a fight would be or who it would be against. Formal discussions haven’t happened yet.

Davis sold out Royal Farms Arena in July in the first world championship boxing fight in Baltimore in nearly 50 years. He thrilled the hometown crowd with a second-round knockout against Ricardo Nunez. Saturday’s matchup in Atlanta, a city which Davis considers a second home, was also a sellout and drew a peak of 600,000 viewers on Showtime.

“He has star power,” Ellerbe said. “He puts behinds in the seats. And they tune in, because they want to see excitement. That’s what he brings to the table.”

He also brings his local brethren with him. Fellow Upton Boxing product Malik Hawkins fought on Saturday’s undercard, earning the biggest win of his undefeated pro career. He beat previously unbeaten Darwin Price, who injured his right leg in the fifth round and couldn’t continue. Hawkins, a super lightweight (135 to 140 pounds) who we first wrote about back in 2016, is now 18-0 with 11 knockouts in his pro career. (You can watch the entirety of Hawkins’ fight starting here around the 1:08:00 mark.)

Looking at the bigger picture, Davis has put Baltimore boxing back in the discussion for elite-level boxing matches for the first time since Hasim Rahman was on his way to becoming a world heavyweight champion. Gamboa’s trainer, Stacey McKinley, for instance, said after Saturday’s main event that he’d like to “come to Maryland and do something. I got other fighters.”

In any case, Davis might want to stay at his higher, 135-pound weight class. Before Saturday’s fight, he had trouble making weight, as has happened before several fights in his career. During what should have been an uneventful media weigh-in event (except for the promotional face-to-face photos), Davis was 136.2 pounds, but was given two hours by the WBA officials, who obviously wanted the title to be contested, to get under the mandated 135 pounds for lightweights.

We’re not sure exactly what Davis did to lose just over a pound that quick—though we suspect it included a lot of running, workouts and sweating in a hot room—but he eventually made weight before much less fanfare, dropping his pants to make it happen on the scale. Chalk it up as more experience, outside and inside the ring, and another plot point in the story of Tank Davis, Baltimore’s undisputed and still rising boxing star.

“This fight did a lot for Tank’s career,” Ellerbe said. “The train is going to keep on moving.”

Water Works

Plainfield Road, Dundalk
April 2, 2016

It’s raining, but not enough to dissuade the volunteers, now pulling on ponchos along with hip waders. About 150 friends, neighbors, and students are gathering in John Long’s yard for the annual spring cleanup of historic Bread & Cheese Creek, which this morning means trying to avoid getting wet from above as well as below.

“Amazing turnout, isn’t it?” laughs the good-natured Long, loading metal signposts dug from the creek into a recycling cart. He launched the nonprofit Clean Bread & Cheese Creek in 2009 after purchasing his father-in-law’s bungalow-style house, which sits alongside the stream.

According to local lore, Bread & Cheese takes its name from the War of 1812’s Battle of North Point, when it served as a popular spot for soldiers to rest and eat their rations—although the true story behind the name isn’t clear. Not in dispute, however, is that the creek, adjacent to Merritt Boulevard shopping centers, had been a mess for decades.

Over the past seven years, Long’s army has pulled some 112 tons of trash from the 3.7-mile waterway, including 328 shopping carts, 429 tires, 92 bicycles, three bathtubs, a pool table, a seesaw, and an unopened bottle of Pepsi from 1986. Minnows, frogs, and even small snakes have since returned, notes volunteer George Fischer, whose school-age sons lend a hand during a final walk-through in the creek’s shallow waters.

For many of the youngest volunteers, however, the environmental aspect of the cleanup takes second place to the chance to muck and scavenge around in the creek.

“I found a BB gun, that was pretty cool,” says one local girl, drying her socks. “Last year, I found a car engine.”

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Sweet Memories

Harford Road
April 9, 2016

In the small waiting room inside the Wockenfuss Candies factory, visitors pull on hair nets as a video on a flat-screen TV explains how cocoa beans are extracted from football-shaped pods, which can grow close to a foot in length in Central America. “I can’t believe how big it is,” a middle-school boy says in admiration as he picks up one of the rough, leathery cocoa pods on hand. Ultimately, of course, the chocolate made from the beans inside those pods finds its way to Northeast Baltimore, arriving on 1,800-pound pallets in the form of 10-pound bars.

Today marks Wockenfuss’s fourth annual factory tour, drawing close to 2,000 chocolate lovers for a behind-the-scenes look at how liquid caramel gets drizzled over cashews and then broken into bite-size patties, for example.

Launched 101 years ago by Herman Wockenfuss, a Prussian immigrant, the company has expanded to nine retail locations between Baltimore and Ocean City, while also growing its shipping service. But it’s still a family-operated, locally owned enterprise, notes treasurer Janice Wockenfuss Motter, a fourth-generation staffer.

To her point, most people on the tour appear to either know one of the employees working this morning or recall when the factory was still located in nearby row houses.

“I ate Wockenfuss candy as a child, too,” says Gail DeNicolis as two women hand-dip marshmallows into a creamy vat of chocolate behind her. DeNicolis has worked here for nine years after a career in special education. “When I was 4 or 5, my aunt walked me to the original storefront on Belair Road at Easter. During the holidays, we get requests from all over the country from people who grew up in the area and want to send Wockenfuss chocolate and candy to their family. I know why: The taste reminds them of their childhood. Same as me.”

