Beaten by his father, whipped again by the bullies who preyed on the weak in the dystopian slum of his St. Louis boyhood, Leon Spinks set his jaw early in life. He vowed to make a name for himself.

Spinks, who died Feb. 5 in Henderson at age 67 after a five-year fight against prostate and bladder cancer, has been on my mind a lot this week. He had a long relationship with Las Vegas. What started as a stage to showcase boxing’s latest heavyweight rising star was also the site of his decline. In the end, it would become a real home for a weary warrior.

It was a miracle he made it out of St. Louis at all. From the depths of the behemoth Pruitt-Igoe housing project of North St. Louis, he poured his energy and anger into boxing workouts at a local boxing gym. His first trainer, gruff former U.S. Marine Kenny Loehr, thought Spinks showed promise. He was no great stylist, but he could throw a combination and he just kept coming. 

Loehr’s influence put Spinks in good stead when he quit high school in his junior year and joined the Marines, where he served three years and trained in its boxing program. He piled up amateur victories, and in 1976 he won a gold medal in the light-heavyweight division at the Summer Olympics in Montreal.

Spinks turned pro in January 1977 at the Aladdin with the first of three fights in Las Vegas that year. It was an inauspicious debut as an undersized heavyweight with a technical knockout before 1,094 fans who were curious enough to pay $10 a ticket. Despite his gold medal, it was as if the boxing world still didn’t know what to make of him. 

After a lackluster draw in October at the Aladdin, Spinks scored a decision victory in November at the Las Vegas Hilton that set up a genuine mismatch against the consummate heavyweight king, Muhammad Ali, after just seven pro fights. The kid from St. Louis who wanted to make a name for himself was suddenly pitted against the biggest name in sports.

Spinks made history, winning a split decision against champion Ali on February 15, 1978 at the Las Vegas Hilton. The legend of “Neon Leon” was born, and he groomed the image of a hard-partying mink-stole-wearing sports superstar, albeit one with a gap-toothed grin that also made him a punchline for standup comedians and late-night talk show hosts.

An endearing line from Leon came after the win over Ali when he said, “He’s still the Greatest. I’m just the latest.” He proved that before the end of the year.

After a seven-month whirlwind as champion of the world and the talk of every town, Spinks lost to Ali in front of a record 63,000 fans at the New Orleans Superdome and a worldwide television audience of two billion. The laughter suddenly turned to jeers.

Las Vegas remained in his life, and his blood, as the comet of his career faded into obscurity. Hard living is not conducive to fiscal sobriety, and soon enough all the money he made was gone. He had made a name for himself, and he made a living selling his autograph at sports shows and conventions, any place where people still wanted to meet and shake hands with a former champ, especially the one who pulled off one of the greatest upsets in boxing history.

Spinks moved with wife Brenda Glur Spinks in 2011 to Henderson, where they lived at Sun City Anthem. They made friends in Southern Nevada and settled into a quieter life. The days of Neon Leon were long past and years of punishment to the head and body in the ring took its toll, but it was here they found a sense of community. Among many was Shelley Williams from the Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame who booked him for paying appearances.

“I loved nothing more than going down there and watching these guys,” Williams says. “Leon lived to make other people smile, he just did. He got up every day, no matter how bad he felt, and went in to work. I knew Leon when he was young and vital, and then when he wasn’t so vital. I never, ever, ever heard him complain.”

Seeing Spinks around Las Vegas at restaurants and concerts was a reminder not only of his celebrity – that smile was unmistakable – but also of the important place that boxing once held on the Strip, where heavyweight champs drew crowds that dwarfed Sinatra’s.

Spinks was also a solid Marine. Tom McGrath, vice president of USI Insurance Services and Marine Corps veteran, saw the best in Leon and the dedication his wife Brenda displayed as the former champ’s health declined. As a driving force behind the Marine Corps’ annual “Toys for Tots” fundraiser, McGrath brought Spinks into the group.

“He loved coming over to the house,” McGrath says. “And he always wore a Marine Corps T-shirt. He was very proud to be a Marine. I just loved the guy. You couldn’t meet a nicer, sweeter spirit. And he had great charisma. He was such a gentle giant.”

When he died, the outpouring of affection was genuine. Athletes, entertainers, fans and fellow Marines took to social media to express their admiration for the man who rose from abuse and poverty to shock the sports world.

Long after he tumbled back to earth and all roaring crowds had moved on, Leon Spinks found a home outside the neon and a way to keep smiling.

John L. Smith is an author and longtime columnist. He was born in Henderson and his family’s Nevada roots go back to 1881. His stories have appeared in Time, Readers Digest, The Daily Beast, Reuters, Ruralite and Desert Companion, among others. He also offers weekly commentary on Nevada Public Radio station KNPR. His newest book—a biography of iconic Nevada civil rights and political leader, Joe Neal— “Westside Slugger: Joe Neal’s Lifelong Fight for Social Justice” is published by University of Nevada Press and is available at Amazon.com. Contact him at [email protected]. On Twitter: @jlnevadasmith