Grit and punching power propel Pompton boxer

If you drove by the corner of Monroe Street and Lucille Place in Passaic in the early 90s, there's a good chance you saw Rafael Morera out there on the pavement, fighting against other kids his age under the watchful eye of his father.

It's not the typical father-son activity, but it was the way things were.

"He used to bring boxing gloves, take me out on the corner, and tell all the people on the block, 'Yo, what up? I'll give you $100 if you can knock out my son,'" said Morera, a smile perched on the edge of his lips. "And dude, we used to go at it."

It's hard to believe if you see him now, and Morera, with his gray eyes and short, perfectly manicured beard, looks like he should be commuting to a New York City advertising job instead of sitting sideways on a bench in a boxing gym on a Thursday morning.

But, like his father, he's built for athletics — although he doesn't have overwhelming height at 5-foot, 9-inches tall, a collection of muscles and veins bulge from every bared inch, and he is one of those guys that never runs out of energy, is always excited to be wherever he is.

After all, it's not without pride that he notes that through all of those streetfights, his father never once had to pay up.

Breaking the mold

Morera, who lives in Pompton Lakes, isn't the stereotypical fighter. For one thing, he's 31, which isn't old for an amateur but for an amateur who wants to turn pro, it's ancient. He was captain of the DePaul football team in 2002, and has accumulated a base of strength through years of weightlifting that has made him as wide as he is tall. His background isn't broken, and he was raised, as he said, with "great morals."

But there was always that other side. Especially concerning his father, who has had a profound effect on Morera, for better or worse.

He was a boxer, too, not a pro but a very good amateur, and a minor league baseball player who once tried out for the Mets. Some of Morera's earliest memories are of his dad going through his morning routine of pushups, sit-ups, and shadowboxing, and in his spare time, he would teach his son how to throw combinations or slap box.

He brought Morera to his gym, the legendary Lou Costello Sportsman Club in Paterson, and it was there that he fell in love amidst the sounds of thumping speedbags and skipping rope.

"I walked in, and I just felt at home right away," he said.

He started training, and the precocious boy even had a few fights under his belt by age 10.

Like his dad, he was always a little bigger, a little stronger than kids his own age, and in boxing, he found he could hit harder than people expected.

But then his father got mixed up in some bad things — things that aren't talked about — and shortly afterward was deported back to the Dominican Republic. After that, Morera became attracted to sports like football and weightlifting, and left his fighting days behind.

That was many years ago, and a lot has changed since. Morera became a police officer in his hometown of Passaic and married his wife Josie. Together they had a son, Mason, who is now 2 years old.

He retired from the force around that time, and picked up several trades, like real estate or private investigations, to fill his time.

But there was still an old ghost haunting him, one that he couldn't get past. He missed the challenge only the ring can provide, the thrill that only a real, honest fight can give.

So he called Joe Zabry, who owns Aces Boxing Club in Boonton, and told him he wanted to get in the gym again.

"I've always had boxing in my heart, and when I retired from the police department, I said, 'This is my time. It's now or never,'" he said.

Months of intensive training followed, and although Morera's boxing skill was intact, he had to "get his lungs up" (a boxing term for increasing his endurance). Daily double sessions of strength and conditioning work, mixed with sports-specific exercises like hitting the heavy bag and sparring, have trimmed him down from 220 pounds when he walked in to his current fighting weight of about 175.

Morera shadowboxes with his father years ago

Seven months later, his work is paying off: Morera is 4-0 with two brutal knockouts. His last fight, against Anthony Patanella, ended just 19 seconds in after he landed a left hook that shattered Patanella's nose.

But it's not just his battering-ram punches that shock his opponents, Zabry said. It's how violent he is in the ring.

"The hell with the physical attributes, it's that aggression, that need to step in and put your lights out, that can't be taught," he said. "You can't teach someone how to fight. I can teach someone how to box, but fighting is a natural thing. And when someone gets hit and they come back harder … you can't teach that."

