FIGHTING CHANCE; EX-CHAMP DEVOTED TO HOME FOR BOXERS.

Byline: David Greenberg Daily News Staff Writer

After a hard fall in the tough world of professional boxing, a former middleweight champion is trying to build a safety net for fighters who are down for the count.

Alex Ramos founded the Retired Boxers Foundation three years ago after realizing his own life reflected the down side of the world of pugilism - a quick ride that peaked with a ruby-studded championship belt, then being washed up at 26, dulling the pain with drugs and alcohol.

``It's the right thing to do, and it's long overdue,'' said Ramos, who lived in Simi Valley in 1991 and 1992 and moved back in February. ``There are a lot of boxers who were on top of the world one day, and then they hit their butt on rock bottom the next day. If you prevent one person from taking drugs or being homeless, it makes it all worthwhile.''

The foundation's two members - Ramos and Simi Valley grant writer Jacquie Richardson - hope to raise $1 million to open a retirement home at a yet-to-be-determined site in California within five years.

The facility would house up to 25 retired boxers - those who are homeless, need help for drug dependency or treatment for pugilistic dementia, ``punch-drunk syndrome,'' which dulls their motor skills, affects their balance and weakens their short-term memory.

A big need

Supporters of the retirement home, including actress Bo Derek, whose late husband, John, was an amateur boxer, say many boxers retire with little formal education and no long-term health insurance.

``As a fight fan, I think it's fabulous what he is doing,'' Derek said. ``I'm kind of surprised (a home) isn't in existence already. I would have assumed they'd have done it a long time ago. The athletes risk everything when they go into the ring.''

Chuck Wepner, the former North American Boxing Association heavyweight champion, said he has been trying for 15 years to persuade current boxers and promoters to contribute a portion of their earnings to help retired boxers.

``Not only the promoters don't want to give, but the fighters don't want to give,'' said Wepner, known as ``The Bayonne Bleeder.'' ``It's only a small percentage. But (boxers and promoters) don't trust each other. They want to hold on to everything they get. It's sad.''

Derek and Wepner are among the celebrities planning to attend a Dec. 10 fund-raiser for the foundation at the Playboy Mansion.

The foundation is organizing the event, along with Playboy spokesman Bill Farley, in an effort to raise $50,000 to $150,000 in seed money for the retirement home.

Richardson, who met Ramos in February while he was volunteering his time for at-risk youths at a local gym, became so enthused by his vision that she invited him to live with her family in Simi Valley.

``We're supposed to help those who are less fortunate,'' said Richardson, who also is president of the Kiwanis Club of Simi Valley.

Ramos, who has been broke since he retired from boxing in 1994, has been passing up work so he can spend his days soliciting donations and project endorsements from a long list of boxing and celebrity friends.

``My energy is so focused because I know this foundation is needed,'' said Ramos, who never married and has no children.

A penny a fight

Ramos was born in Manhattan in 1961 to a schoolteacher mother and a father who used to box throughout Puerto Rico in carnivals for a penny and a bottle of 160-proof rum.

Not long after the family moved to the gang-war-torn streets of the South Bronx, Ramos and his father, Alejandro, were watching boxing matches on television.

By 11, he was a 90-pound amateur fighter.

``To me, fighting was the most important thing in the world,'' Ramos said. ``It made me know that I was good at what I did. It helped my self-esteem.''

When he wasn't in the gym, he hung out with a gang called the Sons of Satan, stole purses, made passes at teachers, and witnessed a dozen shootings and stabbings.

Talented hands

But his desire to make a name for himself in boxing ended his street-gang days and Ramos the boxer compiled a 143-9 amateur record with 98 knockouts over eight years. He won the New York Golden Gloves championship - the state's most prestigious amateur tournament - four times.

``Everybody I hit with my left hook never stood up,'' Ramos said. ``They were out.''

He made the 1980 Olympic team, but he missed his chance to compete for the gold when the United States boycotted the Moscow games over the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan.

After turning pro at age 19, it took the 160-pound Ramos four years to earn the United States Boxing Association middleweight title, winning a 12-round decision over Curtis Parker in April 1984.

But in November 1985, he lost the title to reigning World Boxing Association champion Jorge Castro in a fight the referee stopped in the second round to spare Ramos an even more severe beating.

``I lost, and I retired,'' Ramos said. ``When the cheering stops, you miss it.''

`The darkness'

He turned to cocaine and booze, making a fast slide into what he now calls ``the darkness.'' He ultimately spent 22 months in prison, convicted of assault with a deadly weapon - his fists and a gun, which he said he did not fire - stemming from a dispute with his management over money.

``Of all the things in my life, that was the worst,'' Ramos said. ``I will never be in a situation like that again.''

He moved to Simi Valley in the early 1990s to avoid big-city temptations and train for his comeback, running seven miles a day on the city's tranquil streets. The comeback lasted four years but went nowhere, and this time he was done for good.

Lifetime professional record: 38-9, with two draws.

Like many prizefighters and a lot of other people, Ramos had no pension or long-term health insurance. He wound up homeless. Then early one morning in 1995, Ramos realized he was crawling down the same path as Joe Louis, the former heavyweight champion who died penniless.

Following six months in a free Santa Monica rehabilitation clinic, Ramos decided to form the foundation. He stayed with friends in Pasadena before moving in with Richardson and has spent the last three years planning for other retired boxers' futures and keeping himself clean.

``I made a big impact in the world of boxing once,'' he said. ``Now I'm going to make a bigger impact.''

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PHOTO Ex-middleweight champ Alex Ramos fights to give retired boxers a home.

Joe Binoya/Special to the Daily News