Plenty of fight left in 86-year-old boxer

When the bell marked the end of the round, Vernon J. Linder yanked off his boxing gloves, wiped sweat from his neck, and wedged a hearing aid back into his ear.

Linder, 86, sat down on a folding chair in the Washington Avenue gym and wondered whether his sparring partner, a hulking, 29-year-old mixed martial arts instructor, was taking it easy on him out there for the last couple of minutes.

"If I go to a gym and they've never seen me workout, they don't want to spar with me because they're afraid they're going to hurt me," Linder said. "If they have seen me working out, they're afraid they're going to spar with me because they're afraid I'm going to hurt them. Neither one is very likely. I know how to pull back my punches."

Linder, who won a Bronze Star for rescuing six men in the Korean War, said his right cross is his most formidable weapon. But his self confidence has some snap too.

The Northeast Philly resident still boxes two days a week, wherever he can, a nomad with white tennis shoes and a black gym bag who prefers a live opponent to a heavy bag. He began boxing as a teenager in the 1940s in Olney, and claimed he fought professionally under the name "Victor Lynne" in "little obscure places" around Chicago after graduating from high school.

No ever beat Victor Lynne, Linder said, and he still wears that name emblazoned across the bottom of his baggy, orange shorts.

It was the war, he said, that cut his career short.

As a member of the 179th Infantry Regiment, Linder was a boxing coach, he said, but he returned to Philadelphia a hero. In 1952, he led a team to rescue men under enemy fire near Karhyon-dong, Korea and was awarded a Bronze Star for valor.

He's kept an article about his honor that was printed in the Northeast Times.

"There were six men, trapped, injured, sick and exhausted, all under artillery fire from the Chinese," he said. They were all American soldiers. It was kind of harrowing. It wasn't my job, I volunteered. I dragged them and carried their weapons."

When the war was over, Linder returned to Philly, got married and had three children. He owned a furniture restoration business in Bucks County, boxed as much as he could, and fired off editorials to the local papers.

For the past several months Linder has sent letters stuffed with his resume and photos of him boxing to a reporter, saying he wanted to inspire the elderly everywhere to get up and get moving. He hopes to write a book about staying in shape, even for those closing in on a century.

"Age has nothing to do with infirmity," he said. "Luck has nothing to do with it either. I can do it because I do it. You can't do it because you haven't done anything for three, four decades."

Matt Makowski, the fighter who Linder sparred with at Daddis Mixed Martial Arts Academy in Southwest Center City last week, said the elderly boxer just showed up one recent day with his gear.

"He just kind of started talking about boxing and he showed me what he had," Makowski said. "Our gym is open to anybody."

Asked if he took it easy on Linder, Makowski simply said he made the seasoned fighter earn every shot.

Bill Ruscher, owner of Old Dogs Boxing Club in Ringoes, N.J., said Linder drives up from time to time and wants to spar with the best the gym has.

Ruscher admires the kid's spunk.

"Yeah, he bounces around the gym," Ruscher said. "My mom is 86. She's sitting in a chair looking at me mostly. He has mental toughness. It's in his mind more than it's in his game."

Linder, a widowed father of three, didn't linger after his demo at Daddis's. He had a lady friend, 20 years his junior, to visit and he'd soon be wandering into another gym in the Philadelphia area, looking to dance with their best.

"I did put on some weight but it hasn't slowed me down," he said, slipping on his sneakers. "I need to keep up my speed."

narkj@phillynews.com

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