From trading punches to delivering mail: Ishe Smith looks back with contentment

“I tell people this all the time and they think I’m kidding,” laughs former 154lbs titlist Ishe Smith. “I practically had a 20-year pro career. I had no injuries really. I’ve only been cut in a couple fights, cut in the gym. Nothing really major, nothing serious that would hold me out for an extended period of time. But being a mailman, I’ve experienced more injuries on that job in five years than I ever experienced boxing.”

The Contender alum laughs at the incongruity of someone who spent two decades and change being punched in the face suffering his worst physical setbacks delivering mail in his native Las Vegas. He has been doing that for about five years now, since retiring from the ring following his one and only stoppage loss, to Erickson Lubin in 2019.

He admits that he had not anticipated spending his post-boxing years walking seven miles a day handing people bills and packages, he hadn’t in fact given much thought to reentering the workforce in any capacity. But he has four children now, three of them by his first wife, Latoya, who was murdered when they were young; unsurprisingly, they have experienced some mental health issues in the aftermath of that trauma, and working for the United States Postal Service does at least provide good health insurance.

Besides, he says, he enjoys it.

“Everybody’s been great,” he says. “I see locals and people on my station, and they recognize me and say hi. It’s been great.”

When he retired from boxing with a record of 29-11 (12 KOs), he did have some money saved up, but the COVID pandemic saw several investments – in restaurants, apartment buildings, and similar entities – go south rapidly.

“There’s only a select few people that actually make enough [from boxing] to where they can retire comfortably for the rest of their life,” he says. “And yeah, it’s a very hard hustle. So to the new generation coming up, I would definitely say invest your money. Be very smart with your money. Put some away. Trainers typically get 10 per cent; take about another 10 to 15 percent of your money and put it in an IRA. You know, definitely invest it. And be a little bit smart with your money, because it comes to an end.”

Smith, the first Las Vegas-born boxer to win a world title, made his bones fighting at club shows at The Orleans casino off the Strip, on monthly cards that were put together by future Hall-of-Fame matchmaker Brad Goodman for Guilty Boxing and that were hugely popular among the Vegas boxing scene.

“That’s how I started, making $1,000 for a four-rounder, $1800 for six, $2500 for eight, and $5000 for 10,” he recalls. “To go from that and then wind up headlining shows on the Strip is pretty amazing.”

They were largely happy days, he recalls, not least because they were relatively uncomplicated. As he began to work his way up the ladder, the income grew but so too did the expenditures.

By 2002, Smith had a record of 10-0 with 6 KOs; eight of those fights had been at The Orleans, and he was also gaining a reputation as a sparring partner, which is what punched his ticket to the major leagues. He had been helping Fernando Vargas prepare for Oscar De La Hoya, and when Vargas name-checked him during an interview on HBO, it piqued the interest of Vargas promoter Gary Shaw, who promptly signed Smith and began placing him on ShoBox shows.

Victories over Sam Garr, Sal Lopez, and David Estrada moved him from prospect to contender status and earned him a shot at hard-hitting junior welterweight veteran Randall Bailey.

But there was a catch.

“I said, ‘Well, how much?’ And they said, ‘Oh, it’s going to be $10,000.’ I was like, ‘Wait a minute. I just beat David Estrada for $10,000 and you’re coming at me with the same.’” 

His manager Shelly Finkel managed to procure an extra thousand dollars, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ve got kids, I’ve got responsibilities, so I said, ‘Alright, give it to me,’” he says. “So I took the fight.” In a tough fight, he dropped Bailey early but had to hang on down the stretch for a unanimous decision win in his first 12-rounder. Then he went back to the locker room and was handed a check for $3600.   

“It was like, ‘Yeah, sanctioning fees, training expenses, this, that.’ And I looked at that check and I was almost busting into tears. I hadn’t even paid my team yet. After I did that, I was down to just under $2000 and I was thinking, ‘You gotta be kidding me.’”

Unable to pay his bills, he filed for bankruptcy, which dissolved his contractual relationship with Shaw, to the promoter’s fury. The move did not go down well with the boxing community, which by and large felt Smith had pulled a cynical move to escape his contract. For the first time in his career, Smith found himself at a crossroads.

And then he received an unexpected call.

I had met Smith in Big Bear in 2003 at Shane Mosley’s training camp, and we had kept in touch; one day, after his bankruptcy, I was hanging out at The Orleans on a Guilty Boxing fight night when he came up to me and asked my advice. He had been approached by the producers of a new boxing reality series, in which 16 up-and-coming boxers would live together and compete with each other. 

