In Arizona: Pleasure and Pain from Disco Punches

Outside, a white stucco facade, a small marquee and a large black-and-white painting of the star of Casablanca help drinkers and dancers home in on Bogart's discothèque, set amid glittering car dealerships, fast-food joints and furniture shops full of Oriental rugs and Naugahyde "suites" on Tucson's East Speedway Boulevard. Inside, a hand-printed sign exhorts visitors: PLEASE, PLEASE. NO HATS OR HEADGEAR. NO MOTORCYCLE JACKETS, NO T SHIRTS, NO BARE FEET.

Still, Bogart's is a disco with a difference. Like a growing number of bars and dance halls in Arizona and elsewhere in the Southwest, it invites the evening customers to mix their pleasure with a certain amount of pain on "boxing night." At 8:30 on any Tuesday, the M.C. at Bogart's can be found, microphone in hand, asking for help. What he needs are more volunteer boxers. "O.K., folks. We've got six fighters signed up. If you've got any friends, give them a call and get them down here." Seated just inside the door, a young woman asks all comers, "Are you going to box?" Spectators have to pay a $2 cover charge. Fighters who go three rounds get in free. And that rule about no T shirts or bare feet is waived for them.

By 9 o'clock, a couple of hundred customers are seated on red vinyl chairs around small, black cocktail tables, while at long bars on opposite sides of the room, shots and beers are dispensed to small clusters of men. The room is dim despite red, orange, green and blue lights. Over one end of the wooden parquet dance floor, though, the ceiling is raised a few feet to accommodate spotlights of various hues, a mirrored revolving ball and two suspended slide projectors. On Tuesdays, four floodlights shine down on a 14-ft. by 14-ft. boxing ring, complete with cushioned corners and a taut canvas mat. After a few more boxers weigh in on the thigh-high Detecto scale off to the side of the ring, the M.C. and three judges take their seats at a long table on the bandstand. A bell rings, and the casual visitor is startled to see the first contestants. Five-year-old Shawn Serface and five-year-old Dan Casarez are in their corners having their faces smeared with Vaseline to reduce the chance of cuts. Their hands are wrapped in gauze and placed inside huge (16 oz.) boxing gloves. Shawn tries to spit out the rubber mouthpiece. "I don't want it," he tells his cornerman-father, who shoves it back in. As the two boxers get their instructions from the referee, Dan interrupts with his own bit of advice. "No kicking," he blurts out to his opponent.