Arthur Serwano the silent champ

Dear Arthur, I write to you from Kampala, Uganda, where you fled in the mid-80s to escape persecution as a soldier of a defeated government. Sadly, I have known you more when you're no more. How I wish I met you in 2016, the only time you visited your motherland.

As a boxing fan, I would have asked you about your amateur career that is only defined by one fight. Your days as a UNLA private and boxer—like that day when you, Sarah Nabulya, your first wife, and many of your soldier colleagues hid in a church before the NRA soldiers dragged you out in a scene that smelt death. That you survived was nothing short of a miracle.

I would have asked you  about your childhood dreams, especially when you were at Kampala Modern SS; about your early life in Richmond, California before Sarah and baby Priscilla joined you in 1988; 

I would have asked you what it meant being a fighter and a devout Born Again Christian; how it felt being trained by the legendary Ralph McCoy, fighting the best, mostly in California and Nevada, USA’s boxing hubs, and so on.

But how do I know you would have opened up because you were private to a fault? And that’s partly why your boxing career of 30 fights—including title victories and defenses, some televised live on USA Cable Network, knockouts, and unanimous decision victories,—is overshadowed by that tragic loss to future world champion Roy Jones Jr. Perhaps, your management also didn’t sell your brand enough. Sarah, who ensured you train well, eat well, and accompany you to fight nights, feels it’s unfair. Many concur.

Deserved more plaudits

Arthur, you weren’t Ayub Kalule, John ‘the Beast’ Mugabi or Cornelius Boza-Edwards, Ugandans who won world titles. But you were no journeyman, either. No journeyman wins his first 16 pro fights in a row in USA. No journeyman wins 20 of 30 pro fights. No journeyman wins the IBF United States Boxing Association title and retains it thrice. You were a legit champ.

I would love to watch you knock out Kenny Lopez in the eighth round to win that vacant IBF USBA Junior Middleweight title at the Marriott Hotel, Santa Clara, California in 1989, just two years after your professional debut.

Ahead of your first fight with Lopez, in February, people thought you had "bitten off more than you could chew” but it ended in a disputed draw. The rematch made you a champ. 

Arthur, I would love to watch you defend your title, against Young Dick Tiger, Jesse Flores, and Gilbert Baptist—more experienced guys with better records—before Ron Amundsen snatched it at Bally's Hotel & Casino, Reno in 1990.

Four months later, you returned to Bally's to challenge Brett Lally for the North American Boxing Federation super-welterweight title. But the Irish Hawk stopped you in the fourth round to retain his title, the same night your buddy Wilber Kiggundu stopped Tony Biglen in Round One. Now you, Lally, and legendary referee Mills Lane are all gone.

Arthur, in August 1991, you were in Civic Auditorium, San Francisco, against Pat Lawlor, who had only lost once in 16 pro fights, including a six-round knockout of multiple world champ Roberto Duran in March. But you went toe-to-toe with Lawlor, despite a narrow split decision loss. Two judges preferred Lawlor: 96-95 but one preferred you: 96-94. Lawlor’s brother, who was with you at Kings Gym and Pittman Gym under trainer Phil Mondello, calls you “a super nice guy” and “a warrior.”

Eight weeks later, you returned to winning ways with a fourth-round KO against Ernie Valentine at Pavilion, Concord, ending a run of four losses. But where’s all this footage? And reports?

Next, you faced 23-year-old Roy Jones, a hot middleweight prospect with 16 straight victories in a bout that lasted barely two minutes but scared even the most hardened fight nerds.

You went for Jones, but his overhand right hit your left temple, like thunder, felling you awkwardly, your right leg bent beneath your body. Your eyes rolled backward, your face contorted, the medics inside the Reno-Sparks Convention Centre, feared even worse. Sarah was ringside. Praying, shaking. She couldn’t breathe, fearing her husband was gone.

But as a typical Jesus Kid, you recovered and left the ring unaided. The scan didn’t see any damage, and you with Sarah went home fine. But you learnt your lesson, trained harder, and promised Sarah to fight more carefully.

Turning point

Arthur, you had generally lived a healthy life, until you were diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease in late 2020.  You never visited Priscilla and your grandchildren in Las Vegas as you had planned. But you didn’t tell Priscilla why, until you were in a nursing home, under 24-hour care. Priscilla and her family would have loved to visit you more often, but travelling from Nevada to California was never easy.

