It's Wednesday night, and Dell's Boxing Club, the only gym of its kind in Utah Valley, is alive with the thumping of gloves on the heavy bag and the pop of jabs meeting headgear. Toward the back, in an old ring, two young boys throw wayward hooks at each other. And standing just outside the ropes is coach Dell Fowler.

If you're hoping all boxing trainers look like Mickey Goldmill from the Rocky movies, this guy doesn't disappoint. He's a short 5 feet 5 inches with a few weeks' worth of white stubble over a battle-tested, 71-year-old face.

One of the young boxers, 12-year-old Ceasar Cerrato Jr., is training for an upcoming amateur fight - the second of his fledgling career. His father, Ceasar Cerrato Sr., has been bringing him to Dell's for the last year.

"He pushes the kids," Cerrato Sr. said of Fowler. "He really knows what he's doing."

Fowler's knowledge of boxing comes from a lifetime of experience. He was 12 when he boxed in his first smoker - a fundraiser for an LDS stake center - and when he saw the crowd cheering him on after the fight he decided boxing was what he wanted to do. By his early 20s, he was already helping coach his peers in the 82nd Airborne Division of the Army. But it was after the army, when Fowler was spending another unemployment check at a bar in Goshen, that he got his life's calling.

"My dad came in, put his arm around my shoulders, and said he knew what the Lord had put me on this earth to do: to work with the youth," Fowler said. "And I've been coaching either baseball or boxing ever since."

It was September 1980 when Fowler opened his own boxing gym. He asked the city of Provo to help him build a new gym after the only boxing club in the valley shut down, but no help came. So Fowler built a roof over his carport and hung heavy bags from the rafters. He named it Dell's Boxing Club and has been running it ever since.

That is if you can call it a business. It's more like a charity. Fowler charges a $50 membership fee to join his club and he's your coach for life. And with the limited room in his gym, he doesn't let his roster exceed 10 boxers at a time.

But former members, like Gerardo "Chino" Prieto, are always welcome. Although Prieto went pro three years ago and has had several different trainers, he still finds Fowler's advice invaluable.

"I've trained with some of the top coaches in Mexico, but I can tell you that Dell comes up with great things," Prieto said. "He's old school, simple, basic, but he'll make you think twice. He says things you've never thought of before."

While Prieto knows that Fowler has a funny side, he also knows that when it comes time to box, Fowler expects his fighters to toe the line.

"When he's in the mood to box, you don't mess with him. He'll kick your butt," Prieto said.

Fowler's toughness is evident in his personal life, as well. Roman Oropeza, who grew up on Fowler's street and recently returned to train at Dell's, remembers Fowler requiring 50 push-ups to anyone who stepped on his lawn.

"He'd watch out the window," Oropeza said. "He didn't care who it was, if they walked on his grass, they had to do push-ups."

But underneath the tough veneer, Fowler is like any other grandpa. Attending graduations and weddings, seeing his pupils and grandchildren succeed, are his greatest pleasures. He talks about running into former boxers at the mall, meeting their children, being introduced as the guy who taught their dad how to box. He relishes those moments.

"That's the reward," he said.

And at 71, Fowler seems to be concerned about how he'll be remembered. He worries if he was a good father, if he's been too hard on the people he loves. What will people think of him?

"Look," he said, taking off his hat and pointing to his forehead. "Do you see that? I've got 'nice guy' written on my forehead."

As a coach, Fowler said it's not always easy to tell how much of a difference he's making. His daughter Kathy Lamis, however, has observed the influence Fowler has had in the lives of his fighters.

"I remember a mother coming up to me in a parking lot, and she started crying and was hugging me," Lamis said. "She told me that she thanked the Lord for Dell because she didn't know where her son would be without him."

Plastered all around Dell's Boxing Club are dusty pictures of boxers that have come and gone. Fowler points at the pictures and tells stories, remembering the boxer's names and successes. No doubt, those boxers remember him.

If Fowler is at all worried about what legacy he will leave behind, he can take comfort. The writing is on the wall.

Copyright Brigham Young University 21 Mar 2006