Zabry wants Morera to "fight like a dog" over the next two years and get at least 30 amateur bouts under his belt. After that, the sky is the limit for the man whose bucket list involves at least one professional fight.

"I'll see how it goes. If it ain't for me, it ain't for me. But my mindset is go all the way, or don't [expletive] go at all," Morera said.

A fragile balance

It isn't easy to balance such a demanding workout schedule with the commitment that comes with a young family, and with Morera recently signing on as a co-owner of the gym, finding time to spend with his wife and son is difficult.

It caused arguments in the beginning, he said, and he had to sit his wife down and explain just how important this was.

"I said, 'Listen Hon, I want you to understand that this is something that I feel I need. I feel like I'm missing something, and this is what makes me happy. We need to figure something out so that I can pursue this, so that I don't feel empty inside," he said.

They came to an agreement: She won't interfere with his training as long as he spends enough time with his family. Morera said he couldn't do what he does without her support.

"Having [Josie] OK with what I do drives me even further, and it makes me feel good inside to do what I'm doing," he said.

He's been careful to drill into his son that boxing is no excuse for being aggressive in everyday life, but Mason sees him, and always wants to join his shadowboxing drills or pushup routines. And that, he said, is why he's doing it all.

"I want to influence him in a positive way where if he does take the sport, he can say, 'Yo, my daddy did this, my daddy did that.' And it's only going to motivate him further. It's almost like my dad — still to this day, from seeing all the stuff I did [with him] … it still pushes me every time I step in the ring, or every time I'm hitting a bag. It takes me back to those days," he said.

His father, of course, is the one person he hasn't heard from regarding his new career. He knows about it, Morera said, and is thrilled, even offering advice about what weight his son should go down to for his fights. But the only time Morera is ever at a loss for words is when he's talking about their relationship.

"It's my dad. I still love him … and no matter what he did, I'll never think bad about [him]," he said. "Ah. It's complicated."

Email: janoski@northjersey.com

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Tips that'll get you out on trails

NORTH JERSEY — When 48-year-old Kinnelon native Sam Mann first decided to go backpacking about four years ago, he was searching for a pursuit that would not only bring him back to nature, but kick-start his ambition to lose a few pounds.

He’d done some hiking with the Boy Scouts as a kid and occasionally took part in the odd "beer and buddies" overnighter, but this trip, which would have him meet up with a "through-hiker" friend making the trek from Georgia to Maine on the Appalachian Trail, would be much different.

They convened at the Delaware Water Gap, he said, and over the next three days, the New York City insurance company worker walked 40 miles with 45 pounds on his back through the best terrain that New Jersey has to offer.

He learned about packs and boots and bears, and how through-hikers mail supplies ahead of themselves from post office to post office. He jammed on the trail with a small guitar, and slept on fire towers that provided spectacular views of the starlight.

"It was the experience of a lifetime," he said. "It was great exercise. And the fatigue, the challenge, the aloneness, the ability to think quietly, the rhythm, the body awareness ... It was really amazing."

Mann hasn’t hit the trail since that Appalachian adventure, but he does plan to get there soon. For a generation that grew up before cable and iPads and smartphones, it’s important, he said.

"[When we were kids], we had a bike, and we had the woods," he said. "Now that I’m an adult, I’m stuck in the rat race, but I felt that it was about getting back to the egg — that kind of thing. Back to a simpler time."

Backpacking, he’s found, is just what the doctor ordered.


Why backpacking?

Although the idea of forging out into the wilderness might not thrill everyone, in reality, there are a number of things that draw people to backpacking, said Russell Rayot, manager of Campmor in Paramus.

Some want to be pretend they’re Daniel Boone, cutting a new trail through the unexplored forest, while others, like Mann, just want to get away from the city for a few days. Rayot is more competitive, and enjoys putting an edge on each of his hikes, always pressing for a faster time or a new peak. His wife, however, enjoys the birdwatching aspect, and carries a small book with her to identify each species.

"We’re doing it together, but it’s for a different reason," he said.

One thing is certain: stepping out on a trailhead with a pack and little else is more daring than sitting at a private site with a car right next to you.

