'Macho' Camacho declared dead
Source: Agencies |
November 25, 2012, Sunday
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HECTOR "Macho" Camacho, a Puerto Rican boxer known for skill and flamboyance in the ring as well as for a messy personal life and run-ins with the police, was declared dead yesterday, four days after being shot in the face. He was 50.
Shot while sitting in a parked car outside a bar on Tuesday with a friend in the city of Bayamon in Puerto Rico, he was declared dead at the Centro Medico trauma center in San Juan. The friend, 49-year-old Adrian Mojica Moreno, died at the scene of the shooting. Police said Mojica had nine small bags of cocaine in his pocket and a 10th bag was found open in the car.
Originally from Bayamon, just outside San Juan, Camacho was long regarded as a flashy if volatile talent, a skilled boxer who was perhaps overshadowed by his longtime foil, Mexican superstar Julio Cesar Chavez, who would beat him in a long-awaited showdown in Las Vegas in 1992. He had a career record of 79-6-3.
Camacho fought professionally for three decades, from his humble debut against David Brown at New York's Felt Forum in 1980 to an equally forgettable swansong against Sal Duran in Kissimmee, Florida, in 2010.
In between, he fought some of the biggest stars spanning two eras, including Sugar Ray Leonard, Felix Trinidad, Oscar De La Hoya and Roberto Duran.
"This is something I've done all my life, you know?" Camacho said after a workout in 2010. "A couple years back, when I was doing it, I was still enjoying it. The competition, to see myself perform. I know I'm at the age that some people can't do this no more."
On Friday, Camacho's mother said she had decided to have doctors cut off life support for the former world champion once three more of his sons got a last chance to see him.
Though opposed by Camacho's eldest son, Maria Matias said she had decided it was time for doctors to disconnect the machines that have kept him alive since he was shot in the face earlier in the week. "I lost my son three days ago. He's alive only because of a machine," Matias said. "My son is not alive. My son is only alive for the people who love him."
She said at a news conference Friday night that she was waiting only for Camacho's three other sons, who were expected to arrive from the United States mainland early yesterday. "Until they arrive, we will not disconnect the machine," Matias said.
Camacho's family moved to New York when he was young and he grew up in Spanish Harlem, which at the time was rife with crime. Camacho landed in jail as a teenager before turning to boxing, which for many kids in his neighborhood provided an outlet for their aggression.
Shot while sitting in a parked car outside a bar on Tuesday with a friend in the city of Bayamon in Puerto Rico, he was declared dead at the Centro Medico trauma center in San Juan. The friend, 49-year-old Adrian Mojica Moreno, died at the scene of the shooting. Police said Mojica had nine small bags of cocaine in his pocket and a 10th bag was found open in the car.
Originally from Bayamon, just outside San Juan, Camacho was long regarded as a flashy if volatile talent, a skilled boxer who was perhaps overshadowed by his longtime foil, Mexican superstar Julio Cesar Chavez, who would beat him in a long-awaited showdown in Las Vegas in 1992. He had a career record of 79-6-3.
Camacho fought professionally for three decades, from his humble debut against David Brown at New York's Felt Forum in 1980 to an equally forgettable swansong against Sal Duran in Kissimmee, Florida, in 2010.
In between, he fought some of the biggest stars spanning two eras, including Sugar Ray Leonard, Felix Trinidad, Oscar De La Hoya and Roberto Duran.
"This is something I've done all my life, you know?" Camacho said after a workout in 2010. "A couple years back, when I was doing it, I was still enjoying it. The competition, to see myself perform. I know I'm at the age that some people can't do this no more."
On Friday, Camacho's mother said she had decided to have doctors cut off life support for the former world champion once three more of his sons got a last chance to see him.
Though opposed by Camacho's eldest son, Maria Matias said she had decided it was time for doctors to disconnect the machines that have kept him alive since he was shot in the face earlier in the week. "I lost my son three days ago. He's alive only because of a machine," Matias said. "My son is not alive. My son is only alive for the people who love him."
She said at a news conference Friday night that she was waiting only for Camacho's three other sons, who were expected to arrive from the United States mainland early yesterday. "Until they arrive, we will not disconnect the machine," Matias said.
Camacho's family moved to New York when he was young and he grew up in Spanish Harlem, which at the time was rife with crime. Camacho landed in jail as a teenager before turning to boxing, which for many kids in his neighborhood provided an outlet for their aggression.
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