They called him the "Hammer'' in deference to his devastating left hook, iron forged in the smelter of the dark backstreets of downtown St. Paul as a youngster and during trips to school in an ethnically mixed neighborhood where differences in nationality and race were reasons to fight.

The alleyways and streets of his youth were the gymnasiums that hardened his resolve and steeled his nerves against the thieves who took advantage of young boys, against the kids who spelled their names differently and spoke with accents and established their turf against outsiders.

Even an older brother felt the effects of the "Hammer" for injustices inflicted over time.

Gary Holmgren developed the heart of a fighter under those conditions, as a means of self-defense. He honed the skills of a boxer in the rings of the St. Paul and Upper Midwest Golden Gloves and in the U.S. Army, skills that carried him to a remarkable record as an amateur and professional boxer.

His professional record was 22-5 with 12 knockouts, an official record that doesn't include three other international victories in Monte Carlo, France and Holland, all first-round KOs. As an amateur he lost in two of his three appearances in the National Golden Gloves tournament (he was disqualified in one after winning) and in one Upper Midwest fight to the accomplished and more experienced Mike Morgan.

The days of his youth are vivid even today: A boy, not more than eight or nine, his pockets full of dimes, quarters and half dollars from selling newspapers or providing shoeshines in the lobby of the St. Paul Hotel, the only youngster permitted on the premises by the presiding bartender. There was the time his pockets were torn from his pants by alley-way hobos and the entire bounty of the day lost, the tears in his eyes as he related the story to an unsympathetic older brother who always took charge of the cash.

Shuffled from one foster home to another, he and his brother grew up without boundaries, so they established their own. Life in the McDonough projects provided another lesson in self-defense.

He sometimes wandered the streets in the wee hours, seeking shelter and warmth and something to eat at the 24-hour Mickey's Diner. "The waitresses found mittens, scarves and things for me from the lost and found,'' he recalled.

Tough? You could not survive that boyhood without toughness.

Holmgren's muscled physique, balance and power were developed in gymnastics, a sport in which he won two St. Paul City Conference titles in high school. His punching power was a natural result of that training and discipline and served him productively as he added the concepts of the boxing ring to his skills.

Years later his many fans came to appreciate that ferocity in the ring, his refusal to quit under any circumstances, even in a fight against the Canadian Olympic team's Marvin Arneson that sent both fighters to the hospital afterward. "Who won,'' the attending doctor asked the battered boxers. "I did,'' Holmgren said.
"No, you didn't,'' the doctor answered. "You both lost.''

Holmgren's fights frequently received standing ovations at their conclusion, such as his fight for the national Golden Gloves title in the early 1970s, for which he received the Tony Zale Fightingest Fighter Award but lost the championship trophy because of an infraction by one of his cornermen.

"One of the biggest fights of my life and they're going to take the trophy back as I walked out the door,'' he recalled. Holmgren resisted as long as he could and then left with only the Tony Zale award, a bigger trophy only in size.

"I had the national title for a little while,'' Holmgren recalled. "Just a few minutes.''
Overseers ruled that a cut on Holmgren's face had been illegally attended to by a cornerman and not a doctor after the opposing corner protested, following a bout that got standing ovations at the end of each round.

Holmgren's reputation for fights as youngster landed him in trouble on more than one occasion, sometimes for merely trying to assist someone. While trying to stop a man in the bus depot who stole a purse from an elderly woman, he was accosted by the thief who threw punch at him, a fatal mistake. Holmgren's responding hook leveled the man, several years his senior; the fellow's head hit the cement as he fell and he died later of a cerebral hemorrhage.

Holmgren's fighting prowess landed him in front of a local judge after he decked a high school teacher with the gall to cuff him around in the classroom for being late. He was given a choice after that and another incident _ the workhouse or the army.

He defeated future All Army champion Carlos Palomino, later a WBC world champion, for the Fort Bragg base championship and upon his return to St. Paul surprised one of the top ranked amateur fighters in the nation, Floyd Mayweather, Sr., father to today's best pound-for-pound fighter in the world, Floyd, Jr. Told by trainer Del Bravo to throw a straight right hand to start the fight, followed immediately by the left hook, Holmgren took those instructions to the bank. Mayweather, as expected, moved away from the lead and squarely into the hook, and Holmgren had himself a first-round knockout.

His favorite fight as a professional? "At the Prom Ballroom,'' Holmgren recalled. "My fighter backed out and so did the one for a light heavyweight bout so I fought up two weight divisions.'' The opponent was Emmett Atlas, Mar. 19, 1980. Atlas made a comment at the center of the ring when the fighters were introduced. "The day I can't beat a welterweight,'' he said, "is the day I hang up my gloves.''

"Well, that's going to be tonight,'' Holmgren responded.
Maybe, maybe not. Atlas caught Holmgren off balance in the first round and put him on the canvas.
"I got up and wobbled into the ring post,'' Holmgren recalled. It was do or die in the second round. Holmgren landed a double left hook, to the solar plexus and to the head. Atlas went down. He got up but was hurt and began flailing, telegraphing his punches. Holmgren put him on the canvas two more times and knocked him out.

Holmgren retired from boxing and worked in various capacities, remodeling homes and selling them while working as a fireman for the St. Paul Fire Department. He still does some home remodeling so his tradesman's hammer still hangs from its hook on the tool shelf.

The Hammer himself, now and hereafter, will hang among the elite in the Minnesota Boxing Hall of Fame.