But Arthur, thank God for Rachel, your wife since 2007. She struggled with you when you often fell. Always in your corner, till the end. Often, she drove miles away to your care home, trying her best to make feel at home, away from. She navigated a very complicated healthcare system to ensure you get the best care you deserved.

But she is still bothered by how rapidly your health degenerated. Parkinson’s—a progressive brain disorder that affects mobility and mental ability—manifests in five stages for years. Muhammad Ali, for instance, lived with it 32 years after diagnosis. But Arthur, you didn’t even last four years! Rachel suspects a correlation to that Roy Jones incident.

It’s hard to rule out. Ahead of your rematch against Baptist in August 1992, four months after Jones, The Los Angeles Times expressed concern about your health status and overall safety of fighters under the under-funded California State Athletic Commission. 

Arthur, you passed neurological tests, after fighting Jones, but according to the Times, “many who had seen him that night figured Serwano for a tragedy waiting to happen.”

“The Nevada Athletic Commission, suspended Serwano after the Jones fight, later told him he would be reinstated if he passed California’s neurological exam,” the Times  wrote, yet two years back Nevada’s neurological advisory panel described the California exams as “not valid” in detecting neurological impairment in boxers.

Arthur, you were generally a slow mover. And somewhere, you developed some forgetfulness—telling Sarah things you had already told her. In retrospect, Sarah too thinks those signs needed attention.

True fighter vs life challenges

Arthur, you were calm in all situations. A trait that Rachel espoused throughout your sorriest days. Even when your body weakened, your spirit was strong.

‘Rachel we gonna get through this,’ you often told her. Even in your last days, when she knew what was coming, you kept your faith in God, believing you would make it. Like a true fighter trailing on the scorecards but hoping for a knockout.

Often, you tried to quit that wheelchair. You were used to fighting, on your feet, only taking the ring stool for just a minute between rounds. But here you were for months, unable to stand on your own.

To many, you were quiet but very talkative around Rachel. She already misses your humour, which endeared you to the nurses. Rachel okyamanyi Oluganda? you joked, even in your weakest days.

Rachel too should thank God for friends: Elizabeth Kyeyune Temisanren, Judith Katasi, Solome Kasozi,  Florence, her sister Jean, family members and in-laws, who stood with her in these trying times. Sometimes, Judith didn’t even know how to console Rachel, when the going got toughest. 

Arthur, the past six months have been tragic for your family. You didn’t get a chance to mourn your oldest son Elijah who died in October at just 35.  They feared telling you could worsen your sorry state. A month later, Rachel lost her mother. Ten days later, still mourning in Uganda, Rachel lost her good friend in California. Barely four months later, you are gone.

Judith vividly remembers those last two days. Rachel told her, on the phone, that you had gotten worse. The following day, you were better. But before the test results returned, Rachel called, crying: “Arthur is gone!”

Comeback that never was

Arthur, after Jones, you also lost a rematch to Baptist in August. But after defeating Chris Sande and Danny Chavez in 1993, Boza-Edwards took you to Wolverhampton, England, to challenge Richie Woodhall for the Commonwealth Middleweight Title. Your high school friend JB Waigo felt disappointed having sparred with Richie not knowing he was sharpening him to fight you. But it’s part of the game.  Woodhall, 17-0, much taller, was hot. But Arthur you were solid, until he retired you in the 11th round to retain his title for the fourth time.

After that knockout against Quirino Garcia in April 1996, you took a break from boxing. But in 2000, you left California for Nevada, resumed training, ready to box again. Sadly, amid the inconvenience to your family, kids changing schools, crying over losing their friends, etc. the deal flopped. You didn’t fight again. You didn't look back. You forged a life in Las Vegas, setting up convention centres.

Beyond the ring

Arthur, your manager Jack MacPhee wanted the best for his fighters: you, Kiggundu and Fred Kaddu (RIP). He rented you  that apartment you shared in your early days in Richmond. But Sarah feels that as a novice in the business, Jack was unable to shield you from fraudsters, especially promoters.  So, you didn’t earn enough from boxing. But supervising at Chevron, a multinational oil and gas company, a job you did even after boxing, made ends meet.

