In this little classroom just off Gettys Street, Chris Burns works with students who
are looking for a leg up in the workforce.
This is where he earns his paycheck, but his real passion is in the warehouse sized room
on the other side of the classroom's door.
Here he continues to sharpen minds while sharing his love for the sport of boxing.
There's no money in it, but for Chris, it's a job worth committing to.
Monetary value is only one sense of value.
The good feelings I get from doing this are way more than that.
It's an extra four hours a night for Burns, who admits to spending a little bit more time
away from home than his wife would like.
You know, 65 hours a week is a normal work week for me.
Luckily I have a wife who understands and she knows I was married to boxing before I
was married to her.
I'm not going to step one, I throw the one.
Burns got his start in the gym just like most of the kids that come through the north
and west side athletic and education centers, as a kid looking for some direction.
Probably about 11-12 years old was the first time that I stepped foot into the gym.
You know, I was heavy set for my age and I wanted to lose a little bit of weight.
We got one, one, two.
Do you know what you forgot?
Your mean face.
Mean face.
The man that helped shape that pudgy kid is the same man Burns is trying to emulate.
Let's try to pull out while staying close this time, Nas.
It all makes sense now and every time I work with any kid, it's Ray working with us because
everything I know I learned from him, everything I want to do in boxing is because of him.
The walls of the gym tell the legend of Ray Rinaldi.
A United States Army veteran and Golden Gloves boxer, Ray started his youth boxing program
more than 50 years ago to mentor and encourage kids like Burns, who are hoping to become
something more than a product of their environment.
And then it'll go to your place, they'll be on the street.
They'll be on the street, what do they do?
Solid drugs, booze drugs, okay?
They don't have it.
If you stay on the street, you don't get that second chance.
Who's going to give it to you?
Such is the story of Martez Potter, a boxer in his sixth year with the gym.
You know, Martez didn't have the equal start as I did, you know, growing up in the neighborhood
he did, being around the crime, the drugs that he was, and he was able to turn his back
to all that and able to succeed.
It's a work, it's a work.
Potter grew up with a lot of responsibility to tackle.
He wanted to help take care of his family, wanted to bring food to the table and help
provide for his disabled uncle.
I remember some nights we had sleep for dinner where I'd be like, grandma, we got some food
to eat.
Maybe just go to sleep.
And now I can provide for them, now I can help demo instead of being for them providing
for me.
So it makes me feel like a man, maybe we feel good.
Monthly boxing bouts punctuated Potter's teenage years, the gym giving Martez a place to refocus
while finishing high school, taking on multiple jobs and as his family says, keeping the family
together ringside.
You know, you got to have that eye of a tiger, you know, and I told him I believe in him.
I do.
This is my, this is my baby boy right here and I believe in him.
Potter says he measures his successes not by the impressive number of wins, but by the
things he's been able to do for himself since boxing became the center of his routine.
Boxing trains you gives you dedication and work ethic.
I can count how many days of work I've missed on one hand and I've been working since I
was 15.
Rinaldi's program is a non-profit, he runs two education and athletic facilities on
the north and west side of Syracuse on donations and grants alone.
Rinaldi says that success stories like Martez Potter's are at the mercy of a dwindling
economy.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, can you continue, eight, can you continue?
On average it takes about $160,000 a year to keep Rinaldi's two facilities up and running.
These expenses include gas, electric and equipment maintenance fees.
The amount of money coming into the gym from organizations like the Bayheim Foundation
and the Department of Social Services has dramatically decreased over the last three
years.
Word because, you know, we're at the bare minimum now and if things don't change, you
know, we'll be boxing in the dark with candles, we'll be boxing with a lot of sweatshirts
on because there won't be heat.
Several organizations have stepped up to try and help Rinaldi, including the Syracuse
Police Benevolent Association, but the community is still aware that the smaller donations
are just not enough.
In the absence of some of the larger donations that are now gone, the gym relies heavily
on fundraisers to pay the bills.
These range from spaghetti dinners to movie nights.
Their favorite by far and the one that brings in the most money are the fights that they
hold right here at this gym.
It also proves that Ray can still pack a house.
Byrne says he'll focus on continuing with coaching duties.
Potter says he'll help in what ways he can, too, and says he'll continue to box with
Ray's program to keep the crowds coming.
As for Ray, he'll keep looking for grant and donation opportunities.
After all, it's not just his legacy he's trying to preserve.
Surviving the economic one-two punch is all about passing on this tradition of discipline
to the next generation, which Ray actually believes will be led by none other than his
most dedicated coach, Chris Byrne.
He'll be here.
He'll take us for me.
We talked about it.
He likes it.
We just got to do this in the right frame where he doesn't get hurt and won't get hurt.
Byrne says, regardless of the gym's struggles, he'll make sure these kids have the same
opportunities he and Martez would give them.
We'll never turn anyone out of our doors, you know, as long as I'm alive, they'll be
a boxing program here.
Three men against the ropes, but not done fighting.
You got it.
You got it.
You got to go down.
Stop here, Ray.
It's a little too late.
You got work.