Immediately disqualifying myself from a career as a business manager, I replied that I thought it sounded dumb. Smith, too, was unconvinced, but returned the call and ended up appearing on the first season of The Contender, alongside the likes of Sergio Mora, Alfonso Gomez, and Peter Manfredo. An early favorite and a stand-out personality, he did not advance as far as he had hoped, losing a decision to Mora in the quarter-finals.

Even so, he looks back on the show as a positive experience. 

“I kid you not, more people recognize me from that show than from the rest of my boxing career,” he says. “And it aired 20 years ago! I always say it was ahead of its time. Just imagine if that show had been on during the social media age.”

The years after The Contender weren’t kind, however. Wins against the likes of Pawel Wolak were offset by close and often ugly decision losses to opponents such as Sechew Powell and Joel Julio. And meanwhile, his life outside the ring was falling apart. He and Latoya divorced. He spent evenings alone at home, looking at his gun collection and contemplating using it on himself. At one point, his sister called paramedics to go to his house, so convinced was she that he was on the verge of suicide.

He pulled himself back from the brink, he says, by thinking of his children. 

“I realized how growing up without a dad impacted my life,” he says. “And I felt like if I had killed myself, I would have been doing the same thing to my kids that he did, right? So that was the only thing that saved me, because at that time, I really didn’t care about myself but I did care about the three kids I had at that time, and I decided I wanted to live for them.”

He lost interest in boxing, focusing instead on coaching soccer, when he received another unexpected call. Floyd Mayweather was looking for sparring in advance of his 154 pound title fight with Miguel Cotto; was Smith available? Oh, and Mayweather could put him on a card the night before at the Hard Rock Casino.

One fight for Mayweather Promotions became two, and the third saw him take on Cornelius “K9” Bundrage for a junior middleweight title on Showtime. Smith won a majority decision and promptly collapsed to his knees in tears, clutching his youngest child, as the pain and depression of the last several years, and the realization of how close he had come to no longer being around, washed over him.

His title reign did not last long. He surrendered the belt in his first defense, a dreadful fight with Carlos Molina. He lost to Erislandy Lara and Vanes Martirosyan – who became the first opponent to drop him – and his career seemed to be petering out. 

And then his life was upended by the shocking murder of ex-wife Latoya.

On March 19, 2017, Latoya was sitting on a wall outside a Dollar General store, waiting for a ride, when 55-year-old drifter Frank Campis pulled up behind her in his van, got out, shot her in the back of the head, and drove away. A couple of hours later, Campis posted a video from the MGM Grand sports book, bemoaning the tough day he had just had.

Latoya and Campis had never met or exchanged even a pleasantry. When he was arrested, Campis offered only that he was in the “wrong place at the wrong time.” 

Campis was sentenced to life in prison, where he died last year. Smith was forced to pick up the pieces; since remarried, he and wife Valerie have a child of their own and co-parent a blended family. It is to Smith’s immense pride and joy that his children are making a strong start to life.

“It is, bar none, the greatest gift I could ever ask for,” he says. “They’re better than me. They went to college. They got better grades than me in high school, they graduated college with honors, and they lived out their dream. My son is playing college football. I got another son playing college soccer. I have a daughter who graduated and has my grandson now. They’re more stable at their ages than I was. I was still trying to find my way at that age.  You know, that’s where I get joy from. Everything else I did is just great, but I did it for myself. I’m more proud of them than I am of anything I ever accomplished.”

Which is not to say he doesn’t have any pride in his career, a career that was recognized this year with induction into the Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame. 

“I never thought I was a shoo-in to get in there,” he says.  “I was the first amateur to ever qualify for the Olympic trials from the city. And then once I found out they never had a world champion, I wanted to be the first to do that. But we had some really great fighters growing up. And the state and the city are so rich in boxing history.”

To make it all the more poetic, the induction ceremony was at The Orleans, in the very ballroom where he had fought eight times to kick his career into gear.

“It was unbelievable,” he says. “It was like the climax to a great book. There’s nothing better than to be inducted into the Hall of Fame and just ride off into the sunset and live my life now and just be thankful for everything I’ve done.  

“It was just a great night and a great event, and to have my kids there to see that, to experience it. It was a true definition of it’s not where you start, it’s where you finish.”

A polarizing fighter at his peak, he continues to divide opinion in retirement, but now he is able to laugh off the social media attacks.

“I think somebody said on Twitter today, ‘How did he get inducted?’ I was like, ‘Well, don’t worry about it. You know, that’s like worrying about my penis size. Sit on your couch, relax and keep criticizing people that have done what you can only dream about. Man, I accomplished everything I wanted in the sport. I have no regrets. I’ve fought on every network that you can possibly follow. I started as a kid at The Orleans and headlined my own show at The Palms. So many people play sports for a living without ever winning a title. And I fought for a world title twice and I won it once. I couldn’t be more happy about it.”