Arthur, unlike many athletes, you were never trapped in transition. You always found alternatives. Sarah wanted you to become a trainer; to share your great skills with the rising stars, to make an extra buck. Later, Rachel also shared the idea. But you wanted to be a sports doctor. But it was a long route for a 44-year-old. In 2008, you joined the Aviation Institute of Maintenance in Georgia. Your fellow trainees, many too young to have seen you boxing, marveled at this former fighter with enviable precision in aviation mechanics. As a contractor, you enjoyed working at several airports: Georgia, Toronto, Washington, Illinois, Texas, Florida, Arizona, etc.

Lovely dad

Arthur, your daughter Priscilla describes you as a lovely father, a humble, kind man of few words but whose presence could always be felt. She recalls watching TV, with you on the couch, until she was too big to sit on your lap. She was too young to understand stuff when she went with you on fight nights. But she remembers you sweating in plastic balloon suits to make weight, punching speed bags, skipping ropes at a terrific speed, and eating ‘strange things’ like raw eggs.  

You loved boxing but you didn’t want your children to try it. You wanted them to excel in school. But you never made choices for them. That’s why Priscilla studied criminal justice and business administration. But her brothers Elijah and Jeremiah preferred work to college.

Arthur, Priscilla thinks she is the girl version of you. She shares your love for God and your sense of humour. The boys too laugh just like you. You didn't teach the kids Luganda. But Priscilla, who understands it but can’t speak it, won’t fault you. It wasn't cool to say ‘I'm from Africa’ when ignorance and misconceptions about Africa among American children were unbelievable. But nowadays, she feels African, not black American.

Olympic secret

Arthur, Priscilla also inherited your athleticism—running 200m and 400m in middle school and college. But she regrets one thing.

Arthur, the lasting memory of you in Uganda is your last fight with William Galiwango in the welterweight final of the National Open Championship. You were both imperious. But you were slightly the favourite in that KBC-Army derby.  Until the third round, it was even between you the hard-hitter, and the stylish Galiwango. Then he switched to southpaw and unleashed a thunderous left hook that ended your dream of the Los Angeles 1984 Olympics.

But Priscilla was surprised when her mother told her this 40-year-old story only recently after your death. At the athletics Olympic qualifiers in Sacramento, California, Priscilla watched elites striving for the ticket to the 2000 Sydney Olympics. She was 14, but never knew that 16 years back her father was once in the same struggle. Had she known, maybe she would have been more ambitious and tried to avenge your Olympic miss.

Farthering legacy

Nevertheless, Arthur, you deserved more prominence. And Priscilla and the family want to rewrite your story, beyond that Roy Jones KO, to honour your legacy. Arthur, you helped others with a passion. And your family wants to start a foundation in your name to educate the people about Parkinson’s, a disease that’s getting rampant in the boxing fraternity. 

But from now on, Waigo, who lives in England, will no longer occasionally call to check on his old-time buddy.

Johnson Senkubuge will remain the only survivor of Coach Ali Rojo’s Class of 1977 at Simba Boxing Club.  Andrew Nyakana, in Vegas, will miss a friend who symbolized peace and serenity.

Dorothy Katantazi, Ssenga W’abaana, will miss her youngest brother, a man of courage, who never gave up on the gospel, even when he was seriously ill.

Siima Kavuma, your cousin, will always miss your love and that warm embrace you shared when she visited you at the nursing home in California.

Arthur, Rachel believes that wherever you are you’re smiling at us. But she will always miss you—her perfect gentleman, her loving husband!

Briefly 

Born: November 15, 1964

Died: March 5, 2024

Father: William Mugalu Katantazi 

Mother: Edith Nabawanuka

Lived in: Los Angeles, California

Buried: April 20, 2024 (Forest Lawn Memorial Park

Hollywood Hills, CA)

Children: Priscilla, Elijah, and Jeremiah Serwano

Wife: Rachel Serwano

Pro debut: June 19, 1987

Record: 20 (9KOs)-9 (6KOs)-1

Army rank: Private

Stance: orthodox

Division: light welter, middleweight

Honours: IBF USBA Junior Middleweight title

Nickname: Jesus Kid