"You’re going out to explore on your own," he said. "It’s more of an adventure."

What to bring, what to leave

Prospective backpackers, Rayot said, first must have a decent pack. Either an internal or external frame is fine, but a bookbag-type that loads up the shoulders and doesn’t have a waist strap will cause soreness and "hotspots" – patches where the skin is rubbed raw by friction – that can lead to blisters.

A good three-season tent will suffice for most trips, and sleeping bags are rated according to temperature and material, each of which has its up and downs: a heavier bag will probably be warmer, but it adds extra weight to your pack. One made of down feathers instead of synthetic fibers will be lighter, but it’s also more expensive and holds no heat when it’s wet.

But, Rayot said, new backpackers can find a good mix without breaking the bank — or their back.

"The lighter [the pack] is, the more enjoyable it is," he said.

One pro-tip: Always lay in a sleeping bag before you buy it. It’s like picking a mattress — there’s no other way to see how it feels.

A sleeping pad, which goes under the bag and separates the camper from the ground, is equally important; although kids can often sleep on yoga mats and be comfortable, Rayot said, adults need more restorative rest when hiking. If you’re going to splurge on a certain thing, this is it.

"Getting a good night’s rest is key, and if you [sleep well] you’ll probably have a better attitude towards the camping," he said.

Bladders or bottles can be used to carry water on short trips, and a water filter, which cleans out the harmful bacteria often found in U.S. waterways, allows hikers to drink from nearly any river.

Rayot noted that a first-timer should only be going a mile or two into the woods to see if their equipment – and their body – works as intended. To ensure the latter, he recommended "training hikes" with a partially weighted pack to get used to the feel of weight on one’s back

"The more you prepare, the more you’re going to enjoy your trip," he said. "Try to find a local area where you’re trying everything out, so you can get out if you find it’s too heavy. You’ll be away from civilization, but not so far out that you’re stuck."

One thing that can stay home? The extra clothes. One pair of pants, one shirt, and one pair of socks is enough.

"Most people are bringing two or three changes of clothes like they’re going on vacation, but in reality, they’re probably never going to use that," he said.

Also, cotton kills, he said, and clothes should be made of something that will wick moisture away from the skin, like wool or some type of synthetic. That means no jeans, sweatpants, or regular t-shirts.


Eating on the trail

The days of awful camp food are long gone, Rayot said, and now, hikers’ dinners are limited only by a person’s imagination.

Hard cheeses and pepperoni work, as does the old standby of Ramen noodles, and macaroni and cheese can be a filling lunch or dinner.

A plethora of freeze-dried meals also await, and store shelves are lined with just-add-water mixes such as Cajun chicken and rice, fettuccini alfredo, and mocha mousse pie. Some inventive Boy Scouts have mixed their hot chocolate with their oatmeal to create a warm, chocolatey cereal blend, and Rayot has even brought a Cornish hen and cooked it on a rotisserie over an open fire.

"It’s what you prefer," he said. "You can do a lot out there for two or three days."

Email: janoski@northjersey.com

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Getting over the 30-year hump

A little over two weeks ago, I turned 30. It was shocking.

Not the number, of course. It’s fairly low compared to the average life expectancy, and from what I can gather most people hit it at one time or another. But there is still something disconcerting in knowing that your 20s have officially ended, and that time is passing (pretty quickly at that).

Suddenly, you’re not "young" anymore in the eyes of the world, no matter what the people who are 50 or 75 tell you. It’s time for your story to get moving, because you’re not "fresh out of college" or "figuring things out." College was years ago. Things have been figured. You’re on your way, for better or worse.

Of course, I don’t want to come off as one who puts a lot of emphasis on age — I don’t — and I’ve read about or met so many older but still in-shape, hungry individuals that it’s hard for me to get down about a flip of the calendar. That number is a mile-marker on the highway, not the accident that blocks three lanes, and it isn’t a limitation any more than one wills it to be.

