Joe Frazier: The host with the most

Originally published January 9, 1981.

The door swings open and the convivial giant erupts into the room.

"Hey, Joe," somebody yells.

The giant waves.

"Right on," he says.

"C'mere, Joe," somebody else calls, waving a menu. "Sign this for me."

"OK. You got it."

The giant happens to be the former heavyweight champion of the world and, now, the city's newest restaurant owner. He is clearly right at home in his new domain - Smokin' Joe's Corner on City Avenue - smiling, shaking hands, laughing.

Everybody wants to talk with him, and he's got time for everybody. He appears to have adopted the dual role of host and celebrity with natural ease.

"I like it. That's the best part about this new business, man. I get to meet and talk to a lot of people."

Joe Frazier says he "hangs out" in his new restaurant when he is not traveling around the country in a mobile home with his rock group, the Knockouts, or making television commercials or running his Smokin' Joe's Gym in North Philadelphia or watching over the career of his fighter-son Marvis or
managing his limousine service or acting as greeter at Resorts International in Atlantic City.

And all the activity seems barely enough to syphon off the energy that powers this muscular mass of ebullience.

"I still do road work and work out every day," Joe says, flexing arm muscles that resemble cords of black steel. "Just to keep busy," he said at the restaurant, although a few days later he was talking about returning to the ring later this year, making a comeback at age 37.

Frazier and his partners plan to go into the restaurant business in the Philadelphia area in a big way. They expect to open a second Smokin' Joe's Corner in the Warminster area within the next few months and, shortly after that, a third in the Northeast.

Manager Steve Eisenberg says there probably will be a Center City branch of the Corner some time in the future.

Frazier is only one of a number of partners in the project, but there is no mistaking his passionate sense of proprietorship. He can't leave the place, he says, without visiting every table.

"How was the food? OK?"

"Hello, sweetie. You're a beautiful child. What do you want for dessert?"

"Hey, man. I can tell you like to eat. You come on over to the gym, hear me? We gonn' work off some of that weight."

"Autograph? Sure. What's your name? "

He clearly enjoys all of it. But, then, he seems to enjoy everything.

"I love the music. I was into the music scene even before the fights and the businesses. I wish I could do more performing. But, also, I like to go with the (boxing) team" from his gym.

He watches the development of " all my boys."

Joe says he got into the restaurant business because of a conversation with his friend, George Figorola.

"George had a restaurant in New York," he said, "and I was telling him all the things I didn't like about restaurants. "When you travel a lot, you get so you don't like restaurants. First of all, most restaurants are not friendly, you know? People act like they're doing you a favor.

"And I like plain, good food and plenty of it. And I don't like spending a lot of money for it."

So Figorola suggested they start a restaurant. The result, after months of conversations and planning, is Smokin' Joe's Corner, a rather masculine place with lots of dark wood, stained glass and drawings of Joe Frazier in action on the walls. The menu leans heavily toward ribs and steaks.

The waitresses and hostesses are attired in boxing trunks and satin robes. Eisenberg, who formerly was a manager with the Rusty Scupper restaurant chain, is charged with running the place, and Joe Frazier is only one of the owners. Neither of these facts in any way deters the former champ from taking charge the minute he walks in the door.

"Hey. Straighten out that table, will you, honey."

"The light on those drawings is all wrong. They have to be brighter. See? And move them up a little bit. That's right. Good."

"When can we get the new sign up?"

"What's happening in the kitchen?"

But he clearly would rather socialize than organize. Everybody who approaches him gets the bright smile, the hearty handshake. One old-timer says he worked with Frazier's father in a shipyard in Georgia many years ago.

"You worked with John? Hey, sit down. Tell me about it. Have a drink."

Somebody asks him about the current crop of heavyweights, and he is off on detailed lists of the merits and shortcomings of each.

He talks about his gym, his music, his friends, his days in the ring, his wife and his newest toy, Smokin' Joe's Corner.

"Having a restaurant is a lot more fun than any of the other businesses that I'm involved with," he says, beaming, "especially since I don't have to do any of the work."

He signals to one of the waitresses.

"Hey. How about bringing me a dish of those ribs."

Then, to the others at his table:

"You know, this place cooks up some fine ribs. You can tell everybody that's what Smokin' Joe says, and everybody knows Smokin' Joe always tells the truth."

The convivial giant laughs and stamps his foot and every dish on the tables trembles.

"Man, this sure is fun."