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Not Sitting Still

Pennsylvania Avenue
April 16, 2016

At Triangle Park, the narrow, grassy oasis between Pennsylvania and North Freemont avenues, the ninth annual No Boundaries Coalition block party is in full swing. Among other performers, two raucous local marching bands, New Twilighters and Baltimore Christian Warriors, are attracting appreciative crowds to the stage area. There’s also mosaic-making and face-painting for kids, as well as produce from the new community stand—Fresh at the Avenue—for sale.

Originally founded as the Boundary Block Party—named to highlight the geographical, racial, and economic divide between largely white, upscale Bolton Hill and Central West Baltimore—those early efforts eventually gave birth to the No Boundaries Coalition, which is also shuttling residents to the polls today for early primary voting.

To that end, just a little farther down Pennsylvania Avenue, pastor C.W. Harris is climbing onto the fire escape ladder alongside the Jubilee Arts building. The 66-year-old lifelong Sandtown resident isn’t climbing down, however, but up—to the top, where he promises to remain until 500 of his neighbors cast a ballot.

The roof of the three-story Jubilee Arts center—Harris founded the nonprofit—has been equipped with a tent and portable toilet, but little in terms of creature comforts.

“After what happened last year, a bunch of us [community activists] met right there,” Harris says, pointing across the way to St. Peter Claver Catholic Church. “Everybody said politicians don’t listen to the community because no one votes, but no one knew how to inspire more people to vote. Finally, I said, ‘Look, I’ll go up on the roof until people vote.’ I was willing to do anything. So, here I am.”

Postscript: After Harris’s five days on the roof, Sandtown turnout more than tripled from the previous election.

We trailed Sanders around during his tour of Sandtown in West Baltimore in December and never heard mention of his familiarity with the city. Then again, his first marriage took place a little more than 50 years ago. Shiling is described by the Daily Mail as the 74-year-old’s former “college sweetheart.”

In recent days, The Washington Post reported that the young couple visited Israel, spending several months on a kibbutz. Larry Sanders, Bernie’s older brother, described the Israel trip as “part of their honeymoon” tour. Larry has lived in England since the late 1960s—the honeymooning couple also visited there—and he is a member of the Green Party member and a former county councilor.

As a young woman, Deborah Shiling Messing, like Sanders, was involved in social justice issues as a student civil rights activist at the University of Chicago. She apparently joined the Congress of Race Equality in 1960 and participated in a number of sit-ins in segregated restaurants in Baltimore.

From the Daily Mail: “The couple met in college and moved to a sugar shack without electricity on 85 acres of land in Middlesex, a small hamlet just outside the Vermont capital of Montpelier. They bought it for just $2,500.”

The marriage didn’t last long, however—just less than two years. But Shiling Messing also still resides in Vermont. The good news is they appear to have remained on cordial terms:

“I really don’t want to say much,” Shiling Messing, also remarried, told the Daily Mail. “All I can say is I believe in Bernie Sanders and I am a strong supporter.”

What did they tell you that they wanted out of it?
They didn’t prescribe anything. We had free reign. That was kind of the beauty of it being their first ad campaign. They were happy to follow our lead.

Can you talk a bit about your creative process?
There were a couple of rounds before we nailed down the line ‘for a better us.’ It just felt like the truest space and like it was saying something that needed to be said now. Relevancy was really big for them. They’re an old organization, so they wanted to feel like the now.

Why did you decide to go with Baltimore as the featured community?
We explored a bunch of different places. We ended up working with the director Seb Edwards, who is actually from the UK. Baltimore was one of the communities we visited because it’s been in the media a lot for not great reasons. But we know the people in the community are amazing. That’s what the Y does, it tries to level the playing field. Everyone was so phenomenal, amazing, and collaborative. Everyone had a great story. The place, spiritually and emotionally, really captured us.

How long were you here in Baltimore filming?
We were there for about three-and-a-half weeks. We started out casting and we realized it was silly because there were so many great stories out in the real world. So then we started ‘street casting,’ met their friends, then friends of friends. We asked people what they do and where they hung out. It was important for us to keep it authentic. I think the area gets enough misconception. We wanted to shoot in an area of Baltimore that gets a bad wrap, so that was West Baltimore, which is a place we’ve heard about a lot recently. We shot ‘Idle Hands’ in Dundalk because we wanted something that felt a bit more suburban.

What do you feel is the overall takeaway from the ads?
I think the overarching slogan ‘for a better us’ is what we really wanted to bring to life in different ways. Everything the Y does is in service for making us better. It was important to show how that comes to light in different ways. The relevancy played a huge role. Over the course of working with them, we learned that it really is one of the only organizations to level the playing field for everyone. It’s an election year, we’ve seen a lot of issues in the news about Sandtown and West Baltimore. You never hear underlying stories of why these communities are actually in the news. It’s systemic and people aren’t given an equal shot. The Y is working in hundreds other communities like this around the country. They prop us all up and make us all better.

Will you be running similar ads with other cities in the future?
We haven’t really decided on our plan for the next year. We do have a couple of different pieces coming out following these two spots. One of them is very different in tone, it’s a little bit lighter. We also have a partnership with The New York Times [called “Reverse the News”]. It allows readers to counteract bad news in the press by donating to a local Y initiative that mitigates the problem. For example, if you’re reading a new study about diabetes, you’ll see an ad about how the Y is working to fight that cause.

How did you feel about Baltimore after spending some time there?
I have a really good friends who lives in Baltimore, so I had been there before. But I hadn’t spent much time in these communities. I think it’s like anywhere—you get to know a place by spending time there and eventually it reveals itself. We found that the people were really great and so that became the focus.