But I would be lying if I said that starting a new decade wasn’t the spark for a little unwanted introspection. All the classic questions arose: Did I take the right course? Should I have done things differently? Am I truly happy with where I am? Should I have sold everything at 22 and moved to the desert like the adventurers in "National Geographic," writing and waiting for my shot at the fame and fortune that comes with ... adventures?

It’s human nature to wonder these things, I suppose, but it doesn’t make the answers come more easily. And it doesn’t help that I began taking notice of other people’s ages and comparing where I am to where they are. Yeah. Don’t do that.

"That guy is 32? And he writes for the (insert massive, well-known publication here)? But I’m better than him! I wonder what college he went to. He probably knew somebody. Yeah. I hate that guy."

We’re a jealous lot, we writers.

Eventually, though, I settle my noisy mind and recall once more that this whole thing is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m pretty happy with where I’m heading and that over the last couple years, I’ve managed to pick up a lot of hobbies, like boxing, backpacking, and photography, that I’ve always liked but never thought I’d actually do.

I’ll find others in the future, I think, maybe astronomy or horticulture — anything to help me pursue my personal definition of The Good Life, which I’ve boiled down to a three-word phrase: "Don’t be boring."

It might not be much. But it’s mine. And the one benefit of getting older is that slow realization that what others think or do doesn’t matter much.

Unless you’re a writer who’s better than me.

In that case, I probably hate you.

Email: janoski@northjersey.com

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An Evening in the Goffle Brook Park

A Daylily Along the River

A Small Waterfall on the Pequannock River

The Leaves after a Rain

Remembering D-Day, 70 years later

Sometimes I forget that it all really happened — after all, it was so long ago. But for the men who were there, it was real.

The barrels of their guns were every bit as true as the stainless steel water bottle that I hold in my hand, and the English Channel's wind-blown spray was no different than the water that shoots over the sides of the boat when I go fishing.

But it still feels like a movie. It shouldn't. It all happened. And to guys just like me.

It's hard to understand this, especially as I watch those who lent the steel to the spine of the Allied armies grow old and pass away. They, like World War II as a whole, have always seemed close and far at the same time — it's the generation that I don't ever remember as being young, but whose youth will be eternally remembered because of what they did.

Most of us read about D-Day in the histories, which not only insulate us from the horror, but let the commanders' names live on while the men — those fathers, sons, and brothers — are blended together into giant arrows that criss-cross the map of Europe or Asia.

This all looks similar no matter what battle you're reading about, and to many a book-buried scholar, the sands of Normandy have the same off-white hue as the dirt in the trenches of Verdun or the grass in the fields of Waterloo.

But those books will never be able to tell you what it was really like.

You'll never watch a book's eyes wander as he remembers his friend who died when his plane flew into the side of a mountain, or see his frail hands rub the scar tissue where that metal wasp bit him.

He won't shudder when he remembers that "rat-a-tat-tat" of the German anti-aircraft artillery, or be able to tell you in a cracked voice that if there was another war, they would be the very last person to sign up.

He can't explain the pure, utter fear he felt — or how he overcame it to do what needed to be done.

Those that can are our fathers, our grandfathers. We know them. We love them. Many of us have buried them. Unfortunately it won't always be that way, and we are one or two decades removed from having the "Greatest Generation" become a fact instead of a memory.

In the years to come, people will look at them the same way that we look at that great-great-grandfather who fought at Vicksburg or that distant relative who came over on the Mayflower — they existed, sure, but we don't know him, we've never heard his voice or gave him a Father's Day card or held the flashlight for him while he worked on a car in the driveway.

Nah. Once we're gone, they're just a name, a rank, and a small part of that big arrow. I know it's inevitable — time slows for no man — but it's heartbreaking just the same.

So while we're here, we should remember the anniversaries for things like Pearl Harbor or D-Day for what they are: not just another occasion to attend some ceremony, but a chance to be the people that can share the memories of those who, quite literally, saved the world from an overwhelming darkness.

Future generations won't be so lucky. The worst part is they don't even know it.

Email: janoski@northjersey.com

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First Reformed Church of Pompton Plains at Twilight

A Calm Day by the